Happy Friday #61: Day of the Dagger
Today is an especially Happy Friday for me. It’s my 28th birthday, and what better way to celebrate than by blowing off whatever the hell else you had to do today and wasting your company’s time and money by clicking on the assortment of time wasting tomfoolery I’ve prepared for you. Millionaires, marijuana, mac ‘n cheese, and more are just a click away.
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Let’s start with this week’s biggest story summarily encapsulated by a text message sent to me Wednesday night by our very own Senor Limon: “All this Ted Kennedy blow-jobbery already has pissed me off, and he just died.” Well said.
We at CJS have never been huge Ted Kennedy fans and he’ll be most fondly remembered (by me anyway) as the guy whom my dad hip-checked getting off an elevator in Washington when ol’ Teddy was at his stodgiest and most impatient. We’d be remiss however if we didn’t mention Kennedy’s ability to work with both sides of the aisle to craft legislation for the betterment of the country like his work with Reagan in de-regulating the airline industry, helping George H.W. Bush pass the Americans with Disabilities Act, and partnering with Utah Senator Orrin Hatch to create the State Children’s Health Insurance Program.
This country’s fascination with the Kennedy family continues to confound us, but then we weren’t alive when Bobby and John were both banging Marilyn Monroe, so our ambivalence toward them should probably be expected. If the endless coverage on what feels like every network and constant memorializing by people who seemingly shouldn’t give a shit about this in the least isn’t enough for you, here’s a big ol’ collection of links about him for you.
Of course, our favorite obit comes from the incomparable Kissing Suzy Kolber. You’ll have to read that one for yourselves. All I have to say is: AH, CIDAHHHHH!
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From the comedically belligerent to the comedically passive aggressive. We picked this gem up on Twitter and have been laughing about it for the last two days. The two messages left by this ballsack reach for the highest levels of douchebaggery and achieve them. Kudos to this buttmunch for creating the most passive-aggressive pickup attempt of a chick in recorded history, but for actually referring to himself as “quite a catch” on someone’s voice mail. You know who refers to a person as “quite a catch”? Your grandmother and dorks. That’s it. So good luck getting a call back, dork.
But this reminds us. We find a ton of cool shit on Twitter and offer up some ourselves. So jump on Twitter and follow us @CruJonesSociety We know what you’re thinking (because we used to think it too) – Twitter is for navel-gazing assholes who update when they’re going to the gym and you couldn’t give a shit less about any of it. That’s true, there are plenty of people who plumb new depths of broadcasted banality everyday. But Twitter is an opt-in kind of thing, so if you don’t like someone’s updates, simply stop following them. That’s what we did, and we fucking love it now.
For instance, got this on Thursday from Chappelle’s Show co-creator Neal Brennan: Apparently, Ted Kennedy’s motorcade just drove off a bridge and fled the scene.
See? Jokes! In bite-sized form! You’ll love it!
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Hey, speaking of jokes, one of our favorite jokesters had a lengthy interview with the AV Club this week. Patton Oswalt has long been a CJS favorite, and unlike a lot of comedians, he just continues to get cooler and better as time goes on. How does one remain funny, defy expectations, and still seem accessible? Curiosity and determination. Take for example this exchange from the interview:
AVC: With all these opportunities like Big Fan and Caprica and Dollhouse coming your way, do you feel that you’re edging into being more of a character actor than a comedian?
PO: I’m going to continue to try to strike a balance, because I really, really do love doing stand-up, and I don’t see why it should affect the acting. And again, I’m not going, “I’ve got to become a dramatic actor now.” I just want more interesting jobs. I just want to keep doing stuff that’s different, rather than saying, “Okay, I’ve become known for this, and I’ll just do this from now on.” It’d be like writing 45 minutes of material and going, “Okay, I’ll just do that. I’m headlining now, and I’ll just do this 45 minutes.” So there’s definitely that parallel. If I feel like I’ve done this one thing, I never want to do it again. I want to do something totally different.
Patton Oswalt remains an embodiment of the philosophy CJS hopes to execute. Thanks for checking us out while we continue to define ourselves. Oh, and do yourself a favor and check out Patton’s latest Comedy Central special “My Weakness Is Strong.” We’ve seen it, and it’s fucking hilarious. Have we ever steered you wrong? And would I lie to you on my birthday? What kind of evil do you think we’re eating for breakfast?
