Two Jacks In the Hole

Happy Birthday!

2008-04-08T11:43:00.000-07:00

I’m writing this blog, because Scott refuses to let me talk about it on the show.

This year, our country has hit some big milestones. A ten year anniversary is nothing to sneeze at, and there is one ten year anniversary in particular that really strikes a chord with me. It incorporates all the things that America is based on.

But before I get to that, here are some other things celebrating their ten-year anniversaries in 2008:

Mozilla - the company that made the (used to be) awesome web browser - Firefox.

Seriously guys. WTF? Firefox used to rock my world, now it just puts white boxes all over my computer. I feel betrayed. Like when McDonald's came out with the Chicken Select. You had it already! The McNugget! Don't F with it!

Starcraft - The computer simulation game.

This game was the sequel to the original Warcrafts. And. There are actually professional Starcraft players. And they make more money than me. My friends and I used to play this game in college, believe it or not. I know. Even though we're all super cool, we all used to play this game. Everyone but Huff. He was too cool. Even then.

MPMan F10 - The First Portable MP3 Player.

This little guy is the precursor to the whole shebang. Well. It wasn't little. It was big. Really big. It was the size of a hi-fi. You had to carry it in a backpack. That's why you've never heard of it. Oddly, it would still go dead if you forgot to hit the "hold" button.

Cryptogramophone Records - jazz music publishers.

If any of you actually own a record published by this company, I'll give you a dollar.

Student Loan Network - big time college loan sharks.

Ok. Maybe sharks is a harsh term. Their rates are reasonable, and the loans are fairly easy to get. As long as you're white.

Zero Effect - the feature debut of writer/director Jake Kasdan.

This is one of my favorite movies of all time. I know I have a lot of favorites, but this one is definitely in my top 5. I haven't disliked anything Kasdan's done since then. IMDB him. He's fantastic. He's the best thing to happen from nepotism since George W.

Titanic - 10 Year Anniversary of Best Picture win.

Near. Far. Wherever you are. I believe that this film helped me lose my vir-gi-ni-ty. I guess that marks yet another 10 year anniversary.

Tony Stewart's Sponsorship by Home Depot.

I can't even believe it's been ten years on this one! Whoo! Nascar! Most popular spectator sport in the world! Yeah! Um. Home Depot! Actually, I have nothing against Nascar. I'm not any more or less interested in it, nor do I understand the obession with it, as I do any other sport. They're all pretty stupid. Go Yankees!

Tennessee Titans

I can't even believe it's been ten years on this one! Whoo! Football! Most watched television event in the world! Yeah! Um. Clydesdales! Actually, I have nothing against football. I'm not any more or less interested in it, nor do I understand the obession with it, as I do any other sport. They're all pretty stupid. Go Yankees!

America’s Next Top Model

Remember when being on television for ten years was a milestone? Remember when Seinfeld went off the air after season 9, a full season after they wanted to leave, because they didn't want to be the person at the party who stayed too long? I think this applies to just about any show on the air ten or more years (save the Law and Orders, and primetime fringe staple gameshows). Yes. All of them. Even the Simpsons. Top Model was boring and stupid to begin with. Is there anyone out there who can name 3 of the ten winning models? Can any guy name even one? That he hasn't masturbated to?

None of those anniversaries are what I want to focus on though. They're all worthy of some sort of recognition, but none of them completely encompass everything that is America like this final decathalon of annualities:

JARED THE SUBWAY GUY CELEBRATES TEN YEARS OF BEING...JARED THE SUBWAY GUY!!!!

How exactly does this encompass America?

The American Dream. Remember this? The American Dream used to be a life of long, hard work, taking all the overtime you could get, and hopefully being able to retire but the time you were 65.

Now the American Dream is:

Get rich from doing something you're supposed to be doing anyways.

Getting burned by coffee, slipping on ice, and not being 400 pounds are all things that are supposed to happen. I don't mean that they happen naturally, but when you pour coffee on yourself, you're supposed to get burned. You're not supposed to get paid for it. When you lose three hundred pounds, you're supposed to look better. You're not supposed to get paid for it.

If you take this, combine it with the fact that this get-rich quick scheme incorporates the New American Dream with the New American Fantasy: fast, cheap, and disgusting amounts of food that can be consumed with little to no accountability because it's "healthy" you get the American Pipedream. That's the dream that people have when they're home sucking down on the pipe (crack, hash, marijuana) and wondering why their lives aren't as good as other peoples'.

Congratulations on 10 years Jared. PT Barnum would applaud you - with one hand - while chowing down on a delicious footlong 7-grams-of-fat-sweet-onion-chicken-teriyaki in the other.

The TwoJacks Return

2007-10-12T12:35:00.000-07:00

Lady and gentleman. The Two Jacks in the Hole podcast is back. I really hope the two of you will tune in again and listen to our podcast. Starting Wednesday 10/21 you will be able to hear the TwoJacksintheHole podcast exclusively at PokerRoad.com. You will be able to stream it live or dowload it as a podcast. I suggest that one of you streams it and one of you downloads it, to keep our numbers up.

We're going to have phone lines, and an email address and all kinds of other shit. Which is fucking awesome.

For those of you unfamiliar with the TwoJacks podcast, a few things you should know coming in:

The Two Jacks do not negotiate with terrorists.
The Two Jacks do not carry any cash on their person.

That's it. Tune in. 10/21/07 - Pokerroad.com - BEATCH.

The Hitcher and the New York Yankees

2007-05-21T11:18:00.001-07:00

After a "quiet" bender on Friday night, I decided I needed to give my overworked liver a rest and spend the night in my apartment with the liquor cabinet dead-bolted - (by quiet bender I mean like a quiet scoring night for an NBA player. McGrady scores 32 while exhibiting the effort of a 17 point phone-it-in night. Somehow, without taking any shots, and without the express desire to get hammered, I ended up with spotty memories of at least two conversations I had that I was told lasted over an hour.)

Settling in for a flick seemed like the obvious choice of activities. I decided on "The Hitcher" (original, not the remake), but not before spending a solid 25 minutes reaffirming that even with The Premiere Package on direct TV, which offers over 600 channels, there is never anything worth watching on television.

The Hitcher follows a mid-twenties kid name Jim Halsey, played by C. Thomas Howell, as he is relentlessly stalked by an omnipresent, homicidal hitchhiker named John Ryder, played by Rutger Hauer. I actually enjoyed the film a lot. Though it may not be the greatest 105 minutes ever put on celluloid I couldn't help but chuckle with glee every time Ryder would impossibly reappear undetected at Halsey's latest stop and frame him for yet ANOTHER brutal multiple murder. I felt a little jipped by the promise of a "connection" between Halsey and Ryder that is never explained or even hinted to, unless of course you include the opening scene where Ryder gropes Halsey's junk in a gay charade to fool a cop at a roadblock, but other than that I give it a solid two dismembered thumbs up.

Which brings me to today. At 7:05 Eastern, the Red Sox open up a three game set against the New York Yankees in the Bronx. The Sox have been playing hardnosed, fundamentally sound baseball, tearing the cover off the ball, and making opposing teams look like they're up there swinging palm fronds. For this, they have earned sole possession of 1st place in the AL East by 10 1/2 games.

So why do I still feel like the Red Sox are Jim Halsey and the Yankees are John Ryder?

My friend Grasso answered thusly: "Because you're a worry wart." Never mind the fact that Grasso is the only person over the age of 10, and under the age of 70 currently using this term, he could still have a point. But more than likely he doesn't, and it's because I'm right. The Sox are Jim Halsey. We're 10 1/2 games up. We've won 5 of 6 heads up against the Yankees this season. So basically we've picked up the hitcher in pinstripes, he's held a switchblade to our throat, groped our crotch, yet we've managed to kick him out of our moving car and onto the highway. Unfortunately, he lived. Sure he's banged up, but he lived, and now he's pissed and looking for revenge, at which he has 13 more shots throughout the regular season. Starting tonight.

The Yanks, much like the hitcher only had a switchblade on them when we faced them the first six times. Their banged up starting rotation put them at risk, and we exploited this weakness each and every time out. Now they're a bit healthier, the road rash is starting to heal, and they no doubt have plans to drive a monster truck through a gas station, run us over, leave us covered in gasoline, and strike a match. We can't let them. Sports are about momentum. We have all the momentum going into this series, and a chance to put the bad guy down once and for all, or at least until they show up at the team hotel, kidnap our girlfriends and tie her legs to a wall, and her arms to a big rig, foot resting on the clutch.

The point is, in horror movies, as in sports, you gotta kick the bad guys while their down, because if history and genre convention have taught us anything, they will come back to get you. I want to see the Sox dial it up Jim Halsey third act style, right when her realizes that this will never end unless he takes matters into his own hands, and hijacks a couple of cop cars. This is the mutherfucker of mano-a-mano baseball battles. The rules are different. I say if you have to, have Tek punch A-Rod in his hyper-colored mug again. Even if it's completely at random. Anything to keep these guys the hungry, greedy, insatiable winning machine they've been all season. To hell with the people who say that this series lacks the drama of other Red Sox v. Yanks series. I submit that it's just as important, especially for the Red Sox.

It's not over.

We've only played 43 games this season, and while all of Red Sox nation SHOULD be pleased with the results SO FAR - John Ryder is still as homicidal and hell-bent on destruction as ever. Putting him down for good is the goal. 10 1/2 games is great. 13 1/2 is better, and if we don't get there by Wednesday, I'll be looking over my shoulder.

Schilling and Christ

2007-05-10T13:49:00.000-07:00

I am a die hard Red Sox fan and a fan of Curt Schilling's as well. However, I have a real problem with his apology to Barry Bonds. And I hate Barry Bonds.

Schilling's apology for his inflammatory remarks about Bonds, began, "The only perfect human to walk the face of the earth died a few thousand years ago, that much I know. I am far from perfect and make more than my share of mistakes, which is something I have no problem with because that’s part of being human."

I am a Jew, and so am not terribly offended by his invoking the name of his Lord in his apology. What I am, is just sickened by the hyperbole of it. You are a boneheaded baseball player making a boneheaded remark about another boneheaded baseball player. I am really struggling to see the comparison to Christ. Face it Curt. There is a list of about, I don't know, 1,000? 10,000? 1,000,000 less fallible people than you before you reach Jesus Christ.

How about, "Look, I'm no Wesley Autrey, but I'm not Lindsey Lohan either.

The real shit of it is, I think if Jesus were around today, he would completely dis on Barry Bonds, but I guess I agree with Curt in that he would probably be sure to keep his facts straight.

Video Blog - http://lajumpoff.wordpress.com

2007-04-23T11:55:00.000-07:00

Brand new video blog - http://lajumpoff.wordpress.com - Check it now. Funny videos to help you waste even more time at work.

Sonic

2007-03-16T09:57:00.000-07:00

Is it just me, or does anyone else think Sonic might make better use of the billions of dollars it spends on advertising, by opening a fucking store in a major metropolitan area instead of being exclusive to backwoods suburbs and prolific inbreeding zones?

I'm sorry if that sounds harsh, but I really want one of those breakfast burritos.

R.I.P - Brad Delp (1952 - 2007)

2007-03-09T19:58:00.000-08:00

Brad Delp, lead singer of "Boston," passed away today. He was 55 years old.

I have "more than a feeling" that Brad will be sorely missed.

"I'm just taking my time, and I'm movin' on. Don't forget about me - now that I am gone." --Boston

Crispy Chipotle Chicken Ciabatta - A Poem By Fred Mystery

2007-03-08T14:02:00.000-08:00

Tender all white meat chicken breast,
breaded,
and fried to perfection.

Chipotle, meet Ciabatta,
Ciabatta, meet chicken.
Chicken, meet Crispy,
Crispy meet chipotle.

Harmony.

Scott, meet tequila.
Only soup for dinner.

Beverly Hills.
The moon slung low,
what could be open?
Pop goes the weasel.

Ciabatta meet tequila.
Tequila meet chipotle.
Do you like each other?
I love you all.

Tasty meet delicious.
Delicious meet outrageous.
Outrageously delicious meet low prices.
Perfection.

Gastric pleasures
Cascading love juices.

Will we meet again...?

New Roommate...

2007-03-07T13:11:00.000-08:00

Over a month ago, my brother and I had a pretty decent fight that left him saying "I hate you. You're dead to me. I'm moving out." And me saying "Okey doke."

After speaking with numerous humans on the subject, it seems the vast majority of people are in agreement when it comes to their younger siblings:

It's their world - you're just standing in the way of more expensive Christmas presents.

Long story short: my brother did in fact move out. He sublet his room to a new guy, named "Sage." Sage went through the rigorous screening process of being the first and only person to respond to the Craig's List ad.

I was at first troubled by the addition of Sage to the house. I was a little worriesome about a kid who wanted to pay $850 to live in a very small room for only two months (this price does not reflect the "Financial Hardship" deal we were cutting my brother, although he is still paying us the $675 - he's just pocketing the difference by ripping off Sage (and the rest of us (also, despite this fact he still only gave me $673 for rent))).

Until last night, Sage had yet to sleep in the house. I'm going to chronicle what happened between last night and this morning, from my perspective, and then I'm going to go back and fill in the blanks, Memento Style.**

**My thanks to roommate Chris Grasso for his fact-checking and blank-filling this morning.

9:45PM - Get home. No one else here, but lots of lights on. Sage's room is still completely empty (including furniture).

10:00PM - Decide Grasso and Sam must have gone out somewhere together.

10:30PM - Can barely keep my eyes open.

12:55AM - Sam and Grasso come home. It sounds like they have a "Die Another Day" style fencing battle in most of the rooms of the house.

6:00AM - Wake up. Feels like I have the sniffles. Hit the snooze.

6:30AM - Wake up. Still have the sniffles, and a sore throat. Decide to set my alarm for 8:30AM.

7:15AM - Wake up. This time it's not my alarm, but it sounds like maybe a water-main broke somewhere upstairs. I momentarily think about checking on it, but, again I have the sniffles.

7:25AM - Water is still gushing, somewhere.

7:45AM - Footsteps outside my bedroom door. Very odd (my room is on its own floor and there is no reason for anyone else to be on it).

7:52AM - Someone is running around the house like Bob Nelson in his 1980's HBO Comedy stand-up special .

8:01AM - The outer door right next to my bedroom is slammed. Again, there is no reason for anyone to be using this door.

8:09AM - The outer door right next to my bedroom is slammed - again.

8:45AM - I attempt a shower. My towel is on the floor, and soaking wet, even though I haven't showered at home in three days.

8:55AM - On a whim, I check the outer doors to the house. All three are unlocked.

The Word According to St. Grasso:

-- Sage and other(s) (?) come home.
-- One or more sleep on the couch (again, no belongings in his room).
-- Sage runs the bathtub for 20-25 minutes this morning.
-- Bathroom is totally wet when Grasso goes to shower.
-- Sage walks in on Grasso when he's peeing.
-- Bathroom is totally dry when I wake up. Again: my towel, however, is totally wet.

Sleeping in the living room, flooding the bathroom, waking me up several times, leaving every door unlocked, and using my towel to clean up the mess - I would say this guy is not off to a very good start.

I'm just waiting for him to give me the ol' "If we got robbed, someone would take all my stuff too!" excuse.

According to my friend Shannon, when you spend time around a lot of strangers and weirdos, they tend to muck up your aura a little bit. As a result, when she needs a good aura cleansing, she burns sage.

Now, I don't want to sound threatening, and the lease is up in another month and a half but if things continue like this, I think my aura is going to get very, very dirty, and something just might have to get lit up.

What It Feels Like For A Girl....

2007-03-05T10:48:00.000-08:00

So this weekend I went to a gay bar. I usually have fun in gay bars. They're typically swanky, clean, and have pretty decent music playing. But most of all: they're gay. In the literal sense.

The definition of "gay."

I think there's something to be said about a group of people who are a) different, and therefore more accepting of others, and b) used to being forced to not care what other people think. As a result, I'm guess it's probably a lot easier for them to take on that whole "Dance like nobody's watching attitude," and in effect, they're usually cutting loose, getting drunk, dancing, being friendly, and trying to get laid.

I do usually, however, when I go out to gay bars, bring other gay friends and a few girls with me. Unforunately, this time - I only brought my trusty hetero life partner, Sam.

EXHIBIT A:

No, it was just me and Sam, you clowns, we were waiting for the rest of the gang. But, I think me standing there with Sam was a problem for many reasons.

1) Sam is very good looking. He's tall, slim, a good dresser, and sometimes shows a little chest when he goes out. Also, he's never had a girlfriend in the entire time I've known him (which is the better part of five years). So, I think he might actually be legally gay.

2) Since we were waiting for people, we were constantly looking around the bar to see if they had arrived yet. Also, the people we were meeting had a connection to one of the cocktail waitresses, and we had taken a bet to see which one she was. This bet resulted in a lot of watching things from afar, and yes, some pointing.

3) I don't look gay in any way. Bad personal hygiene. Bad sense of style. Potbelly. Yellow teeth. Hairlip. Triple chin. Cro-magnon forehead. Alright, maybe I'm being a little hard on myself, but the point is that I think I stick out like a sore thumb in a gay bar. I used to think this was the way to go, but I realized that me sticking out in the gay bar is just as bad as being the only girl in a sun dress at Big Wang's: it makes me want her even more.

4) I smile a lot of make a lot of eye contact.

Now, you know how they say that the commotion of a human being while he or she swims, is, in a shark's eyes, almost identical to what what sharks eat in nature. Well, in a gay bar, two guys looking around constantly, pointing, exposing their chests, and smiling at everyone looks almost identical to what gays eat in nature.**

** Dear Gays - It's not natural to be gay. It's a sickness, and it's all good because you'll either repent or go to hell.***

*** Dear Gays, - JUST KIDDING, GUYS!! You're FABULOUS!

Anyways, this blog is not about gays, or homosexuals. It's about a lesson I learned that night. Check the following conversation:

Joe: Shit. I've got to stop smiling and nodding at these people. Every time I do, I have to have one of them sidle up and try to hit on me. Then what do I do? Do I tell them "I'm not gay," right away and have them go "Dude, I was just talking to you, don't be such a homophobe, Jeb." Or do I just let them chat me up for a while, and eventually duck away to the bathroom? Then what if they think that's a signal to follow me? Why can't I just be friendly and make eye contact and smile at someone without them thinking it's indication that I want to hook up with them!?

Sam: Now you know exactly how every single girl feels every time she smiles or makes eye contact with you.

This comment really hit home with me. He was right. I can't think of the last time a girl smiled or made eye contact with me, that I didn't make a big deal about it - at least in my head. Granted, most of the time when I approach a strange female, it is just to talk, but I started to think about just how hard it is to be an attractive woman sometimes.

I've mentioned this to a few of my attractive friends before, and they usually think I'm being sarcastic, but goddamn! To have to go through life not being able to make eye contact with strangers for fear that a brief glance while you were accidentally thinking of something funny may have unwittingly set into motion a barrage of one-liners, bad jokes, and creepy physical contact (arm grabbing, and small-of-back-touching) - only to be eventually called a bitch, tease, or skank!? Jesus Christ! No thanks!

I wish there were a way to advertise this, other than this blog. I want to wear a t-shirt when I go out that says "I just want to talk." Like I'm some sort of hostage negotiator, who just specializes in talking to girls and not trying to get anything out of it at the end. As much as I am the guy who will talk to anyone, no matter how intimidating, I am also the guy who doesn't ask for phone numbers, and I certainly never go in for a kiss.

