Blog
March 30, 2006
TEDDY VEGAS BACK FROM VEGAS.
Every year for the last six, a bunch of guys who became friends during the course of a long-running Wednesday night basketball game in NYC (and many of whom have since moved to other parts of the country), gets together in Las Vegas for the second weekend of the NCAA basketball tournament for a bachanalia of basketball, blackjack and beer. We call ourselves the Vegas Pigs and I just returned from my 6th Annual Vegas Pigs reunion.
What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Like, say, my money. And part of my liver. Yes, Lady Luck bitch slapped me pretty good. And Jack Daniels and Johnny Walker treated me to some very tough love. Actually what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas unless it's something that you want to brag about. Like the basketball shots I made during our games. Somehow, the combination of sleep deprivation and drink conspired to elevate my game to unfamiliar altitudes (although my vertical leap remained fixed at the precise width of a Sunday circular.) Scantilly clad women be damned: What I thought about with a big smile on my face as I drifted off for my 3 hours of beauty rest each night, was the little highlight reel of my driving layups and outside shots. (Instead of the usual lowlight reel of clanged rims, bad passes and shots blocked by my defender's armpit).
ATTN: MIRRIAM-WEBSTER. ( NEW WORD OF THE TRIP.)
Rhino-Plastery noun. Rhino-plastered adj. The glazed, congealed, look of a man who has spent the night drinking Red Bulls and vodka and getting lap dances at the Spearmint Rhino and has now emerged--his body a toxic waste dump, his pockets turned out, his hand shielding his eyes from the harsh glare of the morning light. Usage. Rhino-Plastered. As in "B-Money was totally and completely rhino-plastered, but not as badly as last year when he actually sprouted sub-ocular scroti." Rhino-plastery as in: "I am pleased to report that the Vegas Pigs reunion was not an adventure in collective rhino-plastery."
POETIC FRAGMENT:
Truths hard and unbidden flash in his mind as the bells ding for another imaginary winner.
Vegas: The dream of action without consequence. The ancient mythology of escape.
Unplaced bets jangle in the pocket of possibility.
EPIPHANY OF THE TRIP:
There are only 2 possible responses to a follow up call about a delivery order.
1) It's on its way.
2) What order?
Really, when you think about it, there are no other alternatives. Which is why "It's on its way" is not always as reassuring a piece of information as it might initially seem.
RUNNING GAG OF THE TRIP:
There is a lounge performer in Vegas named Danny Gans--whose name and image are virtually ubiquitous on the strip and, I suppose, entirely unknown outside of it. We have, by the contribution (ok, collective hallucination) of a single consonant turned him into Danny Glans, Patron Saint of Priapic Prowess and Vitamin Vegas. I delight in watching him loom over the city on his billboards like Dr. TJ Eckleburg in the Great Gatsby--an unwitting prop in a private comedy, elevated by the addition of a single "L" from a campy Vegas act to the venerable icon of all things libidinous. I cannot look at his name without laughing. Danny F-cking Glans.
QUESTION OF THE TRIP:
As I passed by the New York, New York, I saw the simulacrum Empire State Building and the simulacrum Statue of Liberty. I couldn’t remember if there had ever been a model version of the World Trade Towers and, upon, inquiring, I learned that there had not. But it raised the question: If they had built facsimile twin towers in Vegas as part of NY NY, would they have had to take them down??? Would they have reflected too much mortal reality for Vegas to handle? The answer, I suppose, is yes.
