I couldn’t figure out what to do tonight. I didn’t really want to watch any movie that I had in the house. I didn’t want to watch any TV show I have on DVD either (which seems to be the go-to option more and more lately). And Network TV on a Saturday night is about as appealing as a kick to the sack. I thought about going to the store to get some beer and cream cheese. Beer for right now, Cream Cheese for the morning. The pairing has nothing to do with one another. I didn’t really want to read the book I just started today. I think it will be one of those that I can only take in small doses. So I decided to write in this thing I got going here.

Anyway, with the newest CD in the collection, the self-titled debut by the 22-20’s rocking out and a Crown and Pepsi clouding or perhaps clearing my thoughts, I decided to write about some things that I’ve been thinking about lately. Which, by the way, when reading that last sentence makes me think, “Who the fuck do you think you are?” Does anyone give a good goddamn about what you choose to put in your precious little blog? I suppose the answer (hopefully) is no. Which leads me to the next logical conclusion, that I am doing this for some personal reasons. I guess part of it is to write, just to fuckin write c.) Lester Bangs. Is it necessary for me to document why I hate a commercial with such energy (and probably un-needed), which is usually reserved for Enron executives? To answer my own question, no, it’s not really necessary but on this particular evening, I feel like documenting said thoughts.

We might as well begin with the aforementioned commercial. Its frequency of airplay has decreased lately (I guess, I have no sort of stats to back this up). It is for Verizon Camera Phones. I’d say the frequency of this commercial peaked around Father’s Day. You probably recall it somewhat. It goes something like this.

Some dickwad (to be referred to as Dickwad from here on out) with a corner office gets a Camera phone for Father’s Day. Some dunce (to be referred to as Dunce from here on out) with halfa cubicle down the hall comes in to shoot the shit. He’s wearing a purple #1 Dad necktie. Dunce asks Dickwad what he got for Father’s Day. Dickwad proceeds to tell Dunce that he got a Verizon Camera phone and because he’s so fucking brilliant, he acted at the right time and got a second one for free for Wifey. Dickwad continues his smug ass act and asks, “So what you get?” Dunce feels like a fucking social reject and walks away.

Dickwad feels like he just got over on the Dunce from the cubicle and guess what?? He needs to let Wifey know. So he sends his whore of a wife the snapshot of the Dunce with the #1 tie. And you’ll never guess, but that strumpet gets her rocks off to by laughing at the Dunce from the cubicle. And this should come as no surprise but Wifey has a cool job. It looks like that she’s set up in front of a drafting board or a copy editing bay or something an Ad agency would need. Basically, she works at a cooler place and has a cooler job than you do. She fucking knows it too. Her and her Dickwad husband are better than you. They have better jobs, they like better movies than you, they sure as shit make more money than you, they drink responsibly and only the top shelf stuff, they act almost strictly ironic because they “get” things unlike your dumb cubicle, copy making ass.

It doesn’t end there. Some other Dunce comes in later; (aka Dunce #2). Apparently he got a crummy gift too. And Dickwad needs to put him in his place because he feels that it is moral responsibility. He thinks “Let me get this straight, this guy, this fucking guy in the cubicle is gonna show up to work in MY fuckin office wearing some hat that his borderline retarded son copped at the bargain bin at Sears?!?” Dickwad keeps it real so of course he needs to snap a shot of him at the entrance of his office, Dunce #2 can’t actually step into the office. That shit would be violating. “You wanted to see me?” Dunce #2 says. Dickwad just snaps of picture of him and laughs RIGHT TO HIS FUCKING FACE. I think that was the end of the commercial.

I sure there was a voiceover giving particulars of the two-for-one deal that apparently only the social elite are hip to. I’m sure Dickwad and Wifey knew about it because Verizon emailed them about it. Definitely emailed to Dickwad’s secondary account. Dickwad is careful about giving out his personal email account because Dickwad know the hassle of dealing with Spam and such. The email probably went something like this.

Dear Dickwad,

Just wanted to let you know about the Two for One Camera deal we just cooked up. We feel odd telling you about it. I’m sure you knew about it already because, well, you are better than us here at the Publications Dept. at Verizon. But just in case you were in Turks and Caicos and didn’t hear about it from your updates on your Two-Way, we figured we would email you about it.

Sincerely,


Verizon.

Some other things that are implied by the commercial that inspire hatred within me is: Ok, if Dickwad and Wifey are giving each other Pop’s Day gifts and they clearly both have jobs that the general populace wishes they had, who is at home with the predominantly gifted offspring? (Let’s call him Born on Third Base, thinks he hit a Triple) If you think Born on Third Base, thinks he hit a Triple is not playing the violin or using a vocab at least five grades ahead of his current level, you are sadly, sadly mistaken.