So, to all the girls who might have accidentally made eye contact with me over the past ten years, I apologize for taking that as cause to come talk to you. I don't know why those sorts of things even still register with me.

The only real relationship I've ever had as an adult began with eye contact (which I did not allow myself to consider to be meaningful), then went to exaggerated winking (which I was sure was meant for someone behind or next to me), then went to waving, and eventually turned into a full-blown WHAT-ARE-YOU-STUPID? COME-OVER-HERE-AND-TALK-TO-ME" wave. Granted the next day when I called her (yes, I was the guy who called the next day) it turned out she had gotten too drunk to even remember what I looked like, yet a year and a half later, that eye-contact still somehow ended up being the most I've ever loved anyone.

But that's the whole point. It wasn't just eye contact. She made it abundantly clear she wanted to talk to me. Yet, even since then, I still try to convince myself that accidental eye contact wasn't all that it was.

"No, dude. She definitely smiled."
"No. She didn't. She winced because you were staring at her."

Well, now I believe the naysayers a little more. And I have the gays to thank for that.

Worst Blog Ever.

2007-02-16T09:27:00.000-08:00

There are two quotes I really like about having to listen to other peoples' dreams:

"You dreams are fuckin' boring. That's why you're asleep when you're having them." --Ted Alexandro

"I hate listeining to peoples dreams. It's like flipping through a stack of photographs, if I'm not in any of them and nobody's having sex then I don't care." --It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia

I don't really think I could express my feelings any better than the aforementioned quotes, so what I'll do instead, is tell you about my dream last night anyways. Don't worry, it'll be brief.

Last night I dreamt that Jerry Seinfeld was the President of the United States, and as a result, he named me the Pun-master General.

How did I acheive such a title?

Well, when I arrived for the casting session, I was the only one who showed up with a fishing pole.

Ok, so I didn't dream this. I should probably be put to death even thinking of a pun so bad, let alone publishing it. But it should be a punny death. Maybe electric chair?

L.A. Fit-Files Volume 2

2007-02-15T15:55:00.000-08:00

Some quick bullet points about the men's locker room facilities at the gym:

-- There are no curtains at L.A. Fitness on Hollywood Blvd. In this day and age have we not progressed past concentration camp style showering in brand new fitness facilities? L.A. Fit-schwitz, I say.

-- In the adjoining room (where the toilets and urinals reside) there are partitions, walls, doors, and door locks. No full nudity takes place in this room. Is this ironic, or just whatever it is everyone thinks ironic means?

-- Free soap in the showers. The same exact kind they have dripping onto the sinks in the bathroom at Burger King.

-- No one is attracted to naked men. Not even women. Wait. Gay dudes.

-- I'm not homophobic at all, but I make a lot of eye contact and have a multicolored towel. I feel like something about this combination should concern me.

-- I have a great deal of admiration for the guys who have no problem walking around Gentleman Godiva style at the gym**. It's the exact same type of admiration I have for guys who fart in public or have sex with horribly unattractive women. I admire them for the fact that they can take something so disgusting, and out of sheer attitudinal willpower - are actually able to convince you that it's cool. "Yeah, I fuckin' did that! That's right." They totally own it. And they own my respect.

**Dear Gays -- You don't count.

-- I do not yet "own" being naked at the gym. I am, however, frequenting the gym with the purpose in mind that I might start spending more time naked. So I guess showering for the entire world to see is a good start.

Rap Warz 2007

2007-02-12T11:29:00.000-08:00

After the Grammy's last night, I got to thinking a bit about music. After seeing the winner of "Best Rap Album" and having all the nominees sound just like bells and whistles to me, I was reminded of something my brother always says:

"I know you don't like rap, but you gotta listen to this!"

He insists on making me listen to rap "punchlines."

As far as I'm concerned, when you start a sentence with "I know you hate ____" and end it with "but you gotta try ____," it had better be fucking amazing.

I know you hate sushi, but you gotta try the Shu-Toro at Kiokawa.
I know you hate sci-fi, but you gotta see Dark City.
I know you hate anal, but you've got to try these beads!

Here are a few examples of the beauty, poetry, and genius that are supposed to make me like rap:

"I get more butt than an ash-tray"- Biggie

"I pack heat like I am the oven door"- Jay-Z

"I push the mayonnaise colored Benz, I call it Miracle Whip."- Kanye

These rap lyrics are neither beauty, nor poetry. They are not genius. They are, at best, moderately clever - but this is the best rap has to offer!

Scott and I discovered this today as we were having a conversation and I stumbled upon one by accident. He fired one back, and before we knew it, we had:

RAP WARZ 2007!!!!!!

Joe: You might as well be an alcoholic astronaut because you overuse the spacebar.

Scott: Joe Staples, more tons than a gastric bypass surgery, ya heard a me?

Joe: That's right, I got more rhymes than Leann on fertility drugs. I drop more beats than Tito Ortiz. I smoke mo' niggas than Lisa Lampanelli.

Scott: Yo, Yo, Yo, son, yo check my shit. Make sure my shit is hot. Like mutherfucking flapjacks up in this bitch, yo, yo. Hotter than a mutherfucking dutch oven on the sun up in this mutherfucker...what... check my mic

Joe: For realz yo, Joey Stapes in the house, I got more bling than a Korean guy shouting "BRING!" HOLLLAAA!!!

Scott: Watch me Shred Joe like half of a Ninja Turtle nemesis' name, then watch me maim...Joe-y the whack M-C, like I'm slapping the Irish out of a fast food chain.

Joe: Huff thinks he's got me, he must be high, he's more whipped than Jim Caviezel's topping for pumpkin pie.

Scott: Oh, but I was just getting started like an NBA rookie. I've got rhymes for more times than Joe gets butt nookie.

Joe: Bring it, LeBron James - I got more skills than Puffy's got names.

Scott: Names you may have many, but so does the devil, my rhymes are like heaven, bringing you to a whole new level.

Joe: Your shit is whack, don't fake the funk, I got more props than Carrot Top's trunk!

Scott: Joe's completely whack on the A-I-M, like Helen Keller in the biathalon. What bitch, taste my mutherfucking jumpoff.

Joe: --long pause-- Sorry. I am also working and arguing with my roommate.

Scott: HA HA HA! That rhyme sucked.

Joe: Yeah, apparently, someone changed my favorite channels on the tv.

Scott: That is the worst rap punchline ever.

Joe: All I can say is I'm going to kill that little fairy, I love high definition more than Snoop with a dictionary.

Scott: Yo, hold up the cable guy is here, he don't pay for Rent like he ain't a mutherfucking broadway stage manager and shit. Yeah booooy.

Scott: Don't forget that he's your boy, and that's yob spelled backwards, and if you ever need a yob, you always have a backwards boy.

Joe: I'm pretty sure the nicest thing he ever contributed to the house was a Quizno's sub.

Scott: To your dome, and that's emod spelled backwards, and if you ever need an emod, you always have your mutherfucking DOME PIECE.

Joe: I don't want to do this anymore.

Scott: Yeaaahhhh, boyeeee.

Joe: Now I know why rap causes violence. I'm swear to fucking Christ if I get home and that tv's not working right, I'm going buy a gun.

Alright, so maybe rap isn't as easy as it looks.

Drivers Wanted?

2007-02-09T09:45:00.000-08:00

On my way to work today, I found myself thinking about metaphors and adages:

"Drivers Wanted"
"If you're not the lead dog, the view never changes"
"Don't take a backseat to life"

Et cetera, et cetera.

Then I started trying to think about the best times in my life. I'll give a moment for you to also do so. Ok. Good. Now, how many of those stories begin with "I was driving...?"

Then I started thinking about some of the worst times in my life, and quite a few of those begin with "I was driving..." "I had to drive..." They're always stories about how you didn't get to drink, or how you got stuck in traffic, or how you went all the way to Chula Vista and you forgot the tickets to the Carrot Top show, and you had to drive all the way back West Covina to get them.

No story is ever made better by being the driver. Fender benders, speeding tickets, road rage - all fun if you're the passenger, and it's awesome if you're in the backseat.

So on my way into work this morning, I was thinking of those phrases about "being in the driver's seat," and I realized what a lonely and solitary existence that is most of the time. Sure, you get to where you want to go at your own pace, with no one to blame but yourself. Things from the backseat are a lot more fun. A speeding ticket in the front seat is a week-long stomach ache, a speeding ticket from the backseat is actually almost kinda funny. A flat tire in the front seat is a huge pain in the ass. A flat tire from the backseat is a bit of an adventure. Conversations to pass the time, throwing and yelling shit out the window, slap fights, maybe even a secret handjob - all things far more likely to happen in the backseat.

And then I got sad.

Think of what being in the backseat means! The backseat usually means that this particular vehicle is so crammed full of your friends, that you've got to use the auxiliary seating compartment in the back! (On certain occasions it can mean you're in a limousine. And, seriously, how many of your greatest memories are from times when limos are involved?)

I got sad because I realized it's been months, maybe even years, since I've spent time around enough of my friends to warrant us all being crammed into one car. Don't get me wrong, we've all been around each other, but we all take seperate cars, show up at seperate times, and it's usually for seperate singular activities.

These days we all meet at the predetermined location five to zero minutes before we're supposed to get there. Nearly as many cars as there are bodies. We all exchange pleasantries, handshakes, high-fives, and hugs - but it quickly ends as the movie/show/Superbowl/concert is about to begin. At event's end, there is some discussion of letting the good times roll, but the good times quickly check the real times on their cell phone, and one by one - the good times roll out the door - and back into their drivers' seats. Drivers, after all, are wanted.

Long gone are the days when we go out together, get drunk together, eat together, and pass out together. Long gone are the days of the Vegas road trip. Long gone are the days of hanging out early, staying all day long, without a predetermined exit time.

Long gone are the days of riding in the backseat.

The good news is this: We're all the drivers, we're all the lead dog, the scenery constantly changes, and no one's taking us anywhere we don't want to go.

Drivers wanted?

I just want a ride in the backseat. I'll even take bitch.

L.A. Fit-Files - Introduction/Volume 1

2007-02-08T09:56:00.000-08:00

As some of you may or may not know, I've been hitting the gym pretty hard since the New Year. After seeing all of the pictures from Christmas and New Year's where I had more chins than a Chinese phonebook, I decided that if I ever wanted to have sex again, I was going to have to get my ass into shape. Then I realized that if I got into really good shape, I could have a lot of sex, and as a result I've been going 5 days a week, nonstop, since the beginning of January.

Ultimately, my goal is to be in such good shape that I no longer have to be witty.

With all this time spent in the gym, I was shocked when more than a few weeks went by without me witnessing any awful, L.A. gym behavior. Just when I thought that maybe I was judging the people of Los Angeles a bit harshly, and I was a little disappointed in myself for thinking so negatively of people, L.A. eventually came through for me, in a big way.

It was like the attitude had somehow gotten clogged up in a kink in the negativity pipeline, and all of a sudden it all came spewing out.

In addition, I have such an aversion to any sort of exercise in which a score isn't involved that I literally have out of body experiences while at the gym. As a result, I come up with some pretty funny shit. Wait. I guess if I'm working out for the purpose of sex, then I guess a score is involved any way you slice it. Moving on.

So as opposed to my other blogs, which are usually quite long without nearly enough payoff (like this one), I will be sharing with you, the readers, brief tales and snippets from the exercising community - both of the insane ideas flying through my brain, and shining examples of the epitome of horrible L.A.

I call them, the L.A. Fit-Files.

L.A. Fit-Files - Volume #1

I'm not going to lie. I'm a total looky-loo when I'm at the gym (as far as I know, I'm not one of the creepy ones...). Well, as a result of this, I made a rule for myself:

While doing abs, if I look up and see a girl that I want to have sex with, I must add 5 extra reps to whatever exercise I'm doing. This has had two effects.

1) I do an average of 30-40 extra reps per day.

2) I have begun to seriously reconsider my standards.

Text Messages Are Fucking Up My Shit...

2007-02-07T16:32:00.000-08:00

I have to admit that until now, I was a big fan of the text messaging.

As my brother put it: "It eliminates awkward pauses."

About 8 months ago, I went out and bought a Treo Palm Pilot Phone Camera Camcorder Day-Planner mp3 Player Internet Device.

I realized that with this device that I could now not only take photos of my penis, but I could schedule it, video record it, and upload it to YouTube. As amazing as all that was, I really only bought it for one reason: it had a full-sized keyboard.

I was constantly texting on my crappy old PM-8200 (pictured below). Christ. Look at it. Gross. It's like the kinds of phones they have in disgusting, poor third world countries like Africa, or something.

As antiquated as it was, I felt as if texting on that thing was corrupting my brain as well. First of all, I don't believe in text abbreviations. They're fine for other people, but I treat them like I treat most drugs. I'm afraid once I start using them, I'll never stop. First it's "How r u?" and the next thing you know I'm writing a screenplay where characters "h8" each other one second and "r 2gether 4eva" the next.

The only other alternative to the end of my grammatical life as I knew it, was to use T9. T9 is the computer program that tries to figure out what word you're trying to spell and makes it for you. You know the one. The one that doesn't have the word "movies" but does have words like "moistiew" and "hubbad."

And then if you weren't paying attention, you could easily send messages that contained the wrong words. Like "he" and "if."

I was actually pretty ok with T9 until I realized that every time I got drunk, I would text my ex girlfriend saying the following:

"I wish I could kick your puppy."

It takes a second. Figure it out before moving on. I'll wait.

In the end, I decided I needed a phone with a full keyboard, so I ended up getting the Treo. I was excited. I was basically buying a $400 texting machine!

In the beginning, it was awesome. All your texts get arranged in little conversations, much like IM's. I was in love.

For a day.

Come to find out, that with Treos, (as instructed by my customer service agent) every time you go somewhere that you don't get service, you need to turn off the phone, remove the battery, and use the stylus to press the reset button in the back. After that you'll "probably" get all your text messages.

I have Sprint. If anyone else has Sprint, you'll know just how frequently you will lose service. See, Sprint built all of their towers in such a way that there are thousands of tiny 3'x3' areas in Los Angeles in which their coverage does not overlap. Many times I will not realize that I have lost service and regained it, because my phone's been in my pocket the whole time. As a result, I find myself resetting my phone several times a day, like a crazed lunatic, if I've gone too long without receiving a text. Sometimes I get none. Sometimes I get 10.

In the last month or so, the problem has gotten worse. This week alone, I've had two people tell me they didn't get my texts, one tell me that I didn't get hers, and one who said she got the same text seven times. This is probably the worst thing in the world that can happen to someone like me.

I have FINALLY, in my 25th year, started to learn how to "play it cool." And text messaging is totally fucking my shit up.

I used to be able to tell when someone wanted me to fuck off from their general lack of response. Now, I'm a total basket case. Am I missing any texts? Did my last text get received? Cool people do not think such things.

Cool people say "fuck if I care."

Cool people do not take apart their phones twice a day to hit the reset button.

Cool people do not text their friends and then call them to see if they've gotten them.

Cool people do not call Sprint and have the following conversation:

Joe: I don't think I'm getting all my text messages.
Sprint: Ok, sir, what makes you think that?
Joe: Well, I was having a conversation with this girl and I just stopped getting texts.
Sprint: So she told you she sent you messages that you later did not receive?
Joe: Umm, no, but the conversation was going really well. I'm pretty sure she's into me. I don't think she would just stop in the middle like that. I mean, I had just asked her if she wanted to come over and watch a mov-- Oh. I'll call you back.

Cool people are way too busy for that. They're way too busy having sex, and hiking Runyon Canyon, and having "drinking parties."

I guess the more things change the more they stay the same. I've always had an excuse. Before this, it was wondering if "junk e-mail" was filtering out my messages and before that it was "the shoddy answering machine" that maybe ate the message, and before that it was "not having call waiting." I can only tell how many calls from girls I "missed" because my Mom wouldn't get off the phone...

Today it's the same story. Honest. If it weren't for text messaging fucking up my shit, I'm positive that I would not be writing this blog. Instead, either the bartender from Skybar, or the trapeze dancer from White Lotus, or the cute teller from the bank - one of them - would have answered my texts by now, and she would instead be here, watching The Goonies with me, and it would have been quite romantic.

I guess I'll just keep sending them till one finally goes through.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Comment Box

2007-02-06T18:08:00.000-08:00

Anyone can comment on our blog or podcast now. You no longer need to be a registered member of blogger.com. Go ahead and bust our chops. Attach comments on the podcast to this post. This is our comment box. We have an angry overweight chick who checks it.

Chris Grasso is a Modern Day Robin of the Hood

2007-01-29T23:51:00.000-08:00

And that's not just because he wears a lot of hoodies.

Hoodie: Side View

Hoodie: Rear View

My roommate, Chris Grasso, is one of my closest friends. I lived with him once in college, and I live with him again now. He's truly one of those kids who can just put a smile on your face, even if you don't know why.

The Mark: Grasso: Making Us All Smile.

Chris' one drawback, if any, is that he is, well, um, a bit frugal. Some might say that he is just careful with his money.

This week, at the risk of missing the first few minutes of 24, Chris Grasso, for the first time in a LONG time, envoked the 3rd Commandment of Guy Friends: "You Fly, I Buy."

Taco Bell: The Unwitting Participant

Chris Grasso will not be doing this again for a long, long time.

Why?

Because in his blind passion to consume both Taco Bell and Jack Bauer at the same time, he made the mistake of giving me his debit card.

Big Mistake.

If there's one thing I'm really good at, as a friend, it's keeping quiet about something that bugs me, and then eventually retaliating in an immature, irritating, but ultimately harmless way.

In this case, I have been irritated by Chris' frugality for months now. He may or may not be aware of this, as I don't really ever confront him about it, though I do make snide comments fairly regularly. If not, I'm sure he's aware of it now.

Here's what Grasso asked me to order for him:

2 Cheesy Gordita Crunches
1 Cheese Quesadilla
1 Grilled Stuft Burrito

This is indicated by the top half of the receipt:

Receipt: Very Bottom Heavy

This isn't meant to make Grasso sound like a fatass. We do this whenever we go to Taco Bell. In much the same way I like to date girls who have small hands - in order to make my penis look bigger - we like to over-order at Taco Bell. It makes us feel like bigshots.

Joe Stapleton: Taco Millionaire

Luckily I had my trusty roommate/sidekick/hetero life partner, Sam, with me to asssit in this. I will say right now that Sam's first, second, and third reactions to this plan were "We shouldn't do this, Joe." But Sam also thinks it's a bad idea to meet girls off of Casual Encounters on Craig's List, so what the fuck does he know?

Sam: Anti-Internet Dating, Pro-Not Saying No to Joe

Upon closer inspection, the bottom half of the receipt, although not eloquently worded, tells the tale of the extra THIRTY items we ordered, in an attempt to run up Grasso's tab to over $50.

Mission: Accomplished

After ordering, we hit a slight snafu with the cashier. Apparently you need to know someone's pin number in order to use a debit card at Taco Bell. After a quick call to Grasso, whose belabored breathing and irritated recitation of the four numbers quickly snuffed out any flames of regret I might have had, we had our order, and we were away.

Hector: Taco Bell Employee of the Decade

Oh, and in case you've never before seen this many digits ($58.02) on the display at the second window of a Taco Bell Drive through:

Sadly, I have.