CELEBRITY SIGHTING OF THE TRIP:
I'm at the roulette table at the Hard Rock and I see a bundle of bank bills fly through the air and hit the dealer in the chest. "Hey, Dennis" says the dealer. I turn and see that it's been thrown by Dennis Rodman. "How do you want the chips?" Dennis mumbles something incoherent and pushes his semi-hot girlfriend (Electra-lite) towards my seat. The dealer interprets the non verbal gesture for me. "He is wondering if she can sit there?" The trophy girl says to me, "Slide over, we can share the seat." I say, "No, I don't want your boyfriend to get all jealous and start a fight with me cause I hate beating guys up." She laughs and I give her my seat. Meanwhile Dennis continues to prowl and mumble, drawing attention to himself and then deflecting it. Then he leans over from behind the group to address his girlfriend and, in so doing, leans all of his weight on my shoulder. I say "Hey, I'm a big fan. But I think you're a bit too big for me to guard in the post here." He looks at me blankly, eyes totally unfocused, clearly drugged out of his mind. I try again. "Big fan. But uh...that's a lot of weight." He seems to vaguely get the point. He mumbles something else and returns to the side of the roulette table to pout and pose. He's a giant freak in the giant freak show that is Vegas and the dealers and Hard Rock personnel are treating him with kid gloves, like a Bull in a china shop. Part of me thinks he's Ferdinand the Bull. Gentle. Weird. Misunderstood. But his huge size and erratic behavior make me cautious. I really don't know is he's about to swing a punch and kill someone. I think how cool it would be to take a photo of the two of us and make up some crazy story about our night on the town together, but I think the better of it.
REFLECTION OF THE DAY:
To say “have a great day” instead of “have a nice day” is an upgrade that costs the offerer nothing and offers the recipient even less. An aggressively cheerful absurdity. An obstreperous inanity. A vaguely insulting nullity. And nothing more.
OBSERVATION:
He was struck by how one friend still spoke of his long-deceased father in the present tense whereas another tended to speak of his still living father in the past.
THE ARTLESSNESS OF THE DEAL:
Watching this new show "Deal or No deal?" on the flight out to Vegas (Jetblue). The riveting spectacle of people’s friends and family repeatedly selling them up the river by insisting they not settle for a deal and instead keep swinging for the increasingly distant probabilistic fences. Counsel which, in my limited viewing, led to them ending up with next to nothing time and again.
META-AWARENESS OF THE TRIP:
The way your group becomes the frame of reference (the prism of physiological types) through which all others get interpreted. Indeed, after I left my gang, I kept seeing doubles of my fellow Vegas ballers all over the airport. Everywhere I’d turn, there’s be a tall lanky guy with an understache (BMoney), or an athletic looking 6 foot mesomorph (Powerlock) or a stylishly-attired follicularly-challenged guy (D. Ballgame) or a very tall blonde guy with glasses (Chief). Upon closer examination, I could see that the people bore only the remotest resemblance to the friend I had mistaken them for. But it was interesting to see how the mind unconsciously organizes the world of infinite differences according to the primary reference points of the familiar.
TRIBUTE OF THE WEEKEND:
He left it all out there on the tables. He fought valiantly. He may have come back without his money, but he still had his dignity. Actually, no. I just remembered, he didn’t have that either. Ok, well he came back without his money or his dignity, but he still had his soul. That's right, he still had his…oh., no wait..I just remembered that little deal that transpired in the VIP room at Cheetah's. Ok, well, no soul. OK, well he lost his money, his dignity and his soul, but he still had…um…Liver. Yes, he still had his liver. Oh,wait...I forgot about all the bourbon and that business of waking up in a bathtub packed with ice and the mysterious incision. Ok, so, he didn;t come back with his liver. Ok, well, he lost his money, his dignity, his soul, a good chunk of his liver, but he still came back with his...um...what DO we have for our Vegas traveler Vanna, behind door number 3??? His appendix! Good! That's right Vanna. Thank you. Yes, he lost his money, his dignity, his soul, and a good chunk of his liver, but he came back with his appendix in tact. All in all, another triumphant trip to Vegas.
UNFUNNY TRUTH OF THE TRIP:
Vegas is a bad place to go if you're melancholy and contemplative. Nothing there reflects the human soul. Only the human appetites.
Tags:
None
© All rights reserved.
Posted on 3/30/2006
(
Permanent Link
)
Read 452 Times
 Send to Friend
|
March 21, 2006
A few months ago I mentioned an idea I had for an anti-war poster. Well, I finally got around to working it up with my friend. Of equal noteworthiness: I finally learned how to upload images to the blog. Watch out world, here comes Vegas! Soon I'll be getting rid of my rotary dial phone and moving onto a touch tone!
If you like the poster, feel free to pass the link on to your friends.
