Obviously, I would need to be paid $500 and furnished with a complimentary helicopter ride to actual attend this event featuring a felonious Yankees fan who say's words in between catchy vocal choruses(I got 99 problems but talent ain't one) and a little white dude with hair way too curly(it makes me uncomfortable).
In recent years the only thing worse than the sound quality at Fenway has been the quality of the baseball team taking the field.
Good for ownership, though. These guys get it. You sell the "experience" as it will be passed on to your friends and family for years and folks will ignore the fact that they had a truly dismal night featuring acoustics out of early DR Who episodes, hobbit-sized seats, long lines full of plastered BU kids and finally and performance by a guy who rhymes dumb stuff to dumb people.
That said......and this kills me to say it..........Justin Timberlake is extremely talented and by all accounts a very nice guy which makes me hate him more. There is nothing I can do that he can't do better.
It was Sir Robert Frost who spoke of Winter's angry onslaught in 1856 - "She hath the fury to unfurl in frigid enormity that which could only attack with consent of heaven, and a wink from the devil."*
Personally, I like to use this kind of weather event to trot out two ferociously-tired cliches and little nothings to say to folks:
"Looks like we're gettin' a little bit o' the white stuff"- That is the undisputed king. No good employee at anything has ever said that. That same person see's you drinking a Pepsi in the morning and say's "Breakfast of champions!."
"Nice beach weather"- This person has deep psychological issues. He uses this as a verbal smoke bomb intended to render the listener (victim)confused for long enough that the perpetrator can rush away and track shipment on an incoming parcel of Romanian(mostly snuff) films.
So just remember guys, even though shoveling two feet of snow is humorless try to keep your spirits up and make the most of it.
*He never said that and he's not a Sir and rid your brain of that nonsense and I'm sorry I wasted your time.
This reporter is so right. Plastered cocktail warriors are the real zombies.
You're at the bar and you see him stumbling along, using other patrons like Tarzan uses vines. You know he's coming your way and he's gonna want to talk to you, just because you attract them. He sloppily invades your personal space and mutters something indecipherable. He repeatedly forgets what he has just said and you pray(as you rarely do unless you need something) for him to instantaneously burst into flames.
Sometimes he wears a New York Jets jersey..
I was watching this game with a bunch of friends and we all reacted like people in the Northeast do when there is a small Earthquake. We looked at each other quizzically, "Is Joe Namath bleepfaced?". Then Joe removed all doubt and an entire nation declared "Holy bleep, Joe Namath is bleepfaced!"
I thought Joe pulled it off nicely. Some people do drunk well. Others are Charlie Sheen..
Who doesn't get a little excited after a Guns n Roses concert, right? And as a matter of fact, where IS Slash? Is he in the Christmas tree?
I would react the same way to a pirate question.
Anyway, those West Coast cats can't handle their booze like we do up here in the mighty 42nd parallel...
It is time to induct a gentleman who should have received a Best Supporting Actor nod but was denied because the Boomers decided Tom Berenger should get it for portraying the American soldier exactly as the calcified peacenicks saw them.
WE ARE VINDICATED because our new Hall Of Famer's role also included allusions to the history of American warfare.
I bring you, from the 1986 classic "Back to School"................the great..........Sam Kinison.
(Our nanny, totally under-dressed as usual. Kids, right?!)
It is approximately 30 below zero here in Melrose, Massachusetts. It occurs to me that if my heat breaks I will die. I don't know how to fix a heater-thingy.
And I don't know how to build a fire.
So I will die.
I don't have any survival skills because whenever I started on a path of learning I immediately quit.
I quit the Boy Scouts after day one because I thought tying knots was lame. Now I can neither tie any knots nor can I build a fire.
I quit freshmen football at Austin Prep after one day because it was hard and the coach was ruthless to pasty fatbodies like myself. Had I stayed with it I would have gotten in shape and had the interest of cute high school girls and then.....ya know...... But alas, I spent the eighties inside watching The Empire Strikes Back on Beta under my "Alf" poster while those football players got to make out with this girl.
That said, there are things that I'm glad I never started, even though it was the popular thing to do.
I never got in to this guy. Never watched his bike races. Never had the yellow wrist thing.
As a matter of fact I have as many legit Tour De France wins as he has.
Thinking this through.....bare with me...
I'll bet if I had stayed with football I would have become a chiseled jock joiner, probably gone in to sales and worn that yellow bracelet thing - I hate that me.