Disposable Camera: Fucking Up My Blog

While initially I would have been satisfied to just see the look on Grasso's face when he got his bank statement and saw that I had spent $58.02 at Taco Bell, I realized that this plan had to have two parts. Wasting all that food would have been a bigger sin than any amount of frugality.

In addition to buying dinner for Sam, myself, and my other roommate, John - Grasso was also going to be providing a delicious, albeit not terribly healthy, meal for as many of Los Angeles' less fortunate souls as we could find.

Sadly, it is at this point that the photo blogging loses some steam. While I think it might have been entertaining to see some of LA's more personable transients thanking Grasso with a thumbs-up in photo form, something seemed just a bit exploitative about asking someone if he or she wanted food, and then asking for a picture in return. Comitting fraud and stealing from my friends is one thing. Photographing the homeless is another.

Having had the foresight to ask for extra bags, Sam and I proceeded to rearrange most of the food into smaller "grab bags" of Taco Bell, careful not to include any of our own food, lest we be found out upon returning home with the wrong amount of food. We then set out to find some homeless folks.

Sam: Locked and Loaded

Surprisingly, we had to drive around for quite awhile trying to find these folks, who are seemingly everywhere when you're not looking for them. Eventually we decided to drive from the Valley, back to Hollywood, where we were sure to find some folks. Here is a list of things that also surprised me, and they may surprise you too:

** Some homeless people aren't hungry.
** Some homeless people don't like Taco Bell.
** Asking someone if they're hungry and want some extra Taco Bell is difficult to say without coming off as:
condescending - "Hey! You hungry? You want some Taco Bell?"
suspicious - "Hey, buddy. Are ya hungry? You want some Taco Bell?"
threatening - "Hey! You want some of this Taco Bell?"
reality TV - "Hey, we have this friend, and he gave us ALL this extra Taco Bell!"
** Some homeless people are apparently on the Atkins Diet.
**It is hard to tell the difference between hipster and homeless. Which leads to:
**Not everyone who walks around Hollywood at night is homeless.

I have to give Sam a ton of credit. He didn't really sign on for a 90-minute Taco Bell excursion, or to be an accomplice for bank fraud. Since he was the guy forced to accost all of these folks, he had a pretty tough job.

Sam: "Delicate Question Asker" of the Year

Here's a conversation that happened a least a dozen times while we scoured Hollywood for hungry people:

Joe: How 'bout him? Is that guy homeless?
Sam: Joe, just because someone is black doesn't mean he's homeless!

In the end, we managed to give away all the extra food, and make it home just as 24 was ending. I had to tell a few white lies in order to have the time to publish this blog, but hopefully he won't be too mad when he reads this.

Sam: No Remorse

I snapped this picture, just so I'll always remember happy Grasso, just in case he never forgives me.

Grasso: We Had Some Good Times at Least, Didn't We?

Someone was once quoted as saying that he's "stingier than a Black Jew's tip at an Old Country Buffet." I don't think that at all. I just think that splurging and being an idiot with money just isn't hardwired into his system. He just doesn't really think of it.

So on this particular occasion, I thought of it for him.

We love you, buddy.

Grasso: One Love

State of the Union

2007-01-29T22:02:00.001-08:00

Last Tuesday night President George W. Bush delivered his State of the Union Address. In his speech, which lasted a shade under 50 minutes, President Bush outlined his plans for progress in America to his colleagues on capitol hill, a television audience comprised of a heavily divided nation, and Dikembe Mutombo.

I've been working on developing a political conscience over the past 6 months or so, and I'm informed enough at this point to give my opinions, even a review perhaps, of the address. But I won't. It suffices to say that as far as speeches go, the president did okay; if you can excuse the 500 or so slip ups, and the fact that everyone already knows that he is completely incompetant at everything from the job of commander-in-chief to eating a bag of Rold Gold. Numerous times throughout the course of the address I found myself asking, "Is this really the President of our country?" Unfortunately the answer was always yes. However, as I watched the President fumble through the address like Stevie Wonder through Pan's Labyrinth, it became clear why; he knows his audience.

Here's Proof:

Vocabulary Every President Should Know if He/She Is Hoping to Win Votes in the Red States:

Nucyaler = This is the same as nuclear, only pronounced wrong. It can also be written nuke'yeller and used to command someone to put a golden retriever in the microwave.

IN-surance = This is the same as insurance, except you prounounce it in such a way as to let people know that the "surance" is going IN, not out.

Vee-hickle = Out here in L.A. we call this a car. Bush of course used this term most often when talking about our need to explore alternative fuels and lessen our dependance on foreign oil, and then to punctuate the topic of issuing temporary work visas to immigrants when he said, "Of course, this means ther'll be even more Mexicans driving around without Veehickle IN-surance." No, he didn't actually say that. Cheney made him cut it.

Randomness:

Most of Bush's constituents enjoy the randomness of life. And by randomness of life I of course mean the ability to choose from a variety of fried meats warmed over sterno for only $4.99, and the contestants' choice of cases on "Deal or No Deal." With this in mind Bush chose his "distinguished guests" totally at random. Case and point: about 45 minutes in to his speech Bush takes a sip of his water and then utters the most puzzling words in the history of the SOTUA. "Dikembe Mutombo..." After saying the name of this aging NBA star and prolific shot blocker, Bush took a nice long pause, giving me enough time to look at Alexandra and say, "Oh my god, he's losing his mind." I truly thought we were witnessing the end of Dubbya right then and there. Why on earth would Bush say "Dikembe Mutombo"? Where is he going with this? Is he going to announce the rest of the Houston Rockets lineup, or unveil a plan to station Mutombo atop the statue of liberty where he will keep the country safe by swatting out of the sky missiles aimed at U.S. targets? All of this zipped around my skull until he finished his thought, "...grew up in Africa amid great poverty." Yes, of course. It all makes sense now. NO! Why the fuck is Dikembe Mutombo one of Bush's guests at the State of the Union address? No offense to Dikembe, but he isn't even relevant in basketball anymore, let alone politics.

And as if that wasn't puzzling enough, Bush followed up his minute and half long mini-bio of Deek, which by the way ended with the President's proclimation that he is, "proud to call this son of the Sudan, a citizen of the United States of America," with the introduction and lauding of the creator of "Baby Einstein," which to my understanding is nothing more than rudimentary animation set to the sound of classical music tracks. It's almost like Dick Cheney walked into the Oval Office with one of those $10 impulse buy coffee table books from Barnes and Nobel, and was like, "Hey, Dubbya. If you could invite anyone living or dead to your State of the Union Address, who would it be?" And Bush responded, "Well, Dick. That's a tough one. I guess I'd have to say... Dikembe Mutombo... and, damn, Dick, this sure is hard. Hmm. Dikembe Mutombo, and OH YEAH! That woman who created Baby Einstein. I love Baby Einstein." Okay, maybe the Baby Einstein inventor wasn't such a bad use of an invite. Hell, if Baby Einstein existed back when George was eating paint chips and being dropped on his head, maybe we wouldn't be dealing with a troop surge right now.

All told, with the exception of Dikembe Mutombo and the fact that for the first time the Speaker of the House was "Madame Speaker" - by the way 10:1 Bush thought he was getting away with calling Nancy Pelosi a female pimp - the State of the Union Address looked and sounded like nearly every other State of the Union Address I've ever seen. That said, here is a final summary of the evening's events.

State of the Union Address - Minutes:

Bush covers the well-worn SOTUA territory of social security, medicare, and national security - 3 min 30 sec.

Applause - 45:00

I take that back. I forgot about Dikembe.

Bush covers the well-worn SOTUA territory of social security, medicare, and national security - 2 minutes

Applause 45:00

Totally unexpected fellating of Dikembe Mutombo - 1:30 seconds.

Goodnight, and God Bless.

Welcome to the Future!

2007-01-26T15:09:00.000-08:00

It is 2007. Two-thousand-and-seven!

I started thinking about that today. And to look at it more closely. I started to think, "whoah, we're only a few years away from 2010."At that point, it begins to seem less like reality, and instead started resemble the kind of date you'd see in a science fiction movie.

"In the year 2007..."

And it got me to thinking about science fiction movies, and the technology and inventions and wonderments we're supposed to have. So I did a little research. And let me tell you something, we've been getting fucking gypped.**

**Dear Gypsies -- If you are offended by this, I apologize. But maybe you should try not being such fucking fraudulent cheats.

Movie: 2001: A Space Odyssey
Year Released: 1968

Predicted Reality: In the year 2001 (duh), with the help of a supercomputer as smart as a human, five men take to the moon seeking the "monolith," holding the secrets to the next phase in human evolution.

Actual Reality: In the year 2001, with the help of supercomputers, men take down their pants, exposing their moons, seeking internet porn, holding the secrets to the next phase in human masturbation.

Prediction's Validity: Story checks out.

Movie: Escape from New York
Year Released: 1981

Future Prediction: In the year 1998, a wall has been erected around the island of Manhattan, which now exists purely as an enormous, maximum-security prison. The government enlists in the aid of a criminal to rescue the President, as well as to recover a politically sensitive audio cassette tape, when Air Force One goes down inside.

Actual Reality: In the year 1998, the government enlists in the aid of a criminal to rescue the President's reputation when a White House Intern goes down inside. Cassette tapes, however, are being fast replaced by compact discs.

Prediction's Validity: False.

Movie: Robocop
Year Released: 1987

Predicted Reality: In the year 1997, Detroit has become a cesspool of crime and violence in the wake of economic collapse. With millions of dollars in taxpayer money, the Detroit Police department acquires a cybernetic soldier.

Actual Reality: In the year 1997, Detroit has become a cesspool of crime and violence in the wake of economic collapse. With millions of dollars in taxpayer money, the Detroit Police department acquires new squadcars with power seats and windows.

Prediction's Reality: Close enough.

Movie: Conquest of the Planet of the Apes
Year Released: 1972

Predicted Reality: In the year 1991, after being enslaved by humans, apes revolt in a violent revolution.

Actual Reality: In the year 1991, the Nintendo Robot, after being enslaved by humans, revolts by never working to begin with.

Prediction's Reality: Not even close.

Movie: Timecop
Year Released: 1994

Future Prediction: In the year 2004, time travel exists, and a corrupt politician devises a scheme to use it in order to make himself President, forcing our country to respond to this crisis with the best they have to offer - Jean Claude Van Damme.

Actual Reality: In the year 2004, Joe Stapleton witnesses Jean Claude Van Damme arguing with his girlfriend about the price of socks at a Robinson's May clearance sale (this is completely true), meanwhile a corrupt politician inexplicably becomes President (again).

Prediction's Validity: I think I may have stumbled onto something.

If this blog gets taken down by the GOP - somebody get Van Damme on the horn...

Little Miss Unexpressed Thought

2007-01-22T09:45:00.000-08:00

It's really hard for me to do the group "let's watch a movie" thing. I don't really see the point.

For most people, I think what they really mean when they say they want to watch a movie, is that they want to play the "Movie Quote Game" or the "Movie Game." I don't think they actually want to watch a movie. They want to quote lines from movies, and talk about all the other movies various actors and actresses have been in.

I think what most people actually want to do, is sit around on The Internet Movie Database and talk about all the movies someone has been in:

"Who's that old guy? What else has he been in?"
"He's in all those Wes Anderson movies. You know, like the one with Cate Blanchett."
"Was she the one who was in that movie with Kevin Spacey?"
"No, that was Laura Linney. You know the one who's in that new movie with Ryan Phillipe."
"He was saw awesome in that movie with Benicio Del Toro."
"Did you know his first movie was Big Top Pee-Wee?"

ENOUGH!!! We just missed three minutes of the movie we're currently watching. The problem is that I know most of the answers to these questions, and it also bugs me to have to sit there and listen to people get them wrong.

Herein lies the problem for me. I don't see any point to watching a movie, but for one of three reasons:

1) There is a gratuitous amount of sex/nudity.
2) I've seen it one or more times before, and I like it.
3) I've never seen it before, and I want to.

The point is that I usually want to watch the movie.

In the first case, it's pretty self-explanatory why groups don't work, and I like to watch alone. Or at the very least under a blanket. Come to think of it, a group might actually work, but it would then begin to closely resemble the kind of movie I'm talking about.

For the second, when talking about a group setting, it's usually some "go-to" movie like Office Space, Super Troopers, or Wet Hot American summer, during which what erupts is a battle to see who can belt out the (usually wrong) lines the fastest. Even though this is pretty excruciating, since I already know all the (correct) lines - I can usually deal with it because I'm not really missing anything. I've seen them all a hundred times.

The third case is what occurred last night.

My roommate and two of his girlfriends all wanted to watch "Little Miss Sunshine." This is a movie I've been meaning to see for a while, and just haven't gotten around to. I think even though I wanted to see it, when multiple people tell me I have to see a particular movie, I tend to drag my feet a bit. I still have never seen Schindler's List.

So what was my response to my roommates request to watch? "Absolutely not."
Girl #1: "Have you ever seen it before?"
Joe: "No."
Girl #1: "Ohmygod. You have to see it."
Joe: "I know. I want to. I've heard it's very good. I just--"

I just know how much you guys talked during the credits to Mallrats the other night. I can't imagine what I'm in for here.

Sam: "--It's cool, guys. Let's just watch something else."
Joe: "No, no. It's fine. I don't want to break up the party. I'll watch."

I will give my review of it now: I think it might have been pretty decent. I don't know because I missed a lot of it. But luckily, I was able to salvage the script for most of the movie that I did see.

And that movie was entitled "Little Miss Unexpressed Thought."

INT. - JOE'S LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

REBECCA
Seriously, you guys are going to love this movie.

DIANE
Oh, Steve Carrel is in this? I think I'm in love with him.

SAM
Do you know how I know you're gay?

REBECCA
He's gay in this movie.

DIANE
Do you guys ever watch The Office?

REBECCA
Oh my God, that show is so funny.

DIANE
This movie totally has an I Heart Huckabees feel to it. I like it.

ON THE SCREEN, JOE HAPPENS TO HEAR SOMETHING ABOUT NINE STEPS AND A HOSPITAL.

CUT TO:

INT. JOE'S LIVING ROOM - A FEW MINUTES LATER

REBECCA
Don't you just love this house? Look at how the chairs don't even match.

DIANE
And she's giving everyone Sprite!

SAM
Those glases are from McDonald's. I remember those.

DIANE
Oh, we had the Garfield ones. We still do.

SAM
Really? I don't remember those.

DIANE
Yeah, the big orange cat, you know?

SAM
I still have some of the old Happy Meal Toys.

THE TELEVISION SCREEN MENTIONS SOMETHING ABOUT A LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE COMPETITION. JOE GETS UP TO GO TO THE BATHROOM HOPING THE CONVERSATION ABOUT MCDONALDS SOUVENIR GLASSWARE WILL END BY THE TIME HE'S BACK.

CUT TO:

INT. JOE'S LIVING ROOM - A FEW MINUTES LATER

REBECCA
I'm pretty sure the Mom is British.

DIANE
Really? What else is she in?

REBECCA
The Sixth Sense, but all those British movies like Bridget Jones' Diary.

DIANE
Wow. She does a great American accent.

REBECCA
Clive Owen does a pretty good one.

DIANE
Jude Law's really sucks. He was so bad in I Heart Huckabees.

REBECCA
I liked that movie.

DIANE
I hate the Dad is this.

REBECCA
Don't worry. You'll like him by the end.

CUT TO:

INT. JOE'S LIVING ROOM - A FEW MINUTES LATER

REBECCA
Oh my God, she is so cute.

SAM
So cute.

DIANE
So cute.

REBECCA
I think you know the Grandpa is going to
die from that tree poster in the background.

DIANE
You do?

REBECCA
Yeah, that tree symbolizes death. There
is such great symbolism in this movie.

SAM
The Grandpa dies?

REBECCA
Yeah, right here.

ON THE SCREEN, A DOCTOR ENTERS THE FRAME TO TELL THE FAMILY THAT THE GRANDPA IS DEAD.

JOE

Do you think that maybe you knew the Grandpa was
going to die because you've seen the movie before?
Because that's how I knew. Because someone who's
already seen the movie just told me before it happened.

AT THIS, THE ROOM BECOMES SILENT FROM JOE'S "ANGRY" COMMENT.

CUT TO:

INT. JOE'S LIVING ROOM - A FEW MINUTES LATER

SAM
He looks pretty good with a beard.

REBECCA
Who is that?

SAM
That's the Dad from Malcolm in the Middle

DIANE
I totally did not even recognize him.

REBECCA
That's totally obscure that you would even notice that!

SAM
Yup, the Dad from Malcolm in the Middle.

DIANE
Yeah, totally, the Dad from Malcolm in the Middle.

REBECCA
So weird that that Dad from Malcolm in the Middle is in this.

JOE
Bryan Cranston. His name is Bryan Crantson.

CUT TO:

INT. JOE'S LIVING ROOM - A FEW MINUTES LATER

REBECCA
Isn't this so crazy, this beauty pageant stuff?

DIANE
Yeah, it's really like this.

REBECCA
I know, I saw this episode of Maury about it.

DIANE
Those girls are so creepy. They look like little midgets.

REBECCA
Yes. That's exactly what they look like, little midgets.

SAM
Is that the girl from 24?

REBECCA
Yeah, and she was in Road Trip.

DIANE
And she was the sister in Punch Drunk Love.

SAM
I bet Joe knows her name. Joe?

JOE
Yeah. I know it.

SAM
What is it?

DIANE
What a weird role for her to play.

JOE
Well, it is a FOX movie.

SAM
What's that mean?

JOE
Well, like any other job when you're on a FOX TV show,
when movie roles come up they tend to get their actors
in-house, rather than--

REBECCA
--you guys should totally see that episode of Maury.

CUT TO:

INT. JOE'S LIVING ROOM - A FEW MINUTES LATER

REBECCA
See, don't you like the Dad so much better now?

THE CREDITS ROLL.

REBECCA
Wasn't that, like, the best movie ever?

DIANE
It was good, but anyone who says that was a life-
changing movie has never seen a life-changing movie.

THE LIGHTS COME UP AND WE...

FADE OUT:

Either way, I give "Little Miss Unexpressed Thought" two thumbs up. I agreed that Bryan Cranston did look good with a beard. I knew exactly which Garfield cups she was talking about. And the name of the chick from 24 is Mary Lynn Rajskub.

As far as "Little Miss Sunshine" goes, I actually completely agreed with Diane's last statement, although I don't know how anyone who paid so little attention to a movie would even be able to tell if it were life-changing or not.

It'd be like going to the Olive Garden, filling up on unlimited salad and breadsticks, and then saying your "Tour of Italy" wasn't so hot.

Whoah. Hang on a second. Come to think of it, in Little Miss Sunshine, the main character's name was Olive. What symbolism! This is even better than the death-tree-poster.

If I ever watch this movie again, I'll be sure to point it out.

How to Hyde from a Good Time...!

2007-01-18T16:27:00.000-08:00

This week I went to a place called “Hyde.” Hyde is the bar of the decade of the week here in Los Angeles. All those videos and pictures you see, from the paparazzi, where Colin Farrell is out looking for some hoo-hoo, Paris Hilton is talking about Lindsay Lohan’s hoo-hoo, or Britney Spears accidentally flashing her hoo-hoo – they’re all taken when people are either coming or going - from Hyde.

You could say that the guest list at Hyde is a veritable “Who’s Hoo-hoo.”

My roommate Sam’s friend is a model. As a gift for letting her stay with us, The Model decided she would take us to Hyde, even though we don’t have hoo-hoo’s, which, according to her is difficult. I wouldn't think it'd be that tough at 10:3o on a Tuesday, but apparently I was wrong.