Tags:
None
© All rights reserved.
Posted on 3/21/2006
(
Permanent Link
)
Read 541 Times
Send to Friend
|
March 16, 2006
CELEBRATING THE LEAST PRODUCTIVE DAY OF THE YEAR:
Today is the start of the NCAA basketball tournament. With people watching and betting online in offices across America (if they’re not out at a bar watching and drinking), this first day of March Madness is usually considered the least productive day in the American workplace. (Estimates have the tourney costing $3.8 Billion in productivity today.). But in this case, tomorrow is sure to put an even bigger hurt on the Gross National Product. Not only does it feature the second half of the March Madness opening round, but it’s also St, Patty’s Day and an end of winter Friday! In short, the anti-productivity trifecta. I’ve been doing my part to fight the acute decline in productivity in the American workplace today by spending the last few hours at my job writing this blog.
Hell with dirty nuclear bombs: Al Qaeda could take this economy down by sponsoring more sports tourneys and drinking related holidays.
QUESTION OF THE DAY:
I asked my friend and neighbor at work, "What is it about spring that just makes you want to clean?" And he responded, "What is it about winter that makes you just want to not clean?" I thought it was noteworthy because it's rare for a non Jew to answer a question with a question.
UNDER-REPORTED BUSH RELATED SCANDAL OF THE DAY:
Concerning Claude Allen--Bush’s domestic policy advisor who inexplicably stepped down in February. This is why...
http://www.time.com/time/nation/article/0,8599,1172159,00.html
POLL OF THE DAY: (A new interactive feature!)
If someone has a long goatee-like pointed beard that you're tempted to use like a leash to pull him around, which is the better term to describe it?
a) "Bearsh"
b) "Goateash?"
DESCRIPTIVE METAPHOR OF THE DAY:
My aforementioned friend and neighbor at work voted for answer (b), based on the fact that while "goateash" at least bore recognizeable traces of both "Goatee" and "Leash", "bearsh" did not. In fact, as he memorably put it, "bearsh sounds like a car wreck of German cuisine and drinking. "
TRUISM OF THE DAY:
No one has ever got into shape by meaning to go to the gym.
WHINY, SPILLED-MILK GRIEVANCE OF THE DAY:
My grievance is with the New Yorker's back page cartoon contest. There have been some lame picks lately. At least I've thought so. For example, last week's cartoon shows a guy sitting with no shirt on in an airplane filled with normally dressed people. He may very well have no clothes on at all, as his crotch area is covered by the fold down meal table. He is lifting a glass of wine to his mouth as he turns to his neighbor and utters a comment. The finalists were “She gives me free drinks if I leave the table down.”, “I only pack what I definitely need.” And “I’m sure I have a business card on me somewhere.” The last option is funny, but doesn’t match the expression on the characters' faces. My submission (rejected, hence my whiny grievance) was “I’ve gotta stop going to Vegas.” I thought this was pretty funny because it gave the visual some backstory, some silly context. And also because I liked the weird self-referentiality of sending in a Vegas-related caption under the name of Teddy Vegas. Anyhow, please give me a reality check. Let me know if mine is better or if I’m just deluded and tripping on ego juice. Net net: I just don't want to lose in the timeless struggle for the dominant quip!
INVENTIONS (PATHS TO IMMORTALITY) OF THE WEEK:
I invented a new game: Speed Pool. You break and then go around trying to clear the table of balls as quickly as possible. I randomly instituted the rule that you had to wait until the balls came to a complete stop before shooting the next shot. I suspect letting the competitor shoot the cue ball while it (or the target ball for that matter) was still moving wouldn’t necessarily help much anyway. Anyhow, it was really, addictively fun. The three of us who were playing all cleared the table in somewhere between 4 and 5 minutes. I was the only one who ran from shot to shot in an absurd looking attempt to turn pool into a cardiovascular event. I think anything under about 3 minutes would be really really impressive. Maybe even world class. Anyhow, the point is: you’re reading a blog by the Abner Doubleday of Speed Pool. Impressed. Huh?
