Midnight oil? Burnt.
Incidentally, if you want to read the comic the movie Red is based on, the whole thing's online for six bucks.
|L'il Fiona in the hammock.|
|Emmett, perched for trouble.|
|Gus & Fiona on an awkward dinner date.|
Years ago, in college (and occasionally since), my friends and I would play a game called Zoinks. The rules were simple: As a reference to that season of Scooby Doo where every episode had a guest star, we'd just say "Zoinks!" followed by the name of someone inappropriate or odd for the gang to team up with. As in, "Zoinks, it's Walter Cronkite!" or "Zoinks! It's Rush!"
Last night on Twitter, I got the same feeling, participating in the thread #fakecelebmemoirs. Again, the rules are simple: Everyone just throws out their ideas for fake celebrity memoir titles, the more awkward and strained the pun, the better. And wham! Suddenly it's 3:30 in the morning.
So in order to think my late late evening wasn't completely ill-spent, here are a few favorites that I came up with:
"Devito, Devidi, Devici" #fakecelebmemoirs
"A Longoria Day's Journey Into Night" #fakecelebmemoirs
"Earnest Borgnine" #fakecelebmemoirs
"And Ringo Is His Name-o" #fakecelebmemoirs
"Who Is Alex Trebek?" #fakecelebmemoirs
"Wheel-ing in the Years: Pat Sajak Remembers" #fakecelebmemoirs
"Olmos, Famous" #fakecelebmemoirs
"Seeing John Malkovich Being John Malkovich," by Mrs. John Malkovich #fakecelebmemoirs
"Mullet Over: The Billy Ray Cyrus Story" #fakecelebmemoirs
"I Taught You To Read, So Buy My Damn Book," by LeVar Burton #fakecelebmemoirs
And here are a few of my favorites that other people came up with.
Watching Republican primaries is tough. Strategy-wise, I'm generally rooting for the least electable person to win -- in tonight's Delaware Senate race, that'd be Christine "You'll Go Blind" O'Donnell, who's much less likely to beat Dem Chris Coons than Delaware fixture Mike Castle (who was governor when I lived there).But if she wins, the country runs the risk of having Crazy Abstinence Lady making decisions for people who live in the real world. So on the whole, I'm hoping Castle wins. Because not only would it be best if O'Donnell wasn't in the senate, but Castle strikes me as the sort of reasonable, non-lockstep Republican that the GOP will need to keep their ship from crashing into Crazy Reef. So I'm crossing my fingers for anti-strategy tonight. Go, Castle.
So the other day, I finally had some frozen mussels for lunch that I'd bought at a discount from the supermarket a while back. By a while back, I mean a long while back. I can't say precisely when I bought them, but the "best before" date on the package was May, 2009, so it's entirely possible that I bought them during the Bush Administration.
But anyway, they were frozen, so I decided to give them a shot.
Upon hearing that I had expired mussels in my system, Kathy just shook her head, sadly. She gave me a look like I was a little kid who doesn't know how the world works.
"Honey... the freezer isn't a time machine," she said. "Things still.... happen... to food in there. It doesn't stop time."
"Oh yeah?" I said. Tell that to Captain America!"
"Tell it to Encino Man!"
She rolled her eyes, like I was being unreasonable. "They're fictional."
"Tell it to Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer!" And with that, I rested my case.
Turns out, everything's been peachy since then, stomach-wise. I've suffered no ill efects whatsoever, eating those mussels in 2010. But I wonder... could that be the true end of the story? Or am I throwing up inexplicably, sometime back in 2008?
Over at the Captain Comics site, I've been blogging once a week for the past two months about DC Comics' digital releases through Comixology. It's largely a game of pattern recognition -- DC launched its digital initiative a couple of months ago, and I've decided that there might be something to learn by keeping track of what books it releases, when, and with what frequency. Primarily it's an exercise in bookkeeping. Most people that read this blog who'd be interested in such things probably know that already.But there are a handful of you -- hey Greg! hey Geoff! hey Rob! -- who might not.
So here's a link to the latest column, and here's a link to the lot of 'em. And while you're over there, consider stopping by the boards, too -- it's really the friendliest comics site around.
What kind of sick creep remembers the Sept. 11 attacks, and thinks, "ch-CHING!"? Oh, right. These two idiots, making money hand over ignorant fist.
Sarah Palin and Glenn Beck are appearing together in Anchorage, Alaska Saturday to mark the anniversary of the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks, and tickets don't come cheap: The Ticketmaster page for the event lists regular adult tickets at between $73 and $130 and tickets plus a "meet & greet" at $225.
Back to high school, on closing night of Brighton Beach Memoirs. I got there just as I was delivering Eugene's last monologue.
Then I hung out backstage for a while. No one was really asking who I was, but evenutally I trew all the rules of time travel out the window, and just told people: I'm a time traveler. I'm Rob, grown up.
None of the kids backstage believed me. It was only the crew back there -- I think the actors (including myself) were taking their curtain call. And I never did get to have a conversation with myself before I was called back to the future.
Time travelers, be good to your younger selves. Don't interfere.
At Folk Fest, there's a lot of hanging around at night, wandering through camp, or sitting around a campfire. And since you're on a field full of strangers (or best friends you don't know yet), well, it's a good idea to have an icebreaker. Hence: The Magic 8-Ball.
Jay started bringing a Magic 8-Ball to the campsite a few years ago, and we've used it to start conversations, settle disputes, and find our way around the camp so we can encounter secret bars(!). The 8-Ball is invaluable. Mostly, we ask people if they have questions for the 8-Ball. We hear lots of questions, dish out lots of billiard-style wisdom, and everybody's happy -- although more often than not, the answer hedges a bit, such as "Signs point to Yes" or "Outcome hazy. Ask again later."
We prefer that they ask the question aloud, but if they don't, we just assume the question is about whether they'll finish the night with a little naked wrasslin'.
We're always right about this, by the way. It's the only thing people are shy about -- usually because their prospective wrassle-mate is standing right next to them.
(Oh, wait - one last order of business. Mom, this might be a good time to stop reading. Just pretend I end this story with something you'll find really funny.)
But I just related this story to a friend in an e-mail, and I thought I'd share it with you, too. Because the World Must Know.
Sometimes they're not shy. A woman came up to our campsite, shook the 8-Ball and asked, "Will I get head tonight?"
The Magic 8-Ball for once did not equivocate. "YES." That's it. No hedging, no weaseling -- just Yes. She was going to get the headiest head in the camp.
She was very pleased. "That's right," she agreed, making a circular scrubbing motion around her midsection before she walked off: "It's 'cause I baby-wipe that shit!"
Ah, camping! Hope the 8-Ball got that one right, since she put in the effort.