That was the first of many lessons I learned on this evening. The first of many, I hope to impart on you, the reader. Enjoy.

How To Get Into The Club:

Have a friend who is a model. Or an actress. Or a slut. Or all three. In this town that can sometimes be as good as being a celebrity. Then, get her to get some dude who’s wrapped around her finger to get you in.

(Before I lose more friends as a result of this blog, let me specify that The Model is only two out of the three.)

I can’t give away every secret about how we got in, but the girls went in on their own, and I will only say (this is COMPLETELY true) that our entry involved meeting a stranger at a Coffee Bean, purchasing three hot chocolates, and bribing the door men with them – at which point they let Sam, myself, and The Stranger in without even checking our ID’s.

How To Dress:

Once inside we met a couple of The Model’s friends. Guys. Now, after seeing these guys, I realized that The Model hadn’t made herself perfectly clear when she instructed me on how to dress: Apparently, to hang out at Hyde, you either need to dress nice, or dress like you’re circa 1890’s British street urchin.

I’m sure the guy’s black t-shirt, army surplus jacket, raggedy school cap, and fingerless gloves probably all went for upwards of a grand at some retro-tique, but all in all, it made him look like the vagabond kid from “Santa Claus: The Movie.”

Bathroom Ettiquette:

Fingerless Gloves and his friend were in the bathroom, jabberjawing about how bad the DJ was, when his friend started giving him shit for not washing his hands.

(To be perfectly honest, I’m pretty ambivalent to men’s room handwashing. Don’t get me wrong, I do it, but I don’t care whether or not other people do. If you think about it, they touch their penises, then the faucet – which has already been touched by several other penis-hands. So if a guy walks out without washing up, you’re getting one penis. If he washes, you’re getting God-knows how many. Either way you slice it, our hands are all fucking dirty all the time anyway. Get over it.)

But, back to Fingerless Gloves. His friend’s guilt trip eventually caused him to run his hands under the water for a bit. Fair enough. But, in what might have been the most amazing thing I’ve seen in a long time, he washed his hands without removing the fingerless gloves.

Maybe he only washed his fingers. Maybe his $700 fingerless gloves were waterproof. I don’t know. All I knew is that as cool as that guy thought he was, he had just washed his hands while wearing gloves. That had to put me a notch above him.

How To Interact With Women:

It’s amazing how well a man can do with women when they think he might be somebody - but especially when they want him to be somebody. I say this, because I was looked up and down more times tonight than I ever have been before in my life - except for my last trip to San Francisco (but I don’t think that counts considering I was in a “Bear Bar”).

There are of course the truly horrible girls who make eyes at you until they realize you aren’t someone “important” and then they take those eyes and roll them, but most of them aren’t really that bad at heart.

Your Average Hyde Girl:

She is a terribly sweet person. She’s super nice, but she’s been a hot chick for a long time now. Going out is her “work.” She’s got to say hi to the right people, flirt with the right people, and she always has to keep one eye on the door. Then, right when you’re about to hit the punchline of a really solid joke, somebody “important” will walk in, and you will become invisible just long enough for them to exchange a couple of air-cheek kisses, a few half hearted promises to hang out soon, and once the two have left earshot of one another they each will mutter, “God, I hate that person.”

I always said that I can’t blame the girls in this city. Should they turn down peoples’ offers to fly them around the world and drink and party all the time? No fucking way. Can I run with that crowd? No fucking way. When we’re all hanging out together, our two groups blend together seamlessly enough, but it always seems like the people from that side of the tracks are never actually having any fun.

They’re all pretty nice for the most part, but it takes something ridiculous to thrill these people. They’re not terribly whiney, but they’re always talking about how the club is always more fun on other nights, or that some other jumpoff is really blowing up that night, and saying things like “this place was really awesome on Sunday. Richard Hatch was here. It was totally off the chain.”

How To Interpret Signals:

As opposed to all the times I’ve lied about or hallucinated it, girls were genuinely checking me out. Alright, there was still once time that I must have been hallucinating it, because as I walked toward one girl I was sure was giving me the eye, she gave me the most forced, mouth-closed smile of all time. It could have been that I was wrong, or maybe she was just disappointed that when I got up close she could finally see that I wasn’t Jamie Kennedy.

How To Have A Good Time:

But in the end, when I’m not drinking, I’m only having as good a time as the people around me. And the people around me spent the hours between 11pm – 1am watching the door, trying to decide if we should go somewhere else, talking about “we should have gone to Teddy’s.” Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when Nicole Ritchie showed up, and it was finally cool enough for us to stick around.

Most of my night was spent being introduced to people who could get “on all the good lists,” and listening to stories of things that had happened there on nights gone by. And it was when I considered this that I realized the trick:

No one can have fun the first time. They’ve got no other nights to talk about and say how much better those nights were! See, next time I go there, I will have already been there once. That way, I’ll be able to talk about how much better it was that last time I was there.

How To Communicate With Females:

Girl: So I was just about to break up with that guy over there, and then he’s like “Let me fly you to Barbados for your birthday.”
Joe: Oh, that’s fantastic. We have so much in common – first both of our bodies are
composed of 70% water, both of our parents have children, and now we have Barbados!
Girl: --blank stare—
Joe: Nevermind.
Girl: OMG, did you see the Night at The Museum? The guy who played one of the Ronan
Soldier guys is here and he totally stalks me.

How To Leave ‘Em Wanting More:

On the way out, I had to walk past one particular girl who, to me, appeared to be one of the most attractive in the place, as I had noticed her far earlier in the evening - partially because, oddly enough, she appeared to be having fun. As I walked past her, she took her scarf and tickled me with it as I walked by. I stopped to say hello, and in response she said “I really loved you in Malibu’s Most Wanted!”

Alright. That didn’t happen. But I did completely let it go. I wanted to leave Hyde on a high note, and by “high” I don’t mean Nicole Ritchie.

How To Not Be A Hater In A Club Where You’re Not Having That Great Of A Time. But You Want To Make Sure It’s Actually The Club And The Other People That Suck And Not Just You:

Honestly, I’m not that big of a hater. I just see a lot of humor in the world. I guess what I’m saying is, “It’s not you, Hyde. It’s me.”

All in all, the place wasn’t that bad. No one was particularly mean, or pretentious, and the staff were all very, very nice. It just wasn’t very fun. Under different circumstances, I probably would have had a great time. Had I gone with different people, or had the people I was there with not left a conversation with me mid-sentence in order to say hi to Jack Osbourne, or if I had been completely hammered, I might have had a blast.

Either that or a pair of fingerless gloves.

Martin's Movie Marathon Monday

2007-01-15T00:43:00.000-08:00

Being that I'm white, and have had everything I've ever wanted handed to me on a silver platter, Martin Luther King Jr. hasn't done a whole lot for me, specifically.

Jesus Christ, yes, hold on a second! Yes, he has bettered the world, and I am a part of that world, but honestly, I'd be the biggest poser who ever lived if I didn't say that the most direct effect impacted upon my life from Dr. King's work is the day off. But don't worry! I made sure to spend the day doing something multicultural:

I went to the movies. All day.

What's multicultural about that? Well, I went to see them at Universal City Walk.

I learned a lot , and even exacted a few lessons from Dr. MLKJR himself.

Maybe you will too.

Movie #1 - Children of Men

Synopsis: Clive Owens plays an unconventionally handsome man in a world without children or razor blades. He and his five o'clock shadow are charged with securing the safety of the first woman in 18 years able to conceive a child. The movie does require a bit of suspension of disbelief, considering the science fiction-esque subject matter, though it's not at all difficult to believe that the first chick to get pregnant in two decades is an unwed black woman.

Review: I'm almost positive that there were at least 10-12 people attending this showing who weren't aware that we were in public. Their reviews were as follows "Oh my God, I love this song!" "Gross." "Cute!" "Can you pass the popcorn?"

Martin Luther King Jr. Day Life Lessons Learned: From the title, I originally thought buying a ticket for this movie would put me on some sort of FBI/NAMBLA watch list. After seeing it, I learned that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. Thank you, Dr. King.

Additionally, the chick behind me who talked incessantly actually said "bless you" to me when I sneezed. I am not complaining about this, even though I think she only said it because she hadn't said anything for nearly three and a half minutes, and I think she was happy for the free pass. Regardless, a "bless you" is a-ok in my book, and it totally wiped the slate clean.

I don't know much about his sneezing policies, but I'm 90% positive Dr. King would have agreed with this as well.

Movie #2 - Stomp The Yard

Synopsis: Someone took the "They're Breakdance Fighting!" scene from Zoolander and made a movie about it. Totally unbelieveable "kid from the streets" of rough and tumble LA seeks to make good at "Truth University." (which apparently is not only a presitigious fictional school for African Americans, but also wages war, guerilla style against "Big Tobacco") He's also got his sights set on avenging his brother's death by being the best tap dancer in all of Georgia.

Review: I'm going to let my roommate Sam handle this one. "Children of Men? Didn't really do anything for me. This movie, though. This movie got me really pumped. I'll probably buy it."

Sam's Top Five Favorite Movies:

#5 - Jack Johnson Live in Concert
#4 - Dude Where's My Car?
#3 - Armageddon
#2 - Out Cold
#1 - Rad

Martin Luther King Jr. Day Life Lessons Learned: I'm not going to lie. This movie had me just a bit out of my element. Had I rented this, I would not known when and where to react. However, as I mentioned before, since I saw this at Universal City Walk I viewed this picture while surrounded by people of various (pun intended!) "walks" of life. These people served as my multicultural guides as to when I should laugh, cheer, applaud, or yell "Oh, snap!" The audience was so animated, in fact, that in the middle of the movie, Michael Richards got up and walked out.

I also learned that if you dance better than someone, you could get MURDERED.

Movie #3 - Alpha Dog

Synopsis: Two of the kids from "The Girl Next Door," the kid from "Outside Providence," and one of the kids from 'N Sync get into some trouble when they get cooked on the wacky tobbacc-y and decide it'll be a good idea to kidnap the younger brother of a guy who forgot to chip in for his share of a pizza.

Review: All you have to do is have rich, negligent parents who place no boundaries on you whatsoever. If you can't do that, get kidnapped by children of said parents (even the kid who gets kidnapped makes it with two chicks at the same time)! All in all, this movie was pretty damn interesting, and is a fantastic how-to for having fun and getting laid in your youth.

Martin Luther King Jr. Day Life Lessons Learned: This movie was a real wakeup call for me. Even though they were just visual afterthoughts expressed by way of title cards at the end of a two hours peek into a glamorous life of crime, the movie eventually explains that most of the people involved went to jail - thereby proving that even in America, someone can commit a crime so heinous that they can go to prison - no matter how rich or how white they are.

Movie #4 - Pan's Labyrinth

Synopsis: Set in the 1940's Spanish countryside, in the aftermath of civil war, a little girl finds escape from her ruthless, militant step father by losing herself in a real-life fairy tale.

Review: I was just happy to finally see a movie with the word Labyrinth in the title that didn't star David Bowie's member. Honestly, ask any girl, aged 22-28, what her favorite childhood movies are, and she will list "Labyrinth." Some might say that's because it's a great movie, but I contest that it is, in fact, largely due to David Bowie's dominating "presence" on screen. Yes, of course I know that the girls watching that movie were way to young to be aware of any sort of sexual nature within them. I know that. That's how powerful it is. Seriously.

Oh, yeah, Pan's Labyrinth was pretty decent.

Martin Luther King Jr. Day Life Lessons Learned: I found myself getting really mad at the Mexican girl who got into a shooshing match with someone who had shooshed her chatty ass. At first I thought "Hey, it's a movie with subtitles, maybe the noise won't matter."

Turns out it did, so then I thought "Man, I wish I that Mexican chick would just SHUT UP."

And then I remembered it was Martin Luther King Jr. Day. It's a day for us all to be a little more tolerant, and a little more open minded. So, I took a moment to rethink my previous statement, and I ended up going with "Man, I wish that fat chick would just shut up."

Dr. King would have been proud.

Horoscopes By Joe!

2007-01-09T16:01:00.000-08:00

I could not believe just how dead on my Yahoo! Horoscope was today:

"New inventions and so-crazy-it-just-might-work ideas are on your mind."

In all seriousness, this was my first reaction:

"No. Not really. "

And then, as I often times did as a frustrated child with jigsaw pieces, I jammed two things together, making them fit where they really did not.

My second reaction:

"Wait. Hm. Shit. You know what? It does fit."

And two seconds later, when I realized that I had done what dum-dums do, my third reaction was:

"I wonder how many people this would actually apply to. Certainly all the people who were born during late September and early October. But certainly almost anyone else."

And then my fourth reaction was, of course, anger - like when I cried at the end of Armageddon. Anger, directed at the fact that I was driven to have an emotion from something so stupid:

"Has Yahoo! been reading my emails? Or maybe even my thoughts? I mean, seriously! How else could they know about my "just-might-work scheme!?" How could a horoscope be so damn accurrate!?!?"

I might as well do them myself...

Aries
3/21-4/19

"Today would be a good day to stop doing that thing about yourself that you know you shouldn't be doing."

Taurus
4/20-5/20

"Laughter and fun are two things you may or may not enjoy. "

Gemini
5/21-6/21

"People are talking about you behind your back. But don't worry, it's mostly good. Also some bad."

Cancer
6/22-7/22

"Lately, you've been really focused on your own affairs. It's almost as if the most important person in your life is you."

Leo
7/23-8/22

"Money will be a big factor today. You will need it to by most things, unless you have a gift certificate."

Virgo
8/23-9/22

"Sometimes you just don't understand 'people.' Also, if you have a crush on someone let them know today!"

Libra
9/23-10/22

"You can do no wrong today. Unless you actually do. Also, people may or may not misinterpret your 'right' as their 'wrong."

Scorpio
10/23-11/21

"You've been debating contacting someone from your past. Or is it your future?"

Sagittarius
11/22-12/21

"Gravity will play a large role in your life in the coming weeks. Don't go expecting to be floating around anytime soon."

Capricorn
12/22-1/19

"You are extremely susceptible to gunshot wounds today. You aren't any more likely to be shot than normal, but if you are, it will hurt. A lot."

Aquarius
1/20-2/18

"Food is a definite priority for you today. If you don't eat regularly, you may get cranky or fatigued."

Pisces
2/19-3/20

"Your body is composed of 70% H20 today. But, be careful! That doesn't mean you can breathe under water, silly!"

N.B. - Please pay careful attention to your horoscope, and your horoscope only. These predictions are highly specific to the 1/12 of the population they apply to. If you mistakenly read someone else's, I cannot be held responsible for the confusion and the tragedy that is sure to unfold.

Honestly. Let's say for a second that I even believe in horoscopes and astrology. Well, you can bet your sweet chakras that I'm do, and the only place I can recommend, for the #1 source on the net for the macabre, the outre, and the black arts - Yahoo.com.

For more from Yahoo! Astrology, be sure to check out:

Yahoo! Astrology - but check it at your own risk!!!!

Christmas in Upstate New York: By The Numbers

2007-01-07T12:29:00.000-08:00

As you may or may not know, I come from a land down under. A land of rolling thunder.

Hold on.

Let me turn off my iTunes.

Sorry.

I am originally from upstate New York. A lot of people don't know what this means. It's about the same as assuming someone from Israel lives in the desert. But, people from New York know the difference. I've actually had this conversation with someone (and subsequently almost punched him in the mouth for being such an arrogant prick):

Neighbor guy who uninvitedly walked into my apartment: "Hey, who here is from NY?"
Me: "Um, me and my brother."
Guy: "Where from?"
Me: "Albany."
Guy: --snorting noise-- "That's not New York. I'm from Queens."
Me: --standing up out of my chair-- "Oh, really? Because I'm pretty sure that I had a New York licence plate..."

As defensive as I got, upstate, although it is still part of New York, is insanely different from New York City.

I, in fact, call it "Alabama with snow." It's shotguns, buffets, racism, and country music.

More and more, my hometown, and the people in it are becoming the answer to the following questions: "Who in the world would ever like/buy/watch this garbage!?"

Why is Night at the Museum the #1 movie for three weeks in a row? Upstate New York.
Why did Arrested Development get cancelled? Upstate New York.
Why is there a Dunkin' Donuts across the street from that other Dunkin' Donuts? Upstate New York.

Anyways, I did a little research on it, and here are some statistics I gathered while home in Upstate New York:

4 - Number of times I saw a Dunkin' Donuts within sight of another Dunkin' Donuts

5 – Number of people who thought my “EVENT STAFF” t-shirt actually meant I was in charge of something at the mall (even though it said “City of West Hollywood” on the front)

11 – Number of hospital trips/surgical procedures explained to me in detail by members of my family, which included but was not limited to:

3 – EKG’s
2 – Knee drainings
2 – hysterectomies
1.5 – swollen feet

0 – Number of times the priest at the Catholic Church thanked its parishioners for their monetary donations
6 – Number of times the priest at the Catholic Church mentioned collection baskets in one form or another

2 – Number of “Ruby Tuesday’s” in my hometown

8 – Number of Long Island Iced Teas consumed by the staff of one of the aforementioned “Ruby Tuesday’s” after I mentioned that I’d “buy them a round”

45 – Number of minutes wait to get a table at an “Applebee’s” on a Friday night

4 – Number of times I was asked if I’ve ever heard of “that MySpace”

2 – Number of times I heard a girl at TGIFriday’s giggle after her boyfriend called her stupid

5 – Number of shrimp that come in a TGIFriday’s delicious Jack Daniels Sampler

3 – Number of people I heard complain about Southwest Airlines while on the plane
$99 – Average price of a Southwest one way ticket

70 – percentage of my family members who think it’s clever to refer to California as “the left coast”

4 – number of “stain resistant” Dockers I got for Christmas after asking for "nice" clothes

1100 – Number of dollars I found “hidden” in my Grandmother’s silverware drawer under the forks

4 – Number of times per day that my father watches the local news

1 – Number of times I saw my creepy pediatrician at the airport
100 – Percentage of time said pediatrician checked me “down below” when I went in for a sore throat

.7 – Number of years of business of favorite eatery: Hong Kong Century Bakery Taco
Hong Kong Century Bakery Taco Menu:
#1 – Hot Dog
#2 – Fajita
#3 – Hot Dog Fajitas

2 – Number of family members who have been in and out of jail since my last visit
3.5 – average number of months served

22 – Number of times I found myself talking baby talk to my parents’ cat

59 – Percentage of time my parents’ television is spent tuned to the DirecTV guide

35+ - Number of girls I was rejected by in high school who this year made sure history repeated itself, even while intoxicated
7 – Number of nights I considered trying to find a shady massage parlor

1 - Number of blogs that I thought I could squeak out of this "hilarious" premise

Ego

2007-01-06T15:27:00.000-08:00

Ego is dangerous. What makes it so is its ability to mislead and blind its ever-willing host. I feel bad for people with egos that are so large that it blinds them to the truths in their lives - truths obvious to everyone else around them. Self confidence is one thing. But pure ego; conspicuous, false ego, bred from hot, wet, dark places - from the stomach of insecurity - will do nothing but prove you a fool. And you'll be the last to realize it.

Relationship Resumes

2007-01-05T08:42:00.000-08:00

My new job has been keeping me pretty well occupied over the last week or so. As in - work, sort of eat, sleep - repeat. So while I have ten minutes before I leave, I thought I'd shoot out a quick blog. If the quality of this blog isn't up to the standards that you are used to from me (which very well may be low - and this could be a waste of e-text-breath), sorry.