Oh, also, the James Naismith of Ultimate Elevator Fighting. Yup. In this product of a mid-day brain fart, the idea is to lock two people in an elevator. In variant 1 (The PG version) , they enter on the first floor of a tall office building and press the button for the top floor. While the elevator is going up, the two competitors wrestle for the position closest to the door…so that they can emerge onto the landing first and, hence, hoist the championship belt. Then the winner puts his belt on the line in the rematch return to the lobby. In the more extreme version of the sport (and the one I suspect has more of a PPV potential), the two agonists are simply locked in the elevator and do battle until one of them is either dead or cries uncle—at which point the elevator is opened and the victor emerges. In both instances, the audience watches the fight over the building security cameras. What’s not to love?
2 timeless sports/games inventions in one week. An underachiever my ass!!!
USE OF OBSCURE PHILOSOPHICAL TERM OF THE DAY:
Gotta give Joan Acocella credit for using the phrase “ding-an-sich” (thing-in-itself) in her New Yorker article about the history of the Playboy Centerfold. To see a Kantian term not only used in the mainstream press but used in the context of boobs, was a double thrill. Much like boobs themselves.
The presence of the Kantian term, got me thinking about the ways I’ve made use of my philosophy degreee from Yale.
USES OF MY PHILOSOPHY DEGREE
1) Helping a friend come up with impressive sounding philosophical references in his ongoing dispute with his pretentiously philosophical landlord. (The dispute, by the way, concerned a sewage-related smell).
2) Helping a friend come up with some philosophical terms to make fun of for an advertising campaign he was working on.
3) Intimidating someone I didn’t like by using the word “aporia” in an argument.
4) Answering a few dozen questions on Jeopardy and Ben Stein’s Money.
SYLLOGISTIC APHORISM OF THE DAY:
The truth hurts. And the truth will set you free. Which explains why there are so many free people walking around in pain.
EUREKA MOMENT OF THE DAY:
Isaiah Thomas is the black Dubya. How? Well, he took both the Toronto Raptors and the CBA team he managed and ran them both into the ground--just like Dubya did with the Texas Rangers. He has a history of leaving every situation he’s been in charge of (from a managerial rather than merely coaching perspective) in disastrous shape. Ditto with the Dubya. And, as evidenced by his the Knicks, Isaiah, like Dubya, is an enthusiastic practitioner of deficit spending. On the other hand, Isaiah certainly speaks a little better than Dubya. And his dribble-drive penetration is vastly superior.
Tags:
None
© All rights reserved.
Posted on 3/16/2006
(
Permanent Link
)
Read 448 Times
Send to Friend
|
March 10, 2006
PROPOSED ADVERTISING SLOGAN OF THE DAY.
Alcohol. Purifies you of the toxins associated with sobriety.
A message from the alcohol council.
REC OF THE WEEK:
Hertzberg's opening "Comment" in this week's New Yorker about the well-deserved troubles of Imperial VP Cheney. As usual, it's 100% spot on and humblingly well written. But it also boasts a much better than usual headline: Veep Doo-Doo.
DANGLING DESCRIPTION OF THE DAY:
After an hour of dutiful attendance at the party, L. traded the discomfort of being with his friends for the more familiar discomfort of being with his girlfriend. He was a man endlessly shuttling between competing forms of unease.
UNFUNNY NEWS-RELATED REFLECTION OF THE DAY:
When I read the other day about witnesses claiming they’d heard yelling between the drunken young woman who’d been murdered downtown and the bar bouncer who is under suspicion for the crime, I immediately had this strong visceral intuition that the thing that had pushed it over the line from altercation to annihilation was some kind of a racial slur-- some hateful epithet rising up through the white woman’s alcohol haze from the vast residuum of subconscious racial prejudice and triggering in the black man the violent release of long-simmering rage. When we are truly angry we all have an unerring instinct for finding the most hateful, hurtful thing we can say, the utterance that will lodge itself most deeply and damagingly in our antagonist’s psyche and we often draw upon primal, inarguable differentiators like race or ethnicity or class or size or weight. When I thought about the events of that night, I had this hyper-vivid surreally slo-mo sense of what that fateful interaction had been like: the furious, impotent rage of the inebriated woman who was being bounced from the bar, the internal search for the cruelest possible thing to say, the momentary catharsis upon emitting the odious utterance, the sudden animal realization of the severity of the reaction and the awful inevitability of the consequence, the terrible knowledge that there was no turning back…. Hence, it was a little creepy to have my intuition confirmed the next day by a report that the woman had, in fact, been overheard saying “That’s why all you black people are in jail.” While it didn’t make me feel in any way psychic (fear not: Teddy Vegas will not be making special guest appearances on The Psychic Friends network) , it did strike me as ironic that this had happened in the same week that “Crash” (a halfway decent but entirely overrated film devoted to the pernicious effects of our sub-conscious racism) had won the Oscar and Hollywood had indulged in an orgy of self-congratulation about its racial enlightenment.