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Who doesn’t like macaroni and cheese? Fuck that. Who doesn’t LOVE macaroni and cheese? If you know someone who doesn’t, slowly back away, never turn your back on them, and seek help immediately. Clearly you are dealing with a robot, an alien, a vampire, or some other force of evil bent on taking over the world. Mac ‘n cheese is brilliantly delicious in its simplicity and not only tastes good, but along with scrambled eggs and ice cream, is one of the only foods in existence able to soothe your soul and replenish your spirit. And while we don’t much care for people fucking with our beloved comfort food, we can’t help but wish we could have tasted all the dishes at last week’s mac ‘n cheese cookoff hosted at Steve’s Snappin’ Dogs.
We’d love to try the stuff at Morton’s, but we’re not especially interested in emptying our 401k to do so. If you’ve got a unique mac ‘n cheese recipe, feel free to send it to staff@crujonessociety.com. What will we do with it? Beyond cancelling dinner plans to make it, we don’t know. We haven’t thought that far ahead considering we’ve got nothing but making mac ‘n cheese on the brain now, but there’s a good chance we’ll publish it here next week.
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Does the above story about mac ‘n cheese make you hungry? This next story will either amplify that or make you want to fucking puke. Depends on your feelings about monstrous meat concoctions that defy all logic and your current level of ravenous hunger, we guess.
Behold: 10 Meat Structures That Require Engineering Degrees to Build and a Death Wish to Eat. We’re fond of the Meat Tank ourselves, but worry just how phallic that giant sausage serving as the cannon looks and if our desire to chomp down on it makes us gay.
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We’re not sure exactly what could cause the level of hunger needed to tackle these titans of carnivorous gluttony but suspect smoking a shitload of pot might do the trick. So, next time you’re out for a quaint little hike in a nearby national forest, you might think about picking up 12,000 or so pot plants for you and your friends as you construct your next Meat Stonehenge.
Wait, what?
That’s right, apparently due to increased border enforcement, many drug cartels have created sophisticated growing operations in the vast expanses of Colorado’s national forests. While this article seems like it’s written by a smartass high school kid, the warnings here are sincere. These are serious drug pushers with a lot of money at stake, so don’t fuck around.
Although we couldn’t help but giggle when the author wrote this grave warning from a DEA agent: “That’s why he is warning hikers who happen to hear Spanish music while traipsing around not to be too concerned, but if they also run into empty Tecate beer cans, tortilla packages and, well, armed Mexicans, not to stick around. Oh, and call the cops as soon as you’re safe, they say.” If that doesn’t sound like it’s ripped right out of The Onion, then I don’t know anything.
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Man, this economic downturn is hitting everyone hard including the unflappable Ted Dibiase. Here’s hoping Dibiase maintains his $1 million and returns quickly to conning innocent young boys into thinking they’ll win a hundred bucks by dribbling a basketball 15 times in a row only to kick it away from him on the 15th dribble. The 80s were such an innocent time, weren’t they?
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Okay, baseball time. So ladies, feel free to take a break from Happy Friday and resume that tickle fight you were having with your girlfriends in your bra and panties. We’ll be back in one set of asterisks.
The Rockies get no love from the national media, this we all know. Patrick Saunders of the Denver Post advises us to stop worrying about this, and we’re beginning to see the wisdom of that. Tom Verducci’s a great writer, but honestly, why should we give a shit if he’s not going to give the best team since June their proper due. Fuck him right in his eye sockets if he doesn’t care. It’s one of the reasons I stopped subscribing to Sports Illustrated. If national sports media wants to treat us as the forgotten time zone, I’m happy to treat them as the forgotten publication.
However, we can’t help but get excited every time we read something like this delightfully detailed and lengthy praise piece about the Rockies rotation on MLB.com. We’re going to continue to be dangerous well into September (and Rocktober, baby!), and as the teams whittle down to a final few as the playoffs begin, these pieces will become passé.
Of course, then ESPN devises a quiz seeing if everyone knows the difference between a list of Rockies players and U.S. House of Representatives members and sets the whole thing back another couple of months. Fuckers.