I decided the other day that anyone who plans on being romantically involved with anyone - ever in life - should have to present their prospective significant other with a relationship resume. People would be forced to exchanged these resumes before entering into any kind of exclusive arrangement - i.e. boyfriend/girlfriend, boyfriend/boyfriend, girlfriend/girlfriend, boy-girlfriend/boyfriend, and on and on we go. These would be shown before you decided to "go steady" - to use the parlance of 80's and 90's high school sitcoms. You can date all you want, shove your tongue, penis, boobs, whatever, in as many people's mouths as you want to before producing this literature. But if monogamy is to be, you must produce a relationship resume.

Many of you may be thinking, well, I'm on e-harmony right now, it's just like that. No it's not. Who cares if you're a "smoker" or "non-smoker" - "Like Going to Museums" - or your favorite song is "Dancing on the Ceiling" by Lionel Richie. Unfortunately, none of this tells me jack shit about who you REALLY are in a relationship. I will know if you're a smoker, like museums and Lionel Richie within a few dates. What I won't know, what you won't tip me off to, even after many dates, maybe a year of living together, or until it's the time of the season, is whether you have the stomach to stab me with an icepick. And I need to know this. Because as you'll see from my relationship resume; I don't have the cleanest track record ever. I'm all for full disclosure. Below please find my relationship resume. Feel free to post yours in the comment section underneath (I know that in order to do this you have to sign up for a blogger account, and that it takes 36 seconds, however the fact that you've made it this far into the blog, hell the fact that you even visit this blog, means that you have those precious ticks to spare.) So do it. Do it right after you read mine.

I'm leaving off details of my current relationship because truthfully, you shouldn't have a relationship resume unless you're actively looking. Mine is a mock up. This is what Alexandra would have seen before we started dating. If relationship resumes were a prerequisite.

SCOTT B. HUFF
26 years-old
5'11"
175 lbs,
Scorpio (if you care) and if you do - you're fucking nuts
----------------------------

Past Relationship Experience

April 2002-Aug 2004 - Semi-Serious Relationship - With a Girl - Same Age - Boston, MA to Los Angeles, CA

- Coddled a princess personality
- Dealt with the deception, irrational behavior, psychotic tendancies associated with people with serious mental problems
- Sexual partner
- Met the parents
- Cheated first
- Was cheated on later
- Managed to stay faithful through three months of long distance - though I had already cheated before that (does that count?)
- Made her cry
- Did the on again off again thing until things ended with an ugly writing off of one another. (You could say I was the dumpee)
- She regrets that it's over.

June-2002-Sept. 2003 - Fling - With a Girl - Older - Boston, MA

- Low maintenance relationship (first ever)
- Sexual partner
- Never cheated (didn't really have time though)
- I gave her mediocre gifts
- Broke up with her
- Tried booty calls later

-----------------------
SKILLS

Sense of humor, sensitivity, so scared of hurting someones feelings that I will wait until they dump me. Proficient in Microsoft office.

--------------------
SETBACKS

Messy, tempramental (when caffeinated), career obsessed, once enduced an attempted vehicular homicide from a girl after claiming to be "The Lord" - this was of course my respnse to her questioning why I thought it was okay to ignore her phone calls.

-----------------------

REFERENCES

Girl T. Girl - 555-555-6655
Chick Date - 1-800-555-6772

I would be even more outspoken, but I really don't want anyone stabbing me with an icepick. I'd love to see some others. If this wasn't MY blog, I likely would have given the entire skinny. Perhaps I will update later. Anyhow, just imagine how much easier your decisions would be if you had relationship resumes to peruse.

Girls: Fax your resumes to Joe: maladjusted girls only please. If you are too normal you will not be considered.

Who I Spent New Year's Eve With...

2007-01-02T03:57:00.000-08:00

I was fortunate enough to have a very sweet, generous friend take me to a New Year's Eve party at Pure, in Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas.

Let me tell you...even though I'm not typically one to brag, I spent my last and first moments of 2006 and 2007 , respectively, with someone quite famous, and someone I'm just dying to let the world know about.

We formed a very special bond, and I think we'll be friends forever...

And that very famous person...

...was none other than...

...EX-YANKEE SECOND BASEMAN EDWARD CHARLES "CHUCK" KNOBLAUCH!!!!!

I don't know how this guy wasn't the official party "host" at Pure this year, but apparently some people think that Britney Spears is more befitting of such a title. I really don't know what kind of world we are living in.

Here are the 5 reasons why Chuck Knoblauch is better than Britney Spears:

1) After winning a World Series with the Minnesota Twins in 1991, Chuck openly requested to be traded, causing him to be more hated in Minnesota than Kirby Puckett's opthalmologist.

2) While on the Yankees, during a playoff game against the Cleveland Indians, Chuck was so passionate about and devoted to the aforementioned Yankees, that he did not even bother to wait until a play was over before arguing with the umpires regarding a call. The argument directly led to the Indians victory.

3) While I attempted to get his autograph at a game as a child, Chuck stared directly through me, not even noticing my existence. It was years later that my father explained to me a woman, in the kind of skirt you need two haircuts to wear, was sitting just a few rows behind me, with her legs draped over the seats in front of her.

4) Toward the end of his career, Chuck became increasingly less capable of accurately throwing the ball to first base (from his career-long position of second base).

During one of said throwing errors, Chuck missed first base by such a great distance, his throw struck the face of sportscaster Keith Olberman's mother, who was attending the game - and as a testament to his mistake, had only slightly above average seats. This mental problem, commonly referred to as "the yips" prompted Yankees manager Joe Torre to move him into right field, and eventually retirement.

5) In the end, there's only one reason why he overshadows the other megalo-celebrities who could be found in the club that night (Britney, Britney's 27 friends, some guy named John Tucker, Shannon Elizabeth (who is a total fox in person, and was insanely nice even though one of my drunken friends kept spilling drinks on her), and that chick with the beard that Carmen Electra used to be married to).

And that reason is that after yet another one of my particularly fruitless nights of trying to find a floozie to make out with in a Vegas club, Chuck Knoblauch was too drunk to understand what I was saying when I heralded him with the following toast:

"To the Yankees! To 2007! And to us! Two guys who, since the late 90's, have a really, really hard time getting to first!"

Happy New Year, all!

One for the Poker Fans, One for the Life Fans...

2006-12-20T14:10:00.000-08:00

This should please the poker fans, but it's not really about poker. I'm going to use some poker terminology, but for the average reader, I'm going to give a brief explanation.

1) Poker is a game of percentages. No matter how far ahead you are in a hand, there is almost always a chance you will lose.

2) Often times losing happens as a result of "getting two-outered," meaning that your opponent only has two outs - two cards left in the deck that will help him or he - and he or she hits it.

3) One of the keys to poker is to "get your money in good" or "get your money in with the best of it." This means that you want to wager all of your money when you have a mathematical advantage against your opponent (see #2).

4) Losing a hand after having a mathematical advantage, possibly to a two-outer, is often times referred to as a "bad beat."

5) "Bad beats" are the second most dreaded thing in poker.

6) The first most dreaded thing in all of poker is a bad beat story.

This is a life bad beat story...and it even involves a couple of pro poker players.

Last night I went out with a few good friends, a few professional poker players, and some who are both. We sat around a table, drank, and bantered, so, for all intents and purposes we were playing a game. It was the game...the game of....the game of life. What we're gonna do though, is we're going to trick it out. Metaphor style. I guess since I explained poker to the normal people, I should explain a metaphor to the poker illiterates...

met·a·phor [met-uh-fawr, -fer] –noun

1.	a figure of speech in which a term or phrase is applied to something to which it is not literally applicable in order to suggest a resemblance

I'm seeing a lot of blank looks. Even with the definition. So, I'm going to spell it out for you. It's a poker game, but it's also about what guys do in bars - try to score chicks. If last night's final table were to be televised, with hole cams and all that jazz, it would have gone down like this:

Seat 1 - Rif - my college roommate.
Not good at picking up chicks. Worse at poker. Oblivious to both.
Strengths: Drunk driving, cockblocking

Seat 2 - Joseph Matthew Sebok - professional poker player.
Excellent with the ladies. Excellent at poker. Completely aware of both.
Strengths: Bankroll, cockblocking you without you knowing or caring
(Like a sniper who picks you off with happy-bullets)

Seat 3 - Scott Huff - former professional poker (writer).
Has a girlfriend. Dead from the waist down, and when she's in town, also from the neck up.
Strengths: "Hot Chicks" aren't required for a good time., clutch in the pocket

Seat 4 - Jeff Madsen - rookie professional poker player.**
**Not much experience with him. Seems amiable. Laughs at my jokes, which is important.
Strengths: Unknown (but keep reading, maybe you'll find out).

Seat 5 - Joe Stapleton - professional blog writer.
Perpetually single. Head on a swivel. Wants someone to cuddle with on Sunday nights, but settles for one-nighters.
Strengths: Balls, wit, high credit limit
N.B. - Wit can sometimes be a major weakness depending on her intelligence level.

The Hole Cards:

Rif -

The "Manhattan" Card - Rif finds a way to mention the fact that he's from Manhattan with little or no prompting. For some reason, this actually works sometimes.

The "Me Too" Card - Anything any girl has ever done or ever mentions for any reason, Rif finds a way to work himself into (see use below).

Sebok -

The "Bored" Card - No girls in the bar over a 9.5, so Sebok's attention is fleeting at best.

The "Text" Card - Sebok's already texting to god-knows-how-much strange already. Again, no attention being paid to the game at hand tonight.

Huff -

The "Girlfriend" Card - "Seriously, guys. I have a girlfriend."

The "Broken Wingman" Card - "Go for it, dude. You can do it. I am not allowed to talk to a girl for any reason, even to help you, but you can do it, brah!

Joe Stapleton -

The "Hypocracy" Card - Bags on Huff, but behavior dictates a desire for a woman to jar his balls.

The "Balls to the Walls" Card - Honestly, it's about love of the game for this guy. Rejection or success matter little to him.

Jeff Madsen -

Hole Cards Unknown - He's young, and he's new. Who knows what this guy is holding?

So here's how the pre-flop action goes down:

Huff folds before he even gets the second card. He tries to get a refund for the tournament, but Jeffrey Pollack has him ejected.

I wasn't sure what we were in for. I was actually ok to just spend a night out with the guys, and didn't necessarily feel the need to try to pick up on chicks. Still, I already decided I was feeling good though, and I like the cards I have in front of me. I'd call an all-in for sure.

I telegraph this, by dumping $5 into the jukebox, thereby playing 22 songs in a row - carefully calculating their order by how drunk I think people will be by the time they play.

I then position myself in the booth in such a way that I could still chat it up if any femininas end up occupuying the table next door.

Rif limps. Madsen's game. And Sebok hasn't looked up from his text messages in a while, and doesn't seem to want to be in the action at all, but he's in the big blind, so he somehow ends up in the hand.

The Flop:

Lo and behold, three blondes walk in with a couple of jabronis. They're all pretty decent. Huff eventually postulates that one of them could have been an ex-Playmate**, and the guys are all clearly rich screenwriters. I start the action with a pot-sized bet by leaning over to tell the girls that DJ Joe is in the house, and to make sure they let me know if they enjoy my selections. Come On Feel The Noise, by Quiet Riot was playing at the time, and I figured I was about to take the pot down right there.

**Dear Alexandra -- Scott said no such thing. I hadn't used him in the story for a while, so I invented that bit for him to say. He loves you very much. I don't think he even noticed there were other girls in the bar. If he did, he certainly didn't make eye contact with any of them. Please let him leave the house again soon.

However, after much deliberation, Rif calls! He must really love the looks of his "Me Too" Card with conversations like this:

Blondie: I'm from Minnesota.
Rif: Oh yeah? I once saw a hockey game and one of the players was from Minnesota!

Moments later, Madsen is brought into the mix when Blondie tells him he looks like a younger, smaller version of her little brother. I gotta give the kid credit. Most people would have folded right there, but the kid hung in there, even though he was drawing pretty thin.

Sebok continued on with the hand in pretty much the only way he could have: two girls got right up in his face and gave him all the attention he needed. It didn't last long though, which brings us to...

The Turn:

No longer receiving double the pleasure, Sebok immediately checks out. I think he was trading stocks on that phone or something. Three players remain.

Blondie has since pulled me aside several times to tell me "I like you," and "You better dance with me later."

Rif, in an uncharacterstic move, realizes it's not happening and actually decides he's not going to bring me down with him. He moves on to her friends.

Two players remain.

Madsen suffers more "brother" comments, but refuses to give up. He calls for time.

Assuming he's about to fold, during "Er' body in the Club Gettin' Tipsy" I decide to kick back and take it easy. Play it cool. She's off dancing with her friends now, and I don't want to be the guy who's all up in her shit. It's about that time in the night when I just want to land a phone number. Nothing more. But I'm not going to chase it. I'm going to let her come to me.

For an unknown reason, Madsen stays in the hand. Unlike me, he's chasing something. Honestly, I don't even realize it at the time, because I'm not worried at all. I've got my money in with by far the best of it right now.

The River:

I stand up from my chair. I take a second to bask in my victory, and as I prepare to collect my winnings, I look up and see Jeff Madsen dart across the room, grab Blondie, put his hand behind her head and lay a big, fat, wet one right on her.

Meanwhile, I have flashbacks to this summer's WSOP, in which there was one tournament where Jeff Madsen got his money in, virtually drawing dead. Completely dominated, upon seeing his dire position, Madsen had only this to say:

"I have outs."

Boy, did he ever.

Now, all player-hating aside, I will say that, at first, she did not seem to be pleased with this situation, but eventually she just rolled with it.

That was it though. My hands were tied. He had made out with her. There was no where else for me to go without looking like a total douche.

What was I going to do?

"I know you just made out with my friend and everything but I was wondering if maybe you wanted to give me your number or maybe just to make out some more. You know. Like, with someone else."

There were no cards left to come. I had been rivered.

Typically, I'm pretty hard on myself about these things, but the whole situation made me realize this:

You can get two-outered in life.

No matter how much of an edge you've got,
no matter how much of a sure thing it is,
you can still get unlucky.

In the end, I have no hard feelings toward the kid. It was just a drunken night out. Sure, judging from the fact that we whispered Journey lyrics into each others' ears, she was probably my soulmate, but whatevs. That's what happens when you play the game. It's a tough pill to swallow. It was like losing with quads to a straight flush.

You think to yourself, "Alright, I got really unlucky. Not my bad. But DAMN, when am I ever going to get QUADS again??"

I had this attitude at first. When am I ever going to be in a bar again, and run into a drunken blonde with a big ass who' isn't too bright, is a horrible dancer, and is really into The Barenaked Ladies? When am I going to get my quads again??

And then I said to myself: "Self, you live in LOS ANGELES. The answer is: tonight."

Epilogue:

So I posted this ad on Craig's List's personals:

"Barenaked Ladies fan seeking Quads."

I've gotten a ton of pictures so far! Some of them don't appear to be the best typers, but most of them love the Barenaked Ladies! Some of them are even actually pretty cute. I'm waiting to get some body shots, because for some reason, in every single picture, they're all sitting down...

Sad News...

2006-12-20T13:34:00.000-08:00

I received some sad news on Thanksgiving Day.

It turns out my Grandmother was diagnosed with Alzhemier's Disease.

On a positive note, that makes one less person I have to worry about for Christmas, because now I can just get her the same thing I got her last year.

Joe Stapleton.
Turning "lemons into lemonade" since 1996.

Celebrity Lighting Rod in: Bottom Line, Urkel Could Still Kick Your Ass

2006-12-18T16:25:00.000-08:00

Celebrity lighting has once again struck the Rod, this time in the form of a 90's sitcom star known for his iconic portrayal of a neighborly nerd. No, it's not Dustin Diamond a.k.a. Screech from Saved by the Bell - he's too busy making porn.

On Thursday night Rod decided to hit the town with a couple of his boys. Starting first with an uneventful trip to 3rd Stop in West Hollywood - where Rod and his friends paid homage to the reigning World Cup champs by downing a couple of Peroni's a piece - the crew eventually found themselves at trendy mid-city dive "The Dime" for an early nightcap.

After muscling their way to the back of the bar, the crew split up momentarily as Rod's friends hit the can while he ordered a round of Coronas.

Upon his return from the head, one of Rod's friends announced with boyish excitement. "Urkel's here. I saw him in the bathroom."

"Urkel? Jaleel White?" Rod replied.

"Yup," his friend responded, "he was standing right outside of the door when I came out."

Rod's other friend returned from the bathroom moments later, announcing, "You see...?"

"Urkel." Rod and his friend filled in the blank.

"Yeah," friend number two said. The crew shared a laugh.

As the crew relished the fact that they were sharing a small social space with a television icon, said icon turned the corner and posted up at the end of the bar right next to them.

"Clearly he's out as Stefan Urquel tonight," Rod remarked, after spying a bulked up White in chic attire. "It's funny to think that Urkel could kick your ass," Rod continued to one of his friends.

"Kick my ass?" The friend replied. "He couldn't kick my ass. His friends maybe."

"Look at him," Rod said. "He's jacked."

"I dunno...," the friend trailed off, trying to get a better look and in turn better handicap the fight of the century that was at least 5,000: 1 against ever happening.

Rod's other friend, took a quick peek, and then offered an affirmative head nod to Rod's assertion that clearly Urkel had the upper hand in a physical confrontation against friend #1.

The crew sat and pondered the thought for a moment as they watched Steve, Stefan, Jaleel, enjoying the fruits that the simple concession that he would have to go through life a famous nerd had provided him. He shouted out some girls who laughed and giggled with the thought that they were more than likely going to fuck Urkel - "Look, he's a famous actor..." The bartender paid him special attention, and the door man occasionally checked up on him to make sure that the "Did I do that?" quotient was low enough to keep him around.

The crew's microscope on Urkel had quieted their conversation. So Rod offered up this final conclusion:

"Bottom line, Urkel could still kick your ass."

It was unanimous, as was the crew's decision to leave. It was Urkel's bar, and besides, at least one of them had work the next day.

Botany Kills

2006-12-08T09:20:00.000-08:00

An actual sign taped onto my across the street neighbor's door:

"If you steal my plants, you will be shot on sight."

Do I have a girlfriend? No. I don't eat the stumps.

2006-12-07T12:58:00.000-08:00

Some people at work get mad when people don't eat the stumps. Everyone remembers that famous Seinfeld episode where they talk about how people only eat the tops of muffins and leave the stumps behind. Well, that happens in real life. Some people get mad when they see the stumps.

I don't.

Think about it this way: the rule usually goes, if you touch it, it's yours. So, that person eats the part of the muffin he or she wants, and the rest is left behind. It's better than throwing the second half away - then it's a total waste. At least this way, there's a chance someone might enjoy the leftovers in some way, even if it's just a bite or two.

This is pretty much how I feel about relationships these days. Relationships are muffins. The good part of the relationship - the first 6 - 8 months - is the muffin top. The excitement, the long phone conversations, the surprise e-mail, the first time you realize she's into being choked during sex - that's all in the top. Anything after that is the stump.

The muffin's still good, but it's the same taste you've been eating all the way since that giant top, and it's starting to get a little old.

And it's sort of undercooked.

And you think you just got some of the paper in your mouth.