NEW AGE BASHING OF THE DAY
Just read that the new age singer Yanni was accused of spousal abuse. Now, it’s not so much the fact that Yanni beat up on his wife that’s shocking. It’s the fact that he HAS a wife! Shocker number two is that he's physically strong enough to beat up his wife. She must be very petite. Indeed, it’s a brave and humiliating act for a woman to acknowledge that she’s been beaten up by a guy named Yanni. It’s as brave as Liza Minelli’s husband acknowledging he’d been beaten up by his wife. Can it be long before Kenny G’s wife steps intrepidly forward with a black eye?
PERFORMANCE-ENHANCING STORY OF THE DAY:
Look at this point there’s more likelihood that Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone than that Barry Bonds didn’t knowingly take steroids. Of course, as I believe I stated earlier on this blog, I am one of the few remaining subscribers to the Lone Gunman theory. But be that as it may. Assuming that Bonds did take steroids, the thing that interested me about this week's book-related revelations (which sound less like news than merely a more detailed elaboration of what we’d already been told) was the claim that he had been motivated to take the steroids out of jealousy that Mark McGuire was getting more attention than he was. And yet, once the juiced-up, bigger broader Barry eclipsed McGuire and got the adulation that he apparently sought, he continued to snub both the press and his fans in the same surly manner he always had. The coexistence of the megalomaniacally attention-seeking and the self-pityingly attention-snubbing (the extravagantly entitled and the perpetually persecuted) is a fascinating--if singularly unappealing--aspect of his character. It strikes me that while he may have relied on steroids to become an incredibly big man, he didn't need any kind of help to become an incredibly big baby.
PERFORMANCE-REDUCING SUBSTANCE OF THE DAY:
I read about a French man who confessed to repeatedly drugging his daughter’s tennis opponents by putting tranquilizers in their water bottles before matches.
http://www.salon.com/wire/ap/archive.html?wire=D8G868H86.html
Roger Federer must feel like his father has been doing that to his opponents his entire life.
I guess there's been so much talk about performance enhancing substances in sports that it was only a matter of time before someone started using performance reducing substances.
CARTOON WITHOUT ILLUSTRATION OF THE DAY:
VIS: Guy talking to his therapist.
GUY: I still have suicidal thoughts. But now they're about other people.
Tags:
None
© All rights reserved.
Posted on 3/10/2006
(
Permanent Link
)
Read 431 Times
Send to Friend
|
March 07, 2006
A FEW COMMENTS ABOUT THE OSCARS:
First off, let's address the mystery of why Jon Stewart seemed to bomb. One possibility is that the absence of laughter was a sign of incomprehension. The live audience simply didn't get a lot of his jokes. Let's call this the Dumbass Theory. The other possibility is that he simply didn't accord the gigantic, self-satisfied, humorless egos of hollywood the respect (nay, adulation) they demand. Indeed, people in Hollywood are capable of laughing at almost anything: Except themselves. Especially on this sacred night of self-satisfaction. Hosts like Billy Crystal are beloved by the academy and its members because they offer the gratifying spectacle of deep reverence masquerading as complete irreverence. Untempered by star-struck awe, Stewart's irreverence was simply not appreciated. Plus it dared to reference some extra-Hollywood political realities that suggested that--Spielberg Forbid--the Motion Picture Industry was not the center of the universe. Hollywod was busy feeling really good about itself in this year of the Social Issue and demanded admiration for its display of ostensible activism and awareness. Anyhow, call this the Kiss Our Butt While Acting Like You're Not or Die theory of hostly failure. Anyhow, my suspicion is that the less than stellar reception Stewart got was attributable to some hybrid of the two factors. A case of dumbassness exacerbated by some acute kiss our ass while pretending that you're not or die-itis. In any event, the comic seemed stunned and disheartened by the tepidness of response (and self-flagellating about his apparent underestimation of Hollywood's need for displays of implied if not explicit obeissance) and lost his comedic mojo. His desire to be loved by the live audience was in conflict with his desire to offer up material that would make the ideal audience in his mind laugh and he ended up just sort of lost between the two.