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One of my favorite pastimes at work is peeping in on the Denver Westin hotel. My office is on the 18th floor and looks right across the street at many of the suites. Since our building reflects the light off of it rendering any attempt to peek inside our offices impossible, I think many of the Westin’s guests fail to realize we can see them. I’ve seen more man wang in the morning than I care to recount with you, but one glorious afternoon over a year ago, two middle aged people had really enthusiastic sex pressed up against the window. Sure, they were white and flabby, but to see two people vigorously bang the shit out of each other in the middle of the afternoon on a Wednesday is always good for the soul. They were either deeply in love, or having a sultry affair in a hotel suite. Either way, they looked like they were having a fabulous time and it made me even more depressed about the website content re-writing I had ahead of me all afternoon.
Why do I bring this up? Because apparently at New York’s Standard Hotel in Highline Park, many guests are either oblivious to their floor-to-ceiling windows being visible to the many park-goers, or are outright living their exhibitionist fantasies. We’ve always felt this country’s adversarial relationship with nudity was absurd, so here’s hoping more things like what happens at the Westin and the Standard allow everyone to mellow the fuck out.
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Since it’s my birthday, we’ll close up with talk about a few of my favorite things.
With John Hughes’ recent passing, we’ve read a bunch of articles debating his legacy, his role as one of THE voices of the 1980s, and the merits of his work. Two AV Club writers took to debating the authenticity of Ferris Bueller’s Chicago experience in the movie that bears his name. As this article pertains to two things I absolutely fucking love – Ferris Bueller and Chicago – I dove in quickly.
Sadly, I was disappointed with David Wolinsky’s snobbish attitude toward his native city and his gross misunderstanding of what Ferris Bueller represents. While he’s probably right that most teenagers in their senior year of high school would probably play hooky and spend the day alternately sleeping, playing the recently released Nintendo Entertainment System, and trying to watch scrambled porn (I added that part), Ferris represents the exceptional. As a suburbanite who has likely never experienced one the world’s greatest cities by himself, why wouldn’t he want to ascend the Sears Tower, check out the Art Museum, and catch a Cub game? These things may be old hat to Wolinksy, but to everyone who didn’t grow up gawking at the Sears Tower everyday, the city is a mystical place waiting to be explored – the typical jaded teenage mindset be damned. We’re with you Kyle Ryan, Wolinsky’s an idiot and Hughes’s love letter to Chicago is right on the mark.
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For the last three years I’ve made a mix CD on my birthday. Since my stream of new and free music died as soon as I graduated college and left my radio job behind, I can no longer make punk mixes like I’m clipping my toenails. My mixes are fewer and farther between, so doing one on my birthday gives me a good snapshot of how I felt and what was going on in my life at the time. Even though last year’s birthday was awesome, the mix sucked big fat donkey balls as I tried desperately to hang on to my old taste even though I was clearly outgrowing a lot of the music I once loved.
And since I don’t have time to seek out underground stuff anymore, I’m incorporating much more pop music than I ever would have before. Hence, on this mix you’ll see the likes of Kelly Clarkson, Paramore, and Cake right along side usual stalwarts Face To Face, Zebrahead, and a band I’m appreciating more and more as I get older: The Bouncing Souls.
The more experiences I compile, the more layers I find in the Bouncing Souls. And when I came upon this review of one of their shows in the New York Times, I got the feeling I’m not alone. Going on 20 years now, a Bouncing Souls never disappoints even though they show signs of fatigue. But their indomitable spirit and relentless energy will cause things like a crowd-surfing wheelchair to happen spontaneously at one of their shows. This band is coming November 3, and if you haven’t treated yourself to one of their outstanding performances, clear your November calendar and get your ass to the Gothic Theatre. CJS will be there. Will you?
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We realize that sounds like a commercial for the Bouncing Souls, but they never have to give us any money to plug them. We’d be happy to do it for free and sing along forever, but that’s as good a reason as any to remind you to answer this week’s Confessional. We want to know: What is your favorite classic commercial? This could be a recent Super Bowl ad, the “Where’s the Beef?” lady, plop-plop-fizz-fizz, Pepto Bismol’s appropriation of the Macarena, or anything else your disturbed little mind remembers. Here are two of mine featuring (surprise!) a tiny little parakeet who shills cat food and a mind control test subject who espouses the virtues of the 64-bit Atari Jaguar over more expensive 32-bit systems. I mostly like that second one for the way that guy says “Hey, get off my lawn!” but then, I’m simple like that. Send your favorite commercials to staff@crujonessociety.com and we’ll compare notes on Monday.
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And finally, gotta mention it one last time…
Please don’t fuck me in the ass today.
And see you all next week.
28 Aug 2009 E Dagger