Then you realize all of a sudden, that maybe if you leave what's left of the stump, someone can maybe still get some enjoyment out of it.

And low and behold - you look in the kitchen, and there's a whole BOX of different kinds of muffins. There are so many you haven't tried yet, and you're almost full! What are you going to do?

And then suddenly you think to yourself -

"Boy, that was really stupid for me to decide this was the only muffin I'm going to eat for the rest of my life before trying at least a few more, but, oh well, I really love this muffin. I think I love it. I mean, I do, I do. And I could be happy with it for the rest of my life. Well, I mean, I think I could. I'm sure I could. Yeah. Lemon poppyseed. Yup. I'm totally good on that for the rest of my life. Funny. I always kinda pictured myself with a banana nut, but who knew the lemon poppyseed would be this good? Sure, I never even attempted the banana nut, but I'm prefectly happy with this lemon poppyseed. I mean, it's no banana nut, but it's a lot better than that one with the weird cinammon swirls from college. I could live like this and be happy. I could live with this. I mean, who's going to want to eat this stump? Probably no one. I owe it to this muffin to stick it out because it's been so delicious in my belly. If I close my eyes and pretend really hard, it ALMOST TASTES LIKE A BANANA NUT. I think I need a glass of milk."

All's I'm saying, is that I don't have a problem when people leave the stumps. It's a part of life. People should have what they want. Don't feel bad for the muffin. The muffin knows what it's getting into. You did it some good. You showed it what it was like to really be appreciated.

Plus, the muffin's last boyfriend was a dick.

No Mystique: Why You Should Skip "Casino Royale"

2006-11-28T09:25:00.000-08:00

This weekend, at the prompting of numerous critics, Roeper and whoever the stand-in was for Ebert that week, the box office results, and the Queen of England, I went to see Casino Royale. This trip would mark the first time I had ever seen a Bond flick in the theatre. Mistake.

I could care less what all those so-called movie experts and her majesty have to say; Casino Royale was a disappointment. I had no problem with the action sequences, the special effects, or Daniel Craig - in fact I think Craig played a gritty double-0 to perfection - the problem with Casino was a lack of mystique.

There is no mystique or sexiness to the life of James Bond in Casino Royale. While some have argued that Craig himself is the “sexiest” or a more “sexed-up” version of James Bond, the truth is the life that he leads, save for a couple of scenarios where he’s hanging off the back of a truck, isn’t much more alluring than that of highly paid stockbroker, businessman, politician, or surgeon.

He drives a fancy car. So what? He makes out with hot women. Oooh-la-la? He kills a couple people. Great. If I worked really hard running a football when I was younger I could have done all of those things, gotten away with the killings, and then written a tell all book about how I did it under the guise that I had never done it in the first place.

The worst part about Casino Royale is that the death of the Bond mystique is a slow death. One that you are forced to watch unfold over the laughably boring two plus hours of the film. They have catered to the lowest common denominator with this film, and they will cash in handsomely for it. Congratulations to them. I’m still going to try in futility to stop a few of you from adding to the Sony coffer with the following examples:

Example #1: James Bond plays in a high stakes game of No-Limit hold’em

Note to Hollywood: There is no mystique to poker, gambling, professional poker or the professional gambler anymore.

If I had known how prominently poker played in the plot of this film I would have never bought a ticket in the first place. There are reruns of the World Series of Poker on television 24-hours a day. I need to buy a ticket to a James Bond movie to watch people play poker, like I need to buy a ticket to Just My Luck to see Lindsey Lohan acting badly. I would have rather have seen Bond play in a connect four tournament for jelly beans. At least that would have made me scratch my head, or wonder why. In the case of NO-LIMIT TEXAS HOLD’EM – oooooh, ahhhhhh – I knew why, and it was BOOOOOORING.

Example #2: James Bond Fights Terrorism

This isn’t really anyone’s fault. It just kind of is what it is. James Bond has always fought terrorists; it’s what he does. However, post 9-11, the ability to make counter-terrorism a source of “fun” or escapism has been lost.

Counter-Terrorism is now widely covered and explored in our daily media. We draft bills, and have very public offices committed to the eradication of terrorist attacks against the United States and the world - and my guess is: the guys carrying out the orders to make sure we’re safe aren’t wearing tuxedos, driving Aston Martin’s, or fucking exotic-looking married woman. They are more than likely dressed in fatigues, driving a tank or a jeep, holed up somewhere with their fellow troops, and just hoping like hell that they can go home soon.

Bottom line: If you’re going to make an international spy flick, whisk me away to places I can’t go, show me the gadgets I can’t have and the things I can’t do. If I can get there from my couch, it’s probably not worth going.

You’ve been warned.

Alexandra On: Bond

2006-11-15T14:38:00.000-08:00

As many of you already know, Casino Royale, the latest installment in the James Bond franchise opens this weekend. The other night while we were lying in bed, Alexandra and I caught a trailer for the flick, and the following conversation actually took place:

Alexandra: Is that movie supposed to be good?

Scott: Depends if you're a fan of James Bond or not. You like James Bond?

Alexandra: I don't know any other movies that he's been in.

Scott: You're not serious...

---------Silence---------

Alexandra: Oh, wait, sorry, is that the one with Pierce Brosman? Brosman? However you say it.

---------------------------
Be sure to check out Pierce Brosman a.k.a. Daniel Craig as James Bond in Casino Royale - opening nationwide this Friday.

Alexandra On: Sports

2006-11-15T14:28:00.000-08:00

My girlfriend Alexandra is a beautiful woman with strong opinions on many subjects, even if she isn't the most informed on said subjects.

The following is her response to the news that the Boston Red Sox (my favorite baseball team) paid $51 million dollars for the rights to negotiate with Daisuke Matsuzaka:

Alexandra: I don't get it. You don't have to be from Boston to play for the Red Sox? That's stupid. What's the point then? You should have to be from the city that your team plays in. Then we'll see who the best team really is. Don't you agree? The Dolphins should have to be from Miami.

Scott: You mean everyone who plays for the Dolphins should have to be from Miami in order to play on the team?

Alexandra: Yeah. Otherwise, why call the Boston Red Sox the Boston Red Sox? Why not just call them the Red Sox. Or the Red Sox who happen to play in Boston. It's stupid. Don't you agree? Don't you agree?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Needless to say, I don't agree. But I appreciate her spirited debate.

New Podcast

2006-11-07T15:16:00.000-08:00

If you are reading this you likely already know we have a new podcast up. Episode #6 "Slutty Hirsute." However, if for some reason our homepage still says Episode Five - "Granny Porn," please clear your cache and try again. Or as always you can subscribe to the podcast on the iTunes music store. Search Scott Huff or Joe Stapleton.

Thanks for listening.

Bagel - My Thoughts

2006-10-31T00:38:00.000-08:00

After a restless night, and then a horrible hangover from trying to make myself look attractive enough to myself to think I could land the sloppiest girl at the bar, I stumbled to work, and first off decided I needed to have a Bagel - a food that is the exact opposite of a hangover but probably a mainstay of "Sloppy" at the bar.

Bagel is of course, the oldest of the Jewish delicacies, created by Moses himself, writer/director of The Ten Commandments. Having never seen any of Moses' work, and basing my anticipation on commentary from many friends that all sounded basically like, "His shit is so depressing it will make you rethink whether or not you want to inhabit planet earth anymore," I waited uncomfortably for the toaster to begin. Perhaps I'm a sissy, perhaps I'm too sensitive, but I have avoided movies like The Ten Commandments, Prince of Egypt, Annie Hall etc. because the ugliness of life presents itself on a daily basis and I don't really need it reaffirmed over a bag of popcorn.

That said. I am glad I ate a Bagel.

In what I am told is typical Moses fashion, the Bagel follows the intersecting of cinnamon and raisins from around it's globe-like center. The mindless shooting out of this center is the food's catalyst, but its struggle to satiate is just one of many purposes explored by the food. Moses' piercing index finger pokes out its doughy center, and instead takes on heavy subjects from the timely: carbohyrdrates, nationalism, sesame seeds to the dark and taboo: butter, cream cheese, incest.

After swallowing the food I grappled with what I thought the food was "about." What the baking ultimately was trying to prove. Did it have an underlying thesis? A theme? After further thought, I'm not sure that it matters.

Last year's "Best Breakfast" Hash, using a similar starch-based construction painted a clear picture of dysfunctional race relations in Los Angeles. Here the theme was obvious: breakfast foods are all fucked up and there's nothing we can do about it. Period. My problem with Hash, however, was that it presented all of these problems, the problem of breakfast, but also through metaphor, race relations in America and offered little or no solution to these problems. The short order cooks of the food have responded to similar complaints stating that this was their intention. To me, this is where Hash fell short.

With Bagel, Moses certainly paints our world with a dark brush, but the moments when the food really pulls you in are when he pokes holes in his center and allows some poppy seeds to shine through. It's not sappy, there's no "happy ending." There is only the thought that while the world may be a dark place - one in which our breakfast is often overshadowed by superficial divides like syrup, Tony the Tiger, socio-economic class, Pop Tart vs. Strudal violence - human beings can offer one another hope. That the smallest human gesture, a touch, a kiss, a hug, a helping hand, a look of understanding, an act of kindness, a "Leggo my Eggo" can change our worlds. That eating one with dignity can pull us from darkness.

I'm still not convinced that this was "THE" theme. Moses doesn't go out of his way to prove it. I suspect that different people will take different things away from this food. Perhaps I just didn't want to leave having my thoughts about the world reaffirmed over a raisin bran, but that was the way I ate it. The point is, I ate it, and so should you.

Babel - My Thoughts

2006-10-29T21:07:00.000-08:00

After a restful night, and then a lovely afternoon at the beach with my girlfriend, I headed over to the Century City movie theatre to take a look at Babel - a movie that is the exact opposite of a restful night and a lovely afternoon at the beach with a beautiful girl.

Babel is the newest opus from Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu, director of Amores Perros and 21 Grams. Having never seen any of Inaritu's work, and basing my anticipation on commentary from many friends that all sounded basically like, "His shit is so depressing it will make you rethink whether or not you want to inhabit planet earth anymore," I waited uncomfortably for the film to begin. Perhaps I'm a sissy, perhaps I'm too sensitive, but I have avoided movies like 21 Grams, Amores Perros, Requiem for a Dream etc. because the ugliness of life presents itself on a daily basis and I don't really need it reaffirmed over a bag of popcorn.

That said. I am glad I went to see Babel.

In what I am told is typical Inarritu fashion, Babel follows the intersecting lives of a number of characters stretched all across the globe. The mindless shooting of an American woman in Morocco is the film's catalyst, but her struggle to survive is just one of many life altering circumstances explored in the film. Inarritu's piercing camera takes on heavy subjects from the timely: immigration, nationalism, globalization to the dark and taboo: crib death, incest, suicide.

After leaving the film I grappled with what I thought the film was "about." What the story ultimately was trying to prove. Did it have an underlying thesis? A theme? After further thought, I'm not sure that it matters.

Last year's "Best Picture" Crash, using a similar narrative construction painted a clear picture of dysfunctional race relations in Los Angeles. Here the theme was obvious: race relations are all fucked up and there's nothing we can do about it. Period. My problem with Crash, however, was that it presented all of these problems, the problem of race relations in America and offered little or no solution to these problems. The screenwriters of the film have responded to similar complaints stating that this was their intention. To me, this is where Crash fell short.

With Babel, Inarritu certainly paints our world with a dark brush, but the moments when the film really pulls you in are when he pokes holes in his canvas and allows some light to shine through. It's not sappy, there's no "happy ending." There is only the thought that while the world may be a dark place - one in which our humanity is often overshadowed by superficial divides like language, race, socio-economic class, national origin - human beings can offer one another hope. That the smallest human gesture, a touch, a kiss, a hug, a helping hand, a look of understanding, an act of kindness, can change our worlds. That treating one another with dignity can pull us from darkness.

I'm still not convinced that this was "THE" theme. Inarittu doesn't go out of his way to prove it. I suspect that different people will take different things away from this film. Perhaps I just didn't want to leave having my thoughts about the world reaffirmed over a bag of popcorn, but that was the way I saw it. The point is, I saw it, and so should you.

Rush Limbaugh is a Fucking Idiot

2006-10-27T17:15:00.000-07:00

I don't care to be eloquent with this post. I'm too mad. I just want to say that Rush Limbaugh is a fucking idiot.

Some of you may have read or heard his recent ramblings about how Michael J. Fox was "acting" like his Parkinson's condition was worse than it was in a political commercial that he did for a Missouri Senator.

Guess what? When you're a fat, pill-poping fascist, you shouldn't be allowed to comment on what anyone else on earth is doing.

When I see the kind of hateful shit this idiot puts out over the airwaves I wonder if he got his job because the Home Town Buffet was located too close to a radio studio, and in a Xanax induced fury he stumbled into said radio station, sat down at a news desk, and when he couldn't find the prime rib he started talking to himself.

I have seen Parkinson's Disease up close. It's not something you need to "act like" you have the symptoms of. The debilitating disease does that on its own.

Rush Limbaugh is a fucking idiot. Go pop some oxycontin and eat a fucking burrito dumb dumb. That's where I think you're most useful.

Borat at the Airport

2006-10-23T14:54:00.000-07:00

Jagsemesh. My name-a-Celebrity Lightning Rod. In my travelings from the Las Vegas I see many men. Some with a chocolate face, some with a vanilla, some who look like they have bomb in their briefcase.

On a Saturday when my metal flying tube land at Los Angeles International Port of Terror, I see a famous celebratory in terrorport terminal. His name a Sacsha Baron Cohen.

He was a singing tune in a foreign tongue and making whistlings. I follow him to a gifting shop where he buy a copy of New York Yankee Times. He look a funny in person. I like a see celebratorys.

I find more.

Chenkuy.

New Podcast Available

2006-10-13T10:04:00.000-07:00

New podcast available. Listen to it. It's fucking awesome. We tell you how to make your own escape rickshaw, just like the one used by Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt.

SEE BELOW>>>>>>>

At Worst, The Best Headline Ever

2006-10-10T12:48:00.000-07:00

This has to be at worst, the best headline ever -

Courtesy of IMDB:

PITT & JOLIE IN RICKSHAW DRAMA

That's it.

Airplane Fluid

2006-10-04T18:19:00.000-07:00

As I sit here in the airport terminal, bagel and orange juice in hand. I can't help but ponder, "How safe can we really be if they sell one of the main ingredients to napalm at the breakfast cafe for $2.25?"

Just some..."food"... for thought.

Strangely enough, the terror threat level was raised to Orange juice, just a few moments after I had these thoughts.

For up to the minute maid coverage of this and other terror related news, stay right here at twojacksinthehole... The No Pun Zone.

I Have The Best Friends in the World!

2006-10-03T17:24:00.000-07:00

I seriously have the best friends in the world.

Given the above, I'm sure that everyone reading this already knew that my birthday is on Friday.

Well, wouldn't you know that my best friend from home, Nick Mazzone, went ahead and got me my present a few days early, just so it would be a surprise.

The present came in the form of a phone call. I'll transcribe it below:

Joe: This is Joe.

??: Is this Joe?

Joe: Yes. This is Joe.

??: Joe, this is David Keith, and I'm just calling to wish you a Happy Birthday.

Joe: Oh my God, seriously? David Keith? How did you get my number??

David Keith: Well, your friend, Nick Merzone, is a good friend of mine, and he thought you would enjoy it if I gave you a call for your birthday.

Joe: Mazzone! Nick Mazzone! Yeah! He's my best friend. You're friends with him?

David Keith: It says Merzone here, but yes, we go way back.

Joe: I can't believe he never told me that he was old friends with the star of such awesome films as Behind Enemy Lines and Ernest Goes to School!

David Keith: Well, I'm glad you're a fan of my work. Most people are just disappointed that I'm not the black guy from Men at Work.

Joe: Keith David? How could anyone make that mistake. You guys are like night and day! No pun intended! --laughter--

David Keith: --laughter--

Joe: And Parkman! Who could forget Parkman?!

David Keith: Yeah, yeah. Major League II. That was fun.

Joe: This is going to sound stupid, but...

David Keith: No, no! What is it? Go ahead...

Joe: Would you do a scene with me from Major League II?

David Keith: Sure--

Joe: It's my eliminator. I've got another pitch. You get a piece of it, I'll let you name it. --Joe mimics the sound of a pitch being thrown and a homerun being hit--

David Keith: I'd, uh, call it the masturbator.

Joe: YES! That is AWESOME!

David Keith: I did a lot of research for that role. Hey, you know though, I've gotta get going, but you seem like a really cool guy so I wanted to ask you something.

Joe: Of course. Anything!

David Keith: I have a telecom business on the side, and I was wondering if you would want to work for me. No. More like - be partners with me.

Joe: What is it?

David Keith: Well, you see, the big phone companies all spend millions of dollars per day in advertising. With Telcom Direct, we pass that money onto our "reps" who go out and sell the product for us. You make $20 for every person you sign up, and for every one they sign up, you make $15 and so on and so on. It's only $1,800 to have your business cards made up, so if you just want to give me your credit card number over the phone...

Joe: Um, yeah, well I'll have to get back to you about that.

David Keith: The cards take a while to come in, so let me just get the order going now.

Joe: I think I hear my call waiting clicking in...hang on.

--click over--

Joe: This is Joe.

??: Joe, this is David Keith.

Joe: What the frig?

David Keith: Did you know that when they said my acting for "In Her Line of Fire" also known as "Air Force Too" was "phoned in" and the ensuing eviction notice that followed i's when I got the idea to join Telcom Direct? It was referred to me by John DeLancie, who played "Q" on "Star Trek the Next Generation." He made $20 when I signed up. And now you can make $20 whenev--

--END OF CALL--

So anyways, I just wanted to say thanks to Nick for remembering my birthday. It was probably the best present I've ever gotten.

If you want to do the same for one of your friends, check out:

Hollywood is Calling - David Keith

Beautiful Music

2006-10-02T21:02:00.000-07:00

Here's what happens when a semi-creative person, in the honeymoon phase of their relationship (not that it's over for me), gets ahold of a Xanax, a pen, and a barfbag as they are embarking on a cross-country flight with their significant other.

In the words of my boy Vincent - a recent double casualty of the at worst most brilliant show on television - Project Runway, "I've been making sweet music all my life, and I'll continue to make sweet music."

Without further rambling, my poetry:

"Poem on a Barf Bag" By Scott Huff

My girl is nothing like a barf bag.
Puking inside of her is not okay.
She is not made of paper,
and she is not kept in a fabric pocket underneath a pullout tray table.

My girl is different from a barf bag,
she is not white.
She is a little Latino/Asian fireball,
ready to hook up a taco, or throw a Chinese star.

My girl is nothing like a barf bag.
She is my girl.
And that.
Is why she is mine!
Love me, Love me, Love me, Sex machine.

"Untitled" a Love Sonnet by the one and only Scott B. Huff

The moon's gentle lumination
Touching the surface of the Pacific
Can't compare to the light
In your eyes

Fasten your seatbelt,
by placing the buckle into
the metal thing. No shit.
I hope you're buckled up

The perfect botany of the orchid
Is nothing,
Compared to your hot ass, and boobs,
I mean it!

You are like no one else.
A perfect specimen,
Of sweet devotional love.
Of love. Did I mention love.
I love you.
Never inflate the vest inside the aircraft.

Scotland Yard Ain't Got NOTHIN on me!