Better to be me, except if the heater breaks. If that happens I think I know what to do...I learned it many years ago...
Since 1984 the Earth has been perpetually punished by the existence of "Elmo", a self-centered, egotistical tyrant clad in a blood-red pelt.
Over the years Elmo's legend has expanded the world-over and tragically his sadistic and foul cackle has propelled him to iconic muppet status.
"Elmo want this!", "Elmo want that.", "Elmo wrote a song about Elmo.", and on and on... So, yes, I knew the enemy and he was Elmo .
That's until I met Caillou.. Caillou (KAH- YOO) is an inexplicably-bald, four-year-old weakling who is always ready to cry when challenged, which is constantly because he is ill-equipped to deal with any adversity, great or small.
When Caillou is not sniffling like the planet's biggest b*&@h he is all id-ego, demanding to be included in activities he can't handle and loudly kvetching anytime he does not get his way.
I was a little nervous calling this blog post "Caillou Must Die" but then I googled it and found that I was nowhere near the first person to use the title. In fact, most "Caillou" search results have something to do with the demise and torture of Caillou.
You parents out there already know all about this sickly-yellow elfling but for the unindoctrinated, prepare for the devil incarnate and its name is Caillou.
Everybody knows that Halls of Fame are totally fraudulent. The shiniest example is the Rock N Roll Hall of Fame where prodigious musicians and hard-drivin' Rock n' Rollers- "Public Enemy" will be honored later this year.
No one can compete with the motion picture industry in this regard. Hollywood is uniquely gifted with the uncanny ability to perennially fete the the most undeserving folks in the business which...........................................which is why we need to start the Hollywood Hall of Fame!
So now it is my pleasure to announce our premiere inductees....... "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" is a near-perfect movie. "Platoon" won Best Picture that year because the Baby Boomers will give any film a gold medal if it justifies their asinine behaviour in the sixties.
Matthew Broderick should have gotten an Oscar but Hollywood had to hand it to everybody's SAG buddy, Paul Newman for the "Color of Money" - a total BS Call.
And all of these following people should have gotten Best Supporting Actor nods but will instead be inducted into my Hollywood Hall of Fame:
Alan Ruck as "Cameron."
The great "Ed Rooney" played by Jeffrey Jones.
Jennifer Grey and Charlie Sheen in the best roles of their lives.
Today is my birthday. I am now forty years-old and so it is time, I think, to reconcile my "bucket list."
Okay let's see here........
1.Make it through the 80's without having sex.✓
2.Get sued by major credit card company for $8,000. Get a lawyer to negotiate only to, in the end, still have to pay $8000 to the credit card company and another $5000 to the lawyer.✓
3.Ring in 1994 with an STD.✓
4.Try for years to have Chandler's hair but instead look like Art Garfunkel in every picture from the nineties.✓
5.Get so profoundly plastered that you pass out at 11:23pm on Dec 31, 1999.✓
6.Fall in love in 1997 and just then go through a five-week spate of impotence, before there was any Viagara.✓
7.Be broke every year in the nineties regardless of how many jobs I have.✓
8.Sing in a band in 1996 and sound like Chaz Bono(wearing a leather zipper mask) murdering young Mccauley Culkin with a dull chainsaw. Sound like that.✓
9.Take my brother's dare in 1983 and whack the hell out of a hornet's nest with a wiffle ball bat. Scream like the sissiest ninny Winchester Massachusetts has ever heard as hordes of pissed-off bees converge upon me.✓
10.Take my brother's dare in 1984 and attempt to test his bike jump. Go over the handlebars and land on my chin. Get stitches and a life- long scar which is more on display than ever thanks to my pronounced double-chin.✓
11.Play third base in little league and have a hard line-drive hit me right in the chin stitches. Writhe in the dirt.✓
12. Take the mic at a bar full of Irishmen and, in an attempt to curry favor with the crowd, enthusiastically announce that "Ireland's gonna kick Argentina's ass!"(in an upcoming soccer match). Leave the stage only to have a dude pull me aside and tell me the game had already happened and Ireland lost.✓
13.On vacation in Punta Cana, walk four miles away from my resort to an undisclosed location to be shirtless lest the grotesque symphony of my pasty white skin, primary fat roll, secondary rolls, side-bellies, manboobs, stretchmarks, creepily-thin back-hair patch and non-stop sweat be seen by any human being female.✓
-Thirteen for thirteen, not bad. Not bad at all. That's me in 1996. I'd only finished half of my bucket list by then - poor bastard.