DAIS CAM COMMENTARY OF THE NIGHT:
Also: What about The Dais Cam--that new speaker's POV camera angle that has you staring down into the first few rows of superstars? For me, the net revelation of this broadcast innovation was this: Damn, are those people bored! Rarely if ever would the camera cut to that POV and reveal a cluster of rapt, attentive viewers. Instead, we'd almost always see a bunch of glazed over, ADD-addled prima donnas staring off into the rafters or fidgeting in their seats or whispering to each other like kids in the back of the class during a boring lecture. If the acting challenge of the evening was to look engaged and interested, very few of them gave an Oscar worthy performance. It was clearly agony for most of them not to be the center of attention for so long a period of time. And it was simply beyond their actorly abilities to feign interest in anything beyond the fate of their own nominations or the relative hotness of their competitors' spouses.
OK, a bit ungenerous. But a grain of truth, no?
BLOWN OPPORTUNITY OF THE NIGHT:
Blown opportunity by the March of the Penguin French guys. Instead of tht lame gesture of carrying stuffed penguins up to the dais, they could have taken advantage of the fact that they WERE ALREADY DRESSED LIKE PENGUINS and just worn penguin beaks or something. How elegant and cool would that have been?
UPSTAGING OF THE NIGHT:
I felt sorry for whoever it was (see I can't even remember myself) that was given the award by the dazzlingly, stupefyingly beautiful Charlize Theron. The cameraman framed their acceptance speech wide enough to leave Ms. Theron in the frame... guaranteeing that not a single viewer kept his focus on the elated award recipients in their crowning moment of glory.
I actually felt sorry for Jennifer Lopez--a gorgeous woman who looked ordinary at best due to the misfortune of having to follow Charlize up to the dais.
I sort of felt similar empathy for whoever it was that followed Jessica Alba. My freaking goodness.
I loved when the guy who won the Best Foreign Language film was making a heartfelt appeal to the fact that "No films are foreign. Films all speak the same language...they speak the language of the human heart...Ok it says "Wrap it Up" goodnight." In recognition of the fact that Hollywood acknowledges the universality of film and the language of cinema, they gave him a total of 12 seconds to give his acceptance speech. If anything, they should give those guys more time. I mean, they aren't even speaking their own language up there.
COMMERCIAL OBSERVATION OF THE NIGHT:
I saw a promo for a show that seemed to be a spoof of the Daily Show or the Colbert Report. Then I realized: It was the local news. I can't think of a more subversive effect for a show to have than to truly invert the perceived relationship between the "real" and the "fake."
CONFESSION OF THE NIGHT:
I was 14 for 14 in my picks. I'm embarrassed because it suggests a degree of involvement in the life of Hollywood that is really pathological. But, in fact, I was able to have such success because of the distance I keep. The only pick I had some doubt about was "Crash" over "Brokeback", but I relied on the fact that in the Great 2006 Oscar Referendum on Social Issues, the Race thing would trump the Gay thing because a) more people could relate to it b) Hollywood would feel better about itself for recognizing it and c) it contained a grain of redemptive we're-all-in-it-together hope. When it was announced, I felt an immediate sense of triumph about my perfect performance followed by an enduring sense of shame.
QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:
Was it just me or did anyone else notice that the last words of the night (uttered by the Producer recipient of the "Crash" award) seemed to be: "And finally, I want to thank my husband and my wife...?"