2006-09-11T12:36:00.000-07:00

The case of the missing Lo-hand bag continues:

Courtesy of IMDB:
"Police have recovered Lindsay Lohan's stolen handbag in a car parking lot at London's Heathrow Airport, just feet from where it disappeared. The Mean Girls star lost her beloved Hermes Birkin bag inside the terminal on Thursday afternoon when it was stolen from her trolley. The actress/singer was traveling through the airport with boyfriend Harry Morton on her way back to America from the Venice Film Festival when she noticed the bag, containing $954,000 worth of jewelry and her asthma medication, was missing. It is believed the bag was found in a car park at Heathrow by a member of the public, who contacted police. A police spokeswoman says, "We have not yet established what, if anything, is missing."

Wow. They have not established what, if anything, is missing?

Now, I'm by no means a professional law enforcement agent, but here's my guess. Missing - $954,000 worth of jewelry. Recovered - inhaler.

Pippen...TO JORDAN!!!

2006-09-08T11:36:00.000-07:00

An off-duty carnival worker was the only witness to the crime, and as a result, London police have been working dilligently to indentify the subject from the witness' crude rendering...

Dude Where's my Lo-hand Bag

2006-09-08T11:30:00.000-07:00

Lindsay Lohan was left devastated in London yesterday afternoon when her beloved Hermes Birkin bag was stolen from her trolley at Heathrow Airport. The actress/singer was traveling through the airport with boyfriend Harry Morton on her way back to America from the Venice Film Festival when she noticed the bag, containing jewelry and her asthma medication was missing.

Items not contained in the bag: "Her Virginity, dignity or a childhood."

Two Jacks in Pod Redux

2006-08-31T10:22:00.000-07:00

We will be recording the 2nd edition of the twojacksinthehole podcast tonight. Tune in for all the comedy you can handle, and the cut scene with the French colonialists.

Don't forget - you can now subscribe to the Two Jacks podcast through the iTunes music store. DO IT! NOW!

Just How Flammable are Old People?

2006-08-25T13:10:00.000-07:00

I live in Los Angeles. I always hear people talking about how youthful the city is. How everyone is beautiful, and you never see anyone over the age of 50. Well, leave it up to me to move into the one neighborhood that houses like every single old person in the greater metropolitan area.

Anyhow, in the past two days, there have been two emergencies involving said old people (neither of them fires), yet both have been responded to by the FIRE department. I’ve seen this many times before. And it’s always been bizarre.

Just how flammable are old people? At what age does it become protocol for emergency response to send three fire trucks to your condo in response to your slip and fall? What was the incident that led to this change in procedure?

My guess is that is was something like this...

An old woman calls 9-1-1. She's fallen down. She can't get up. Whatever. They send the paramedics. They get there. Damnit, the old woman has broken her hip. Looks like a trip to the hospital is in order. They slide the back support under the nice old lady, and hoist her into the ambulance.

It's your average ride to the hospital. The EMT's talk to the poor old lady.

"It's going to be okay ma'am. The doctor will have you back on your feet in no time."

The old lady groans. Another EMT fiddles with the oxygen mask and soaks the sweat up off of the poor old ladies head. “

It's all going to be okay,” they repeat.

”Sweet old lady. We hope she pulls through,” they think to themselves. Then...

A crackling noise, and WHOOSH – giant reddish-blue flames start shooting from the old lady's chest. It catches the front of her perm, and her head catches on fire, tripping the oxygen tank.

Jesus Christ, our lord and savior what is going on?

The oxygen tank explodes showering the inside of the ambulance with shrapnel - killing everyone inside, and tripping the gas tank.

With the driver dead, the ambulance flips onto its side. The out-of-control mobile bomb masquerading as a helpful civilian-assistance vehicle crashes through the front door of a Sack's Fifth Avenue and fully detonates killing 17 shoppers and severely melting two child-like mannequins.

After weeks of investigation, it is discovered what you, the reader, already knows – the cause of the accident was indeed a highly flammable octogenarian.

It becomes federal law that all emergencies involving people over the age of 70 must first be responded to by fire rescue.

This is the stuff the government doesn’t tell you people.

Take that DAN BROWN.

“A shadowy figure walks into a room. He hands the president a note.

”Old people are flammable,” it reads.

”You’ve done well, colonel,” says the president.

”Heed my warning, Commander in Chief” replies the colonel. “There will be others.””

From “The Flammable Geezer Code” available at www.amazon.com

Two Jacks in a Pod?

2006-08-22T11:09:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone. Just giving the heads-up that the twojacksinthehole podcast will begin this week.

Our weekly podcast will be a lot like our blog - silly, without shape, and lacking in any nutritional value.

We're like Laffy Taffy.

Shake that Laffy Taffy, that Laffy Taffy, shake that Laffy Taffy.

Check back every single second until you see the link to the premiere edition of the twojacks podcast, and how you can subscribe to have that jumpoff downloaded to your computer whenever there is a new one.

Jordan to CARTWRIGHT!

2006-08-21T17:27:00.000-07:00

When asked by Los Angeles police why he was driving a Saturn, Osment responded, "I see debt, people."

Pippen...TO JORDAN!

2006-08-18T13:16:00.000-07:00

Listen, Scott - let's cut Haley Joel some slack. He hasn't been a movie since Second Hand Lions. I think he booked his deal for back-end points only, which is probably why he was driving around in a second hand Saturn.

File Under: It wasn't if - it was when

2006-08-18T11:41:00.000-07:00

In this week's addition of file under...

File the following under: It wasn't if - it was when.

Courtesy of IMDB.com - 18 August 2006

Osment Charged With Drunk Driving and Drug Possession

Former child star Haley Joel Osment has been charged with drunk driving and marijuana possession following his car crash in Los Angeles last month. The Sixth Sense star, 18, was formally charged with the misdemeanors yesterday in Los Angeles. According to website Tmz.com, the teenager has also been charged with driving with a .08 blood alcohol level or higher and the infraction of driving under the age of 21 with a blood alcohol level of .05 or higher. The charges relate to his car crash last month, after Osment lost control of his Saturn and collided with a brick pillar in a Hollywood suburb. The young actor was treated for a broken rib and a shoulder injury at a nearby hospital.

Wow. A Saturn, Haley Joel? At least when Frankie Muniz is ready to start destroying his life he'll be destroying a $250,000 Porche along with it.

Let's Go YANKS?

2006-07-31T15:31:00.000-07:00

As you may or may not know, I am a New York Yankees fan. As you may or may not know, I'm not a big sports fan in general. In my logical heart of hearts I know that sports are stupid, and that no team is really all that much better than another. However, with what little passion I have for sports, I make love to the New York Yankees.

I'm no expert on the Yankees. I don't know who the starting pitcher is today. I don't know his record away or at home. I don't even really know who the outfielders are right now. I do know that the Yankees are somehow miraculously within a game or two of the Red Sox, and that they're desperate to make it to the playoffs. Whether or not they deserve to (again, my rational, logical mind tells me this) has yet to be determined.

So, in their infinite wisdom (and bankroll) the Yankees went out and got Bobby Abreu and Corey Lidle.

To me, the entire Yankees season has been like a bad date. Sure there were a few moments where we got a smile. And there was a great conversation where we talked about the few favorite movies we have in common. But then all of a sudden we brought up our ex, and things got awkward again. Now dinner's over. The silence is defeaning, and we are DESPERATE.

We are desperate for sex.

Desperate for a kiss.

Desperate for a second date.

Anything.

So what do we do?

We order a bottle of really expensive champagne.

Veuve Cliquot = Bobby Abreu.

Why did I say "expensive" and "Veuve" in the same thought? Because the Yankees always overpay. They get a $25 bottle of champagne for $90.

Regardless, chasing a mediocre meal and mediocre conversation with a hundred dollar bottle of champagne stinks of our inherent desperation, and is also fairly embarassing. It's also mildly insulting to our date, who knows we're trying to make up for our inadequacies by spending money we don't have, and by trying to get her drunk in order to create the illusion of us looking better than we really are.

In the end, it ends up being a case of throwing good money after bad. It might be our lack of a sense of reality, or an inability to admit defeat, but the champagne doesn't save anything. We don't realize that we should probably call it a night. Turn in early. Get a jump on tomorrow. Nope. Instead we pull the one move that soothes our conscience just enough to think there's a slight shadow of a hint of a possibilty that going in for that goodnight kiss might somehow be miraculously warranted. It's not.

And what if she doesn't turn her cheek? What if she actually takes pity on you, and decides to let you lay one on her? She's not going to invite you inside, and it's certainly not going any further than tonight. What then? You spent an extra hundred bucks to get strung along? To get a little smooch from some dame who thinks it'd be easier to pump fake you now, and then delete your number?? No thanks.

So, the Yanks might make the Wild Card. They may actually get to plant a proverbial pucker on a pair of pretty parted lips - but I can guarantee one thing - if she does save our number, it'll only be so she can remember to ignore the call until next season.

Videos

2006-07-16T12:06:00.000-07:00

Check out some videos produced by Joe and Scott at CardPlayer.com or check out Youtube.com - search Joe Stapleton or Scott Huff.

New HBO Sunday Night Lineup!!!!

2006-06-11T23:56:00.000-07:00

Hopefully the several exclamations above will read as sarcasm after viewing below:

Lucky Louie

I think it's supposed to be like The Honeymooners, only with the word "fuck." And none of the comedy.

There has to be nothing more awkward for a studio audience than watching a woman grab at a man's crotch screaming "Gimme my sperm!"

I'm pretty sure this show is written by monkeys who know how to curse, and who also think gumball machines run on nickels (anyone who saw the episode had to be irked by the same thing).

Tourgasm

Sorry, that was a typo.

Dane Cook's Tourgasm

A group of three stand-up comedians and the second coming of Jesus Christ (also know as Dane Cook) travel around in a vehicular manifestation of Dane Cook's Greyhound-sized ego.

Dane Cook's attempt to hire on three comedians who have little to no capability of ever upstaging him, completely backfires as the show is completely devoid of laughs or anything remotely interesting - save for Dane's "This bit is hilarious but I've heard it a hundred times" material.

Luckily for Dane Cook's Tourgasm, I can't say it was the worst thing on tonight.

Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith was on right after.

The good news is that HBO has finally come up with a line of programming to make "Entourage" seem intelligent.

Celebrity Lighting Rod - Mall Sighting

2006-06-02T21:17:00.000-07:00

"Celebrity Lightning Rod" is having a banner week. Coming off of possibly the most ironic celebrity sighting of all time, "Rod" caught up with famed couple Pete Sampras and Bridget Wilson at the Century City mall this evening.

Rod was headed out of the Apple Store and crossed paths with Sampras and Wilson on his way back to the parking garage. Judging from the fact that Wilson was furiously gnoshing on popcorn and Sampras was practicing his service game with a half-full bottle of Aquafina, it appeared they were coming from a movie.

Rod said that when he saw them he didn't think much of it, but after having some time to reflect on the sighting during the car ride home, he has come up with a few questions and theories about Sampras and Wilson's date night.

The Rod's Questions:

What movie did they see?

Highly Likely:

1) The Break-Up

This movie is easily the front runner. It opened this week and is seemingly the perfect date movie. However, the film has been universally panned, and Sampras has to be wary when taking his B-Movie actress wife to see films starring super A-List actresses. Sampras is an A-List sports star. Rod envisions a scenario:

Pete: I thought Jennifer was great.
Bridget gives Pete a sidelong glance.
Pete: I mean, just considering, you know, I mean, she could have really gone south post Brad and post Friends. Plenty of actresses...
Bridget: What? Plenty of actresses what, Pete? Star in a movie with Adam Sandler land a trophy husband and then drop off the face of the planet? Is that what you want to say, Pete? IS IT!
Bridget throws her popcorn.

Less Likely - But Possible:

2) X-3

After looking at the rest of the films that opened this week, Rod couldn't really imagine that the celeb duo saw a brand new release other than The Breakup. I quote the Rod, "Seriously, Surf School? District B-13? It's more likely that Sampras rented out the theatre for a private rerelease screening of Woody Allen's "Match Point."

With the drekola releases this week the couple may have ended up in X-3, although Sampras could possibly have objected after realizing that X-3 also represents the number of runner-up finishes he had at the U.S. Open.

Impossible:

3) The Da Vinci Code

What kind of asshole would go see The Da Vinci Code?

Rod also said that Pete looked totally pussy whooped and Bridget looked pretty annoyed. He went on to say, "Sampras was dressed in athletic shorts and a polo shirt. It was as if he expected Goran Ivanesevic to pop out of the Baby Gap and challenge him to replay their 1998 Wimbledon Championship match."

Good work Rod.

Ironic Celebrity Sightings are My Forte

2006-05-31T18:11:00.000-07:00

"Celebrity Lightning Rod" is back everyone. For those of you who don't know, that is one of my many nicknames, and references the fact that I tend to spot more than my fair share of celebrities when navigating the Hollywood landscape.

My sister was in town for Memorial Day weekend and, as most visitors to L.A. do, she was looking forward to seeing some celebrities.

We were out and about everyday for five days, and unfortunately there was no lightening rodage whatsoever. Until...

The night before my sister's departure we were headed to get a quick bite at Urth Cafe in Beverly Hills when a man with a giant chin jumped out in front of my car and crossed against the light, and out of the cross walk.

Do you know the celebrity and why it's ironic yet?

It was Jay Leno and he was jaywalking.

Maybe next time I'll see Richard Karn yelling at his mother-in-law in a home depot.

Thought I'd share. Also, my favorite color is opal.

The Most Dangerous Human Being on Earth

2006-05-30T17:01:00.000-07:00

The beginning of this blog is going to work like a Rorschach inkblot test. Look at the picture above. What do you see? Say it aloud.

Some of you will say, " A Jeep on a crowded highway."

Others of you will say "A Jeep driving rapidly on the 405 Freeway in Los Angeles, California."

A psycho or two might say, "Big fat titties, or, peanut butter and jelly sandwich."

However, if any of the people taking this test of personality and emotional functioning were actually in the car with me when this picture was taken, they would say, "A woman driving her jeep at 65 mph down the 405 Freeway in Los Angeles at rush hour...while curling her hair." That's right. CURLING HER MUTHERFUCKING HAIR.

I wish I had a John Madden-esque telestrator to circle the area that proves that she was using a curling iron. Unfortunately I will just have to describe. Just look at the angle of her arm to her head. She is not talking on the phone - as I initially thought when she swerved into my lane. She is not adjusting her rear view mirror. She is most certainly shoving something into her locks. That something, as I later discovered, was without out question a curling iron.

It sucks when as a writer you are at a loss for words and have to resort simply to hyperbole to prove the maginitude of a situation, but that is what I'm going to do. This woman, as far as I can tell, is the most dangerous human being on Earth. Her picture should be on the wall of the post office with all the murderers, armed robbers and sex criminals. The only difference between her and them is that she hasn't gotten caught yet.

I know that many people are in agreement that far too many extra curricular activities go on on our roadways. Many of you may call out this blog and say, "But Scott, I'm sure you talk on your cell phone when you drive. Isn't that dangerous?"

Yes anonymous reader, I do, and yes it is. But not nearly as dangerous as turning yourself into a one woman salon behind the wheel of a 3 ton vehicle.

When I told my mother about the incident she said, "Oh, that's like when women put mascara on in the car."

Not really, mother, and let's examine the reasons why:

Mascara cannot give you third degree burns.

Okay. There's only one reason. A fucking curling iron gets hot. Really hot. I envision a scenario...

The woman driving shall henceforth be referred to as Stupid Douche Bag or (SDB):

So SDB is headed to her job as a - wait I am having some trouble here, as I find it hard to imagine that anyone stupid enough to curl their hair while driving is employed. Anyhow SDB is on her her way to her job as lead shithead at the office for stupid fuckup idiots. Shes late as usual and realizes that she could use some last minute touch ups on her curls - the people at the office for stupid fuckup idiots are really concerned about aesthetic professionalism. She pulls out her trusty curling iron and plugs it into the car charger. She puts on her mascara and eats a pop tart while steering with her knees as she waits for the iron to heat up.

Ding. The curling iron is ready. She's only eaten half of the pop tart. It wasn't very satifsfying cold. She takes a moment to heat the pop tart with the curling iron. Perfect. SDB takes a bite. Delicious gooey center.

Now to the task at hand. She takes her hands off the wheel, and begins to curl. Will she go Shirley Temple or Medusa? It's anyone's guess. She hasn't even decided yet. She takes her time with each lock, curling it to perfection as a semi truck merges onto the highway. He wants to get to the center lane, but it's gonna take some doing. He gets over one lane, and starts toward SDB's. She's mid-curl when she notices the giant metal side of the semi out of her periphery. As the semi attempts to slide in behind her she hits the breaks for no real reason other than the slight disorientation caused by the harsh reality that she is actually driving an automobile, and not sitting in front of a vanity. Her sudden move causes the semi to react. He hits his breaks - FUCK - they lock up. The cab stays stationary while the ass end of the monstrous vehicle slides out from underneath and into the adjacent two lanes. Car after car slams into the truck. One flips, another breaks and gets rear ended spinning 720 degrees before being t-boned by a soccer mom driving a Hummer at 90 mph. The semi-truck, now completely out of control rolls onto its side, crushing a high school teacher in a Celica.

SDB looks in her rear view mirror. Her curls are beautiful. She breathes a sigh of relief for having escaped the carnage. It's a great day at the office for stupid fuckup idiots. She earns a gold star - then employee of the century.

Pain is beauty, baby. Pain is beauty.

At the absolute best this woman is suicidal. At the worst a mass vehicular homicide waiting to happen. She needs to be stopped. Someone call John Walsh or something.

As my dad always used to say, "If I were king for a day. She'd be dragged out back and shot." I really wish someone would have made my dad king of america this morning, because for once, I am in total agreement with him. And not only should she be brought out back and shot, so should the guy that created the car adapter for the curling iron. When will it stop?

So maybe we can't shoot people for these kinds of offences. Maybe too Draconian. But couldn't we at least lock them up at Riker's Island and throw away the key?

Okay. I'll be an activist. At least we can warn each other. So here in case you can't read it, her license plate number is 4BPH337. If you see her on the road. Get off at the next available exit.

Top Ten Lists

2006-05-24T16:16:00.000-07:00

I wish I could be more creative than ripping off a top ten list. But, then again, maybe Top Ten Lists are such thoroughfare these days, that it doesn't really count as a "rip off." Maybe it's no more "ripping off" than making a "romantic comedy." Sure, I'm not the first to do it, but the content will be original. Actually, that makes romantic comedies a horrible example.

Irregardless (I know this isn't a word. I shall use it frequently as a subtle jab at those who do).

Top Ten Lists will be a part of my blogging set list. And speaking of set lists....

When you live in Los Angeles, you're forced to go see a lot of "my friend's band!!"

"My friend's band!!" always sucks. They always play horrible rooms, with horrible sound. And you ALWAYS have to pay a ridiculous cover. The only consolation is that usually the speakers are cranked up so loud that you don't have to hear the horrible lyrics. The whole thing wouldn't even be so bad, if it weren't for the fact that they're ALWAYS so passionate about it. All jumping around and swinging their heads and closing their eyes while they sing.

Seriously, do you really need to close your eyes when you're singing lyrics like:

"This is from our new single, 'Eggcellent Day.'"

"I've been dropped and cracked upon the flo-oo-or/
things just aren't so sunny side up any mo-oo-re"

The worst part is that you always have to meet "My friends band!!" after the show, and then awkwardly try to come up with something nice to say, all the while trying not to feel awkward about the fact that you're talking to a guy whose sweaty abs remind you of where they got the body to superimpose under John Basedow's head.

