Thursday, December 30, 2004

We gonna throw down the jam tonight, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

Just like it except without the snotty clerks
The time between Christmas and New Year’s is a dead time for businesses. Nobody is answering the phones, no one is providing any service nor are they helping anybody. In other words, it’s like working at Blockbuster except without all the angry customers waiting in line.

Wild one
Boy, I went to a wild New Year’s Eve party last year. I got so tipsy I fell out of bed and landed on Liza Minelli.

New York police are now describing Liza Minelli’s accident as a drunken fall out of bed. How drunk do you have to be when you can’t even negotiate a bed?

Liza Minelli had to be hospitalized after she fell out of bed and knocked herself out. What a year. First Liza’s ex-husband, David Gest, sued her for assault, then her bodyguard sued her for assault and just when things couldn’t get worse, Liza is also New York Ranger season ticket holder.

I had to exchange a few Christmas presents. I turned in my NHL season tickets in for a Liza Minelli sleeping crash helmet.

Say it ain’t so. Oh, hell, who cares?
To put the possible cancellation of NHL’s season in perspective, that means no hockey for the Phoenix Coyotes, the Carolina Hurricanes and the Florida Panthers. That is shocking. I had absolutely no idea those teams were in the NHL.

It’s looking like the NHL’s entire season will be cancelled. In more-relevant-to-my-life news, my dog snored like a drunken sailor last night.

To put the possible cancellation of NHL’s season in perspective for the average southern California sports fan, it’s as if that movie you didn’t want to see in the first place is no longer in the theaters and not yet out on DVD.

There is a word that describes the people who will be hurt by the NHL strike this year: Canadians.

Since you asked:

Got a harp gig tonight, Slats and Nuggies. At Patrick II if you are in San Diego’s Gas Lamp district tonight. The band is the Nik Simon Band and they righteously jam the blues. I will be hanging on for dear life.

Tuesday, December 28, 2004

And now the most ironically named performer since the Stooges' Curly
In a tell-all book about the Oscars, "The Big Show" one story is that, after a camera-woman was critically injured in a fall from the stage, Madonna was furious her dance was delayed by the woman’s medical treatment. Madonna reportedly screamed: “But she's just lying there. Can't we just do this?" It didn’t say, but I’m guessing Madonna didn’t then use that delay to pray for the enlightened compassion found in her devout faith of Kabbalah.

Do you want to hug it out? Let's hug it out, beyatch and Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers*

Some staying power
Marlon Brando’s business manager, Jo Ann Corrales, has sued the deceased actor for sexual harassment. Charged with sexual harassment five months after he’s dead. Man, that Viagra is some amazing stuff.

Charged with sexual harassment months after he’s dead? Even Arnold Schwarzenegger was impressed.

Marlon Brando sued for sexual harassment after he’s dead? Kinda brings a whole new meaning to laid to rest.

According the charges, Brando made her an offer she tried to refuse.

Same thing every year
Christmas trees are like New Year’s Resolutions: everyone’s all excited and brags about them but by January 2nd, they are dead, useless and discarded.

Good news. Only 360 days until you can re-gift those Christmas Chia pets.

My mistake
Are you going to make any New Year’s resolutions? I promise to never do any more Michael Jackson, Paris Hilton, or Martha Stewart jokes. Oh wait, that’s my April Fools promise. Sorry.

One small detail
After the Lakers loss to Shaq’s Miami Heat, Kobe Bryant proved he is the only man in the league who can stop Shaquille O’Neal from scoring. Unfortunately for Kobe, he has to be on the same team as Shaq in order to do it.

Babs bashing
Barbra Striesand is getting rave reviews for her performance as the mother, Mrs. Focker, in the hit “Meet the Fockers.” Which is ironic because, people who have worked with Barbra Striesand say she is the worst Mother Focker in Hollywood.

How is it possible?
According to golf experts, Tiger Woods is poised to have a much better year in 2005 then he had in 2004. Wait a second. This is a guy who, in 2004, spent a month honeymoon on a luxury yacht in the Caribbean with his Ten-Suns-hot Swedish bikini model wife. How can one possibly have a better year than that?

*Apologies to the always awesome Jeremy Piven in HBO's "Entourage"

Since you asked:
What, after the long-slow-diagonal-parking-lot-walkers and non-hello-responders, is my pet peeve this time of year? New-Year’s-Resolution-gym-clog’rs.

These N.Y.R.G.C's (Pronounced: Nyurkgicks) people are the exercise equivalent of arterial plaque. Everybody, except them, knows they will be gone in just over a month. Generally they are oblivious of gym etiquette – “I just have six more sets of thirty then you can use this machine” – and all they do is get in the way of the people who have been working out all year. Not only that, but they insist on wearing what they wore back when they used to work out regularly, regardless of its dated style and, or, now inadequate size. Look for many leg warmers, rolled headbands, torn sweat sleeves and Magnum P.I./Richard Simmons shorty-shorts. And black-lycra-bike shorts on men who have no business wearing them in public. This is a good look on no man, but especially men over 35. They either look like they are packing a nasty rodent or, worse, that they aren’t. Nothing worse than an old guy with camel-toe. Oh, and ladies over 60, bless your hearts? Don't get mad, but, uh, err, um, sports bras are not a top. Repeat. Sports bras are not a top. (Lord, I hope this one woman in my gym reads this part)

God, I sound bitchy. What am I, the Mr. Blackman of the stationary bike? (Oh, please, Lex, you pick your workout hats based on which ones have the least sweat marks and your t-shirts based on the one with the fewest mustard and red wine stains. Get over yourself, you Mister Thang, you) It's been a long time since I've had a good diatribe against myself. That felt good. (No problem. Glad I could help)

Speaking of the gym, I am laying out some fitness goals before my next birthday: Fifty push-ups (I am at 40) 500 jump ropes in-a-row (I am at 300); 15 pull ups (I am at 10. OK, 8.) touch the rim (which would be a 24-inch-verticle-leap) and last, and the most, a sub-six-minute mile. Not bad goals for a guy who will be no-longer-thirty-by-a-fair margin come August 15th.

(Yeah, right. And why not set goals to have monkeys fly out of your butt while you're at it?) Hey, why did you have to say that? Just when we were getting along. Wanna bet I reach these goals by the ides of August? (Oh, my man, we are so on you cannot believe it. You lose you have to go to a game at Petco park in a Barry Bonds jersey) Oh, come on. Why not something reasonable, like a tiara and a tutu? (That's the bet) Oh, all right.

You're witnesses, Slats and Nuggies.