Tags:
None
© All rights reserved.
Posted on 3/7/2006
(
Permanent Link
)
Read 370 Times
Send to Friend
|
March 01, 2006
MEDIA MOMENT OF THE DAY AND ANALYSIS THEREOF:
Jon Stewart being interviewed by Larry King on Larry King Live: Really interesting to see him trying to walk the delicate line between entertainment and political seriousness outside of his Daily Show comfort zone. He had a nice easy rapport with Larry King, as if the elder Jew were the square loving uncle in whose eyes the young whippersnapper could do no wrong. Overall, Stewart gave the impression of being the only sane person on television--speaking truths to power in a transgressive way that consistently elicited "What are you going to do with the clever boy?" laughs from the host. The interview was filled with memorable moments--both of the laugh aloud and the analytically incisive variety. But my favorite moment happened late in the show when Larry King cut away to Anderson Cooper in order to plug the transition to his "Mardis Gras in Ressurected New Orleans" segment that was to follow. Stewart quipped "Hi, Anderson. Are you crying?". Cooper replied "No. But I expect to be when I hear some of your jokes at the Oscars." Not stellar repartee by any means. But it was a signal moment. Arguably the two leading media icons of the smart, hip, blue state set jousting in the presence of television's reigning avuncular authority in order to determine not merely the personal pecking order but the dominant trope and tonality for our times: Smart, compassionate and funny versus smart, compassionate and sincere.
SURPRISINGLY MOVING STUPID HUMAN TRICK OF THE DAY:
A master juggler, juggling with an artful combination of rhythm and lyricism to a medley of classic Beatles songs.
http://www.chrisbliss.com/videopresskit.html
HUMBLINGLY BRILLIANT SENTENCE OF THE DAY:
(Found on AOL.com, touting a new feature for members).
Preserve important relationships with the handy "unsend" button.
POLITICAL OBSERVATION OF THE DAY:
A Propos of the Dubai port controversy: It just hit me that, by some kind of conceptual dyslexia, Bush has misconstrued his statement that "We shall destroy any nation that harbors terrorists" as meaning "We shall invite them into our harbors to destroy us."
ANSWER TO TIMELESS MYSTERY OF THE DAY:
Ever wondered how all they get the pimentos into the olives? Wonder no more.
http://www.oliveoilsource.com/pitting_olives.htm
QUOTE OF THE DAY DOUBLING AS CARTOON WITHOUT ILLUSTRATION OF THE DAY:
VIS: A woman at coffee cart on street corner.
WOMAN: A coffee to go please.
ANECDOTE OF THE DAY: (MOM, PLEASE DON'T READ)
A woman is telling me that some guy friend of hers has a porn video of obese women having sex with non-obese guys. It's called "Find a Fold and Fuck It." She starts describing the material to me. The women are all really large. Flesh upon flesh upon flesh. Like 300 pounds or more. But, she explains, the gross part is that one of the guys is wearing sandals with socks.
KNICKS ACHIEVEMENT OF THE DAY:
Sure the Spurs were shooting a would be NBA game record 72.5% from the field through three quarters, but the Knicks cut that down to only 63% by the end of the game!! Plus, not a single Knicks player took a bribe from Jack Abramoff.
ASH WEDNESDAY REFLECTION OF THE DAY:
No disrespect to the practicing Catholics out there, but, still, after all these years, Ash Wednesday always takes me by surprise. I'll be walking past someone on the street or riding with someone in an elevator and i'll have an honest impulse to say "Uh, excuse me, but you have some schmutz on your forehead." Then, of course, I'll realize it's Ash Wednesday. The only other time i really feel like an outsider to the rituals and rites of Christianity is when i'm at a wake. (I've been at two in my life). The first time I attended one, i saw all the people chatting and drinking in the same room as the casket and I was like "Um, excuse me, i don't mean to trouble you or cast a pall on the party or anything, but well, i don't know if anyone's noticed but there's a DEAD person over there!"
Tags:
None
© All rights reserved.
Posted on 3/1/2006
(
Permanent Link
)
Read 362 Times
Send to Friend
|
|
|
|
|
|