That being said, I was thinking there should be the creation of a television show called "The Band Whisperer" where someone goes to these shows, and when the band's done playing, The Band Whisperer will pull each of the members aside and say things like "You're never going to make it," and "You're living in a fantasy world," and "You guys aren't very good," and "Maybe you should start working on another career."

Then the scenes that follow would entail the Band Whisperer teaching them to function again in normal society. It will be difficult for him to teach them that they can't hold their computer keyboards near their crotches and gently strum them in order to type memos. It will be a tall order explain that "the crack of noon" is no longer an acceptable phrase. And it will be nearly impossible for The Band Whisperer to keep them from instantly taking of their shirts whenever they get the least bit sweaty - but he'll do it.

Sadly, "The Band Whisperer" doesn't exist. And in my life, I have an extremely difficult time being cruel (outside of BlogWorld) or being completely dishonest, so instead, I've constructed an all-purpose Top Ten List to be used whenever you see a less than stellar band.

I call it:

Joe's Top Ten Ambivalent "Compliments" for a Shitty Band:

10) All of your equipment was in great working order.
9) No, parking was really easy, actually.
8) That one song really had a lot of verses.
7) I hadn't heard most of those before.
6) No, no. We were talking about how good the music was.
5) Most of the lyrics appeared to be grammatically correct.
4) The drummer's head and body are very symmetrical.
3) You were very efficient at setting up and breaking down your instruments.
2) They said they were just going to feed the meter.
1) I didn't know bands played this early on a Monday.

Sushi and Narcotics: A Review of Kiyokawa Japanese Restaurant

2006-05-21T22:39:00.000-07:00

"We can't stay away, Satoshi. What makes your sushi so good?"

"I sprinkle a little bit of crack on it."

You have to appreciate the honesty of Satoshi Kiyokowa, the proprietor, lone chef, and namesake of Kiyokawa Japanese Restaurant in Beverly Hills, California. Located at 265 S. Robertson Blvd, Kiyokawa is the new kid on a block with an ultra competitive sushi hustle, so forgive them if they turn to hard narcotics from time to time to ensure your timely return.

Okay, so obviously you won't be eating the spicy tuna meth roll, but it's clear that Kiyokawa is doing something right seeing as I have yet to go three consecutive days without eating there when I'm in town.

As a result of my girlfriend's obsessive nature when it comes to eating habits, I've eaten more raw fish in the past year than a performance walrus at Sea World. From Hollywood to Malibu I've sampled some of the finest uncooked delicacies that the Southland has to offer, and without question Kiyokawa is my favorite. I've already dropped $700 in the place since girlfriend discovered it through a colleague.

The restaurant itself is quaint and dimly lit, with wooden tables, chairs, and sushi bar. Light jazz plays continuously as you enjoy your meal. I use the word enjoy for a specific reason. Not only is the sushi at Kiyokawa phenomenal, but it also offers something that not many American eateries do these days - a dining experience. If your idea of an enjoyable dinner is one in which you set world records for speed of consumption, Kiyokawa is not the place for you. You should expect to be there for a minimum of an hour and half. If you suck at conversation or consider good service a place where they stick the dessert menu in the mashed potatoes, skip Kiyokawa.

However, it is during some of the down time that the star of Kiyokawa, Satoshi, really shines. He runs the entire kitchen (fully visible from the sushi bar) with just one or two assistant chefs. He is hands on with every piece of sushi, treating them like edible sculptures, and utilizing a number of tools including a blow-torch and mini-barbecues to get it just right. Satoshi adds a mix of performance art as well with the volcano roll, a California roll topped with scallops and spicy mayo. Before he brings your roll he dims the house lights, and sets your dish ablaze with his trusty blowtorch. In addition he's just a cool guy. He greets you like an old friend, and treats you more like a guest in his home than a patron at his restaurant. Buy him a beer, and wait for the quips like the one about the crack rock.

A point not to be overlooked. Eating raw fish can be downright dangerous. It doesn't come stamped with an expiration date, so eating only the freshest ingredients is important. I've heard rumors that there are certain days when sushi is the freshest. As in, "They ship it on Tuesday, so Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday are the best days." Well, unlike some of his competitors, Satoshi goes to the fish market every morning to pick up new stock. So everyday is Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday at Kiyokawa.

The menu has all of the standard sushi fare - a variety of sashimi, sushi and cut rolls - as well as some house specials - the Tuna Double-Double (which Satoshi says he can make "animal style" a joke referencing the famous L.A. burger joint In-and-Out) is a spicy tuna roll topped with large pieces of yellow fin tuna. There is also an entire portion of the menu dedicated to Yellow Fin Tuna specialties like the Tuna Tostadas $8.00 (cut up spicy tuna on fried wanton crackers) and Tuna Taquitos $7.00 (basically tuna tempura, Mexican taquito style served with spicy mayo).

Wash all of it down with hot sake, or something that I've rarely if ever seen at a sushi joint - $2.50 draft Japanese beers.

Kiyokawa has been around for less than a year, and I'm hoping that it will catch some word of mouth buzz and be around for years to come. Whether the secret ingredient is crack rock or just love, I can't seem to stay away. Check it out sometime, and invite me, although I'll probably be there already.

For a full menu, pricing, photos and a map, visit http://www.kiyokawa-restaurant.com/home.html

Bumper Stickers

2006-05-21T13:24:00.000-07:00

It is clear to me that people who have lots of bumper stickers on their cars are passionate about a lot of subjects. It is also clear to me that how stupid their cars look isn't one of them.

Actual Ebert and Roeper Da Vinci Review Outtake

2006-05-19T20:52:00.000-07:00

This is a transcription from an actual outtake from Ebert and Roeper at the Movies. After doing the thumb thing the cameras went off, and here is what the two most famous movie critics in the world had to say:

Ebert: sup?

Roeper: Nuttin saw Davinci COde this evening

Ebert: Oh yeah?

Ebert: Suck ass?

Roeper: Not good. Terrible.

Ebert: Yeah, I've heard

Roeper: Not so good. Long boring. Most people who read book didnt like it...

Okay, so that wasn't an actual outtake. That was my mom and I talking about Da Vinci code over instant messanger. I left off all of my moms lols. I'm assuming that would have given away my clever rouse. If you feel like rereading it, I'm Ebert, and my mom is Roeper.

"I'm an Open Book!"

2006-05-19T14:44:00.000-07:00

Have you ever dated anyone who said that?

"I'm an open book."

Oddly, that phrase, whenever spoken, is almost unequivocally followed by complete and utter silence.

You know why? Because that phrase is a big fat lie.

Here's an example to prove it:

One afternoon, I awoke from a glorious nap. Wearing only one pair of boxers, and one lone sock, I walked out into my living room to find my brother, and a few of his friends. Shockingly, there was even a female present (Although I mean to say "there was even a female in attendance" I like to say "female present" because if you read it the wrong way, it could mean any number of things. Was it a girl wrapped up in a bow? Was it a decorative sanitary napkin? Who knows!). Amidst a debate of whether they should watch "From Dusk 'til Dawn" or "Donnie Darko," I interjected.

"If you want to know why I'm only wearing one sock, it's because I masturbated before I went to sleep."

Now that's an open book.

I didn't feel the need to pander to them by explaining that I masturbated into the sock, nor did I sit there, shifting in my seat, clearing my throat and motioning to my one bare foot, before finally saying "Doesn't anyone want to ask me why I'm only wearing one sock!?" Nay. That would have been the equivalent of saying "I'm an open book."

What women mean why they say "I'm an open book," is that they want you to ask them questions. A literal open book (Whoah, describing what a book is, literally, is a little too literal to be describing anything literal like books. I wish I smoked weed.) would go something like this:

You walk up, and see a book open on the table. Your eye sees the first word, your brain processes it, and the same would go for the second. And so on and so on. It would be an organic, natural process. The words and thoughts would flow through the brain like vodka down an ice slide. Sure you might need to take a break, or you might get sleepy every now and again, but for the most part, it would be easy.

But it's not that easy. That's because "I'm an open book" doesn't mean that. It means, "I'm a closed book, and you need to ask me questions to get me open." But not just any question will suffice. You can't just say "How are you?" That'll be met with a one word answer. You can't ask "What are your hopes and dreams?" because that'll just get you a snort and a scoff. A further translation of the original phrase reveals "I'm a closed book, and you need to ask me questions to get me open, and they need to be the right questions."

Better questions include such examples as "Are you still being overworked and underappreciated at your job?" (if she even has one) and "Where was that really great trip you and your rich ex-boyfriend went on?"

She probably still won't be an "open book." Not right away at least.

In the ancient days of China, one who wanted to become a Buddhist monk would approach the temple gates. He would immediately be turned away - told there was no room. The applicant would then stand on the porch for three days and nights, without food or water or shelter. Sometimes the monks from inside would bring the applicants small amounts of tea or rice, but mostly they just came out and beat them with sticks. If the applicants lasted long enough they'd eventually be admitted to the monastery.

That non-sequitor was actually a yes-sequitor. The monks of old were left on the stoop not to play dice like today's porch dwellers, but instead to prove their dedication to the cause. The open book requires the same dedication. Not only do you have to try to open this book with questions, asked the right way, but you've got to ask them multiple times - just to prove you care.

Actual conversation between Joe and "Ex:"

"You never ask me about my childhood."
"I asked you a question about it last night. I asked you if you ever had any pets."
"Yeah, but you were just asking me because I want you to. You don't really want to know."
"I do, baby, I really do."
"I'm going to get drunk."

In essence, the open book is a lie. It's not an open book at all. It's a closed book. You've got to try like hell to get it open, and then when you do, you can't just start reading it in order. You've got to skip around and try to make sense of it all. And then, all of a sudden, sometimes the book will just slam shut. And then you're like "Damn, I don't even care about the end of that book anyway." But then a little while goes by, and you realize that if you want to put your penis in the book later that you're going to have to read a bit more before bed.

I jumped the rail somewhere there. Essentially, what I'm saying is that the open book line is a just that - a line. All women want is to be asked questions, and all men want is to be left alone.

So how about we split the difference.

When we ask you how your day was, just notice the effort. If we're perilously aware that not an iota of conversation has transpired between us in the last 5 minutes of dinner, and we start grasping at straws by saying "What kind of makeup do you use?" we're not actually saying "You wear too much makeup," or "You spend too much on makeup." We're really just making an effort.

When you get right down to it, none of that is what this is really all about. Just stop lying to us. Saying you're an open book is just not true.

You stop lying about being an open book, and we'll stop telling you how many people we've slept with.

Good Will Hunting...

2006-05-12T16:50:00.000-07:00

I'm sure everyone remembers that movie. I'm sure some of the following thoughts may even enter your little noggin when reminded of this film:

"My boy's wicked smaht."

"How do you like them apples?"

"Did you know that Ben Affleck and Matt Damon won an Academy Award for that??"

Yes. We're all very impressed. You're a veritable "Wikipedia" of movie quotes and facts. Bravo.

However, what I'd like to discuss is an equally memorable, but less quoted line from Good Will Hunting. That line is: "I gotta go see about a girl."

The context of the line revolves around Robin Williams' character (whom you know won't be particularly funny in this movie because he has a beard) and how he skipped out on his friends and wasted a ticket to one of the greatest baseball games ever played because he noticed some girl in a bar, and he just knew she was the one. The women ends up being the love of his life, taken from him too soon by cancer, but the moral of the story is that skipping out on the game ended up being the best move of his life.

My question is this: Does anyone know anyone who has a story that can remotely compare to this? Don't get me wrong. I'm sure it exists. And I don't mean to say that within the context of the movie that it's anything less than fantastic. But. It's. A. Movie. And unfortunately, I know too many people who in their every day lives treat it like it's a reality. Maybe they don't reference the movie specifically, or maybe they've never even seen it, but there is no shortage of people on this Earth who pass up some of the best things in life for "love."

I guess I just don't know many married people who are that happy. I mean, when I hear of it, it warms me to the very soul. However, the only people I can think of in my life who are the rule and not the exception rarer than venison at Ted Nugent's house are: broken-up single people, divorced people, and angry, bitter still-married people.

Let's take Good Will Hunting for example, and pretend like this may have actually happened. It worked out in this case, because she died of cancer. But indulge me for a moment, as I present to you a scene that surely would have occurred had her death not.

BW = Bearded Williams

RW = Resurrected Wife

BW: Honey, I don't mean to rush you, but we're supposed to be at the Bearded American Psychologists Society awards in less than a half hour.

RW: I KNOW. But maybe if you didn't want SEX this morning, I wouldn't be running late right now.

BW: I'm sorry.

She continues putting on makeup in front of a mirror. She crimps her eyelashes.

BW: Why do you do that?

RW: Because I'm ugly and I'm trying to do my best to look good for your stupid B.A.P.S.

BW: I think you're beautiful. You know this.

RW: Why would you ask me something so mean?

BW: How was it mean? I was just asking you a question. Honestly, I was just trying to make conversation. You always say I don't ask you enough questions. I was just trying to break the silence.

RW: Oh, so this is my fault? You asked me something insensitive and instead of just apologizing, you're going to tell me that I brought it upon myself? Oh, look! It's my husband the martyr who never does anything wrong!

BW: I'm sorry.

RW: What are you sorry for?

BW: I'm sorry for asking you something...insensitve?

RW: Christ. You don't even know what you're apologizing for. This is so typical.

BW: I'm sorry I hurt your feelings. Isn't that enough?

RW: But why are you sorry?

BW: You want me to explain it to you? Like I'm a child or something?

RW: I knew I shouldn't have ever married someone younger than me. You're so immature.

BW: I'm 55 years old!

RW: That's such an immature response.

At that, Bearded Williams grabs his wife by the throat and slams her up against a bookcase.

BW: If you EVER start, propagate, and drag on another fight with me for NO REASON, EVER AGAIN, I will FUCKING END YOU.

CUT TO:

Bearded Williams sits alone in a jail cell.

BW: I should have gone to that fucking baseball game.

He sobs as we fade out.

I've seen people move cross country, transfer colleges, quit and turn down jobs for "love." I've seen them lose touch with friends, get fat, give up their passions, and completely change their personalities for "love." I must admit. I've been there. I've done it. And when you're in the situation, it's almost impossible to not make those decisions. Yes, I have "love" in quotes. No, I don't believe that it's anything other than love.

But you gotta play the numbers game. The person you're making these decisions for - the person for whom you're missing great events in your life whether it be historical baseball games or just a few beers on the couch - is she really the person you're going to be with for the rest of your life? Honestly?

This goes for single people as well. If you look back at the actual context of the movie, Robin Williams' character actually ditches his friends at the POTENTIAL of MEETING someone who could be the love of his life. I'm guilty of this more than anything else. I'll strand my friends faster than the French army at the first sound of gunfire if there's a potential for me to meet and/or have strings free sex with a woman.

Recently, I disappeared from a group of my friends in Las Vegas in order to take what could only be described as a "barely average" girl back to the hotel room. I'm not even talking about missing anything as epic as an historic baseball game, and I still felt like an idiot for ditching my friends simply so I could say that I fucked a girl in her ass and then came in her mouth.

Honestly, was it worth it?

All of the aforementioned leaps and bound to which various people go to appease/woo/meet/keep their significant others pales in comparison to the biggest crime of all:

They stop taking chances.

They get complacent. They get happy. They stick with their jobs. They can't quit and look for something better because they're splitting the rent, or their girlfriends' birthdays are coming up. They can't go out and night and network because Mad About You is on. They can't work 9 -5 and then spend from 5 -9 writing or reading or playing guitar.

In the end, how many people can say it was really worth it? I've made various dumb decisions for every girlfriend I've ever had. And even more still with girls who never even made it to the "girlfriend" stage. And let me tell you, it's not worth it. There is too much life to be lived, and too many opportunities to be had to let someone hold you back for any reason.

Now, you might see this as the ingorant ranting of a guy who doesn't know what love is - a lonely single loser who wants his friends to come drink beers with him and play video games instead of going antiquing. Yes. A lot of that is true.

I'm not anti-relationship. I'm just anti-sacrifice. There are three ways around this.

#1 You've found the one. The one worth sacrificing for. The one you're going to be with for eternity. This is very unlikely. Again. Look at all the married and formerly married people that you know. Would the same sacrifices have been worth it to them?

#2 You've found someone who at least holds back from holding you back. She encourages you. She supports you. She encourages you to take chances, to take that job, to go to that party, to write that screenplay - to do what best for you, realizing that love and relationships are fleeting, and that things like friendship, dreams, and careers are far more attainable as a matter of sheer willpower. She doesn't let you stop taking chances.

#3 Ask yourself if you'd be making the same decisions if you weren't in a relationship. Then ask yourself if #1 or #2 applies. If not....well.....

For me, like I said, I've been there. I've made those stupid mistakes. Until I hit 35 years old, and I'm incredibly lonely and desperate, I'm a #3 man.

Well, that or until I find my #1 or #2.

BW: You know, I skipped that game way back then, just so I could talk to you.
RW: I'm so glad that you did. I love you. Forever. But if you ever do anything like that again, I WILL FUCKING END YOU.

So I guess in the end, the more I think about it, the more I think about who's worth it, #1 or #2, the more I realize they're probably the same person.

The Trouble With Crackwhores

2006-05-12T16:35:00.000-07:00

Honestly, I don't really mind the Crackwhores all that much. Due to the economic laws of capitalism and supply & demand, their demand for crack causes them to sell the only thing of which they have supply - sex: both anal and vaginal, and toothy blowjobs. It almost seems ironic that someone with little or no teeth can give a toothy blowjob, but I'm already off topic.

Basically, my only problem is this:

It's unfortunate that the drug addled and crack addicted lifestyle that affords me both a convenient and economically affordable outlet for sexual encounters is one and the same with the lifestyle which keeps these women's stomachs empty (of food) and metabolisms faster than a humminbird on ecstasy. In essence, they are very skinny, and they have no asses.

So, if anything, Crackwhores don't need less crack. They need more.

And I'm not talking about the drug.

Welcome

2006-05-11T20:03:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Two Jacks in the Hole, home of writers Scott Huff and Joe Stapleton.

We don't actually live here, so don't show up unannounced and try to borrow a cup of sugar. We live in Los Angeles, California where we navigate the entertainment and poker worlds as well as the worlds of semi-married life and the completely single world.

We have nothing in common except that we'll do anything for a laugh, and that seems to have worked well enough that we have forged a friendship.

In our new blog you will read about everything from relationships to movies to restaurants to gambling and more, and most often from dueling perspectives.

Here are the results of some early word association experiments done on the two jacks -

Relationships
Scott: "True love makes a man strong."
Joe: "Giant pink dildos with vibrator and butt plug attachments give women screaming orgasms."

Movies
Scott: "The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, Hoop Dreams, anything gangster."
Joe: "Evil Dead, Constantine, V for Vendetta, anything with the word "Ass" followed by roman numerals in the title."

Restaurants
Scott: "Get the crepe suzettes at Le Petit Maison - delicious."
Joe: "Super-size me."

Gambling
Scott: "I'm the most unlucky guy in the world."
Joe: "I'm the most unlucky guy in the world."

Check us daily. We won't post every day, but trust us, this shit will be worth reading more than once. We're going to blow the cover off of more fake conspiracies than two Dan Browns after some monster rips from a gravity bong.