You know Wifey didn’t stay at home for more than six months after getting that preplanned C-Section doped up on pills. She has a career to worry about. Dickwad runs shit. And he is a little too uncomfortable with being a stay at home Dad. That would give Dunce and Dunce #2 ammo to make fun of him when they are drinking Coors on special during Happy Hour at Outback Steakhouse down the road on Friday. Dickwad can’t roll this way.

So you know what Wifey and Dickwad do?? I’ll tell you what they do. They put Born on Third Base, thinks he hit a Triple in the absolute finest daycare, pre-school, private elementary school. Pretty much all the way up the line, Born on Third Base, thinks he hit a Triple will be ensconced in Giftedness. But really, would it be any other way? I think not.


So I’ll put a new CD in and move on to something else.

I like using the word “aforementioned” more than the average person I think. If I were Travis Rodgers (producer for the Jim Rome radio show for those not in the know) and I had a list of things, phrases, topics that would guarantee a fax or email got read on the air, using the word “aforementioned” would be one of the things on the list.

Others:

Bourbon (extra points for Maker’s Mark Bourbon), Boise, ID, Famous Amos cookies (extra points for giving props to the original story on the back of the packages), mentioning driving across the country and the positive aspects of it, snacking, Deerskin Jackets and Brooke Burke.

And every time Romey resets this point, some clever clone get off an email that mentions everything that T-Rodge has on the list in a sentence (side note- some of the things on his list (I think) include: the word ‘unsavory,’ midgets riding mopeds, World War II history buffs. The rest is hazy. You, or I, could probably find it online somewhere. Perhaps before the end of this attempt, I will find out the rest.)

Anyway, a sentence that would include all the things on my list could be something like this:

I saw Brooke Burke wearing a Deerskin jacket drinking Maker’s Mark at a bar in Boise. She said how much she loves driving across the country. Especially when snacking on some Famous Amos Cookies on the aforementioned trip.

I went to Alexander Street Pub on Friday night and it was similar to all the other times I’ve been there but I guess I noticed some things a little clearer. First off, the smell. It smells like the cheapest sugary liquor you can imagine. Now imagine that liquor soaked into carpets and spilled onto sticky hardwood floors. Next, add the scent of a lot of people sweating out alcohol soaked sweat. That’s what it smells like.

What it sounds like isn’t much more pleasant. The soundtrack to Alexander Street Pub is the musical group Taint. I use the term ‘musical group’ somewhat loosely. Taint is a cover band, fronted by a guy that makes George Costanza look like George Clooney. This should not be my concern. But it fuckin is because he is always preening around stage and taking off his shirt. This is douchebag taking up my air and being an overall jackass without a shirt on is most defintely my concern. He's always jumping around, hitting himself in the head and standing on the speakers or some shit.

This isn’t about cover bands being well, cover bands. Like Snoop said about ‘studio gangsters’ “It’s not something I would do, but I can’t tell somehow how to get their paper.” Basically how I feel about cover bands in general. Plus, chances are, their original songs would suck ass anyway. But Taint just pisses me off something fierce. I actually consider making my way through the crowd and breaking a glass beer bottle over the lead singer’s head. Or at least throwing on stage. Questions that usually pop up in my melon and prevent this assault are “Would the bass player start pummeling me? Would the bouncers start pummeling me? Would someone from their inexplicable fan base shiv me? So I start thinking about pouring a beer on their control board. Just to royally fuck up their sound system (or the bar’s system). Basically, so I wouldn’t have to hear them anymore.

In a sentence, I hate the execution and visual and audio aspects of Taint rather than the idea of Taint. And I truly hope that is the last I devote that much time to things that rile me up.

Another development of the summer is the destination that Sunday night has become rather than something that just ends the weekend. Entourage, Family Guy and starting tonight Hogan Knows Best, which I think will fill in at 9:30 nicely. Like fellow author Dan Hoock and resident of where we watch such programming, said "Like we're not gonna watch it (Hogan Knows Best), I mean, especially on at 9:30." Basically.

I could defintely write a lot about how awesome Entourage has been this year. Small note on it's awesomeness: Last week's couldn't touch the week's before where Jeremy Piven officially wrapped up an Emmy. If whoever is in charge of giving clips to Emmy voters doesn't pick that five to seven minute segment when he goes from the Marriage Therapist to firing the mail room guy, the game is fixed.

Smaller note on it's awesomeness: Last week's episode when Turtle just goes "Yo, fuck Aquaman Vince!" I laughed my ass off. Dude was just saying take Aquaman like his life depended on it (which I guess it kinda did, the life he wants anyway.) and Completely changes his tune.