AsiNine

Hey there, ‘Redheads… It’s the last installment of ’09. I really wish I had something worthwhile and at least knee deep to impart to you as we hurtle into the next decade, but I gave up on trying to be profound a long time ago. I am amatuerfound, at best. I’d also like to be able to reflect back on the year that was, but my mind has the retention of an etch-a-sketch in the hands of an epileptic during a Pink Floyd laser show. In order to reminisce, one must first be able to…minisce. So, let’s discuss the year ahead, 2010. Resolutions perhaps? Well, there are a lot of things I’d like to accomplish. The usual stuff. Advance the comedy career, look less like a tub of goo, blah blah blah. It’s all talk right now, as it has been every year around this time. What I’m saying is, my resolutions aren’t exactly 1080p. One thing I do plan to do is to streamline the blog a bit and make the entries more concentrated and more frequent. I aspire to daily, but let’s take baby new year steps. If you think about it, blogs are the magazines of the next decade, if they weren’t already. Don’t expect a swimsuit issue, but you won’t get those annoying subscription cards, neither.

Maybe I’ll finally write the mediocre screenplay that’s been stewing in my head for all these years. It’s the classic struggle of good vs. evil, with a plucky band of heroes up against unimaginable odds. If I can find a way to shoehorn vampires into it, I think it’ll be worthy of an MTV Movie Award. What I’m trying to say is, dare to dream, people. Or you could just pick random words out of a bingo ball tumbler and write a movie around that, like these guys did…

I hope we finally get some cool sci-fi stuff to finally become reality in 2010. Not that pocket-sized computers aren’t cool, but I was told we’d have hoverboards by 2015 and I want to have a year or so to enjoy them before the impending Mayan apocalypse. Let’s get cracking, science.

Thanks for taking a couple minutes out of your year to check out the blog. Let’s do it again in ’10. See you next year…

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All Work And No Blog…

Hey there ‘Redheads… Greetings from beyond the frozen tundra. I hope everyone has dug out and are now able to go about their business. The pandemic of cabin fever around town made The Shining look like a documentary. A lot of people were excited about the snow. I call these people Eskimos. Here’s the sad truth about getting older and more practical. Snow no longer means care free frolicking. It’s a horrible inconvenience. Businesses shut down because no one can get anywhere. Luckily, I didn’t have a comedy gig this weekend, because it would’ve been cancelled. And the mere forecast of snow sends the populace into hysterics. People pile into the grocery store and ransack the aisles like they may never see sunlight again. God forbid you have to buy something simple, like toothpaste, because you get stuck in the express line behind 15 yahoos who have enough loaves of bread in their cart to build a fort out of pumpernickel. By the way, here’s a helpful shopping tip for the panic stricken masses: If the store is sold out of toilet paper, just buy extra bread. So, it’s a huge hassle for anyone who has plans that don’t involve crawling inside an animal carcass for warmth.

Such was the case for my parents and I, who needed to get up to Philly on Sunday for my as yet unnamed nephew’s bris. As of Saturday afternoon, we weren’t going to risk the trip, since we were one man short of a capable bobsled team. We decided to wait until early Sunday morning to see if the road crews made any headway. I got the call at 6am on Sunday that we were a go. I expected the trip to be a reenactment of the Donner Party. Turns out, we had a pretty clear shot up to Philly. So, without further ado, may I introduce my new nephew, Asher Yosef…
Nicknames abound for this kid. The obvious one, of course, is Ash. Until the bris, everyone has been calling him Sting because of the blond hair. Then, there’s the timeless classic, Scrunchyface McPoopypants.

And now, a tale of two trailers. When I saw Ninja Assassin recently, I saw this trailer for the upcoming comic book flick, Kick-Ass

I was mildly interested, but not terribly impressed. It looked like a pretty tepid, kinda funny, smirk at the recent flood of superhero flicks. Today, I saw this trailer for the same movie…

HOLY. SHIT. This movie looks amazing. Take away the purple costume and this is what Natalie Portman’s character in The Professional could’ve become. Consider my ten bucks spent.

The balcony is closed. I’m going to bed. May you have a very merry and a holly jolly…

To be continued…

The Sincerest Form of Flattery

Hey there ‘Redheads… Happy 4th night of Hanukkah (or 5th, depending on when you read this). It’s the festival of lights, so I hope everyone is celebrating appropriately…by getting lit. With the incessant tide of yule blaring Xmas music just about everywhere you turn, I was pretty jazzed to stumble on this new take on a recent Hanukkah classic…

I think I’m going to pass on Adam Sandler’s cover of Sweet Caroline. Which brings me to the theme of this installment. I’m a big fan of movie remakes. The 2001 remake of the 1960 Ocean’s Eleven is one of my all time favorite flicks, as is the 2004 remake of 1978’s Dawn of the Dead. Each one classics in their own right. So, I’m not against remaking a film as an homage or giving it a needed update to fit the times. Now that I’ve gotten that small point out of the way, may I direct your attention to the following two movie trailers. The first is for 2007’s understated British black comedy, Death at a Funeral

And the next one is for the overstated black comedy, coming out in April 2010, Death at a Funeral

It’s the same movie. It’s the same premise, the same plot, the same gags, the same characters, and the same goddamn midget. Except, instead of understated British humor, you get to hear Tracy Morgan say, “DAAAAAAAAMN!” Nice to know that Hollywood has outsourced its script writing to Kinko’s. I’d like to announce my plans to remake Avatar, by turning the contrast knob about three clicks to the right.

Let’s move on to happier news. I got a great Hanukkah present on Sunday in the form of a new bouncing bundle of baby nephew…
Until his bris this weekend, he has no name, but I think I’m leaning toward Hanukkah Harry. I’m sure the parents will approve.

To be continued…

Wheel A Meal

Hey there, ‘Redheads… I know, two blogs in one week? Can you handle the heat? Here’s a quick tidbit for your mild amusement…

I was flipping channels a couple nights ago and turned on Wheel of Fortune just as this glorious game show nugget happened…

Gee, Pat, I don’t know how she was able to solve that puzzle so fast. Maybe it was because she was picturing each letter as a slab of light-up cheesecake, slathered in blueberry topping, that security would have to use stun batons to keep her from charging the set and attempting to cram it into her gigantic, puzzle-solving maw, using Vanna to pick her teeth afterward. She probably scrawled “Cheesecake with blueberry topping” on every flat surface of the dressing room before the show, like the head pastry chef of the Overlook Hotel. That’s like having Adam Lambert on the show and the phrase be Pat Sajak’s crotch. You know what might’ve been a tough one? Salad. Like I should talk (type). Me calling someone else a fat food vacuum is the pot calling the kettle diabetic. And there’s the spoonful of self-deprecation that helps the medicine go down.

Happy Hanukkah to one and all. May you get tchotchkes, eat latkes…and drink vodkas. It’ll sound better after you look it up…

More soon…

Wide World of Sports

Hey there ‘Redheads… I’m not sure I’m ready to accept the fact that it’s a week deep into December. Time is flying like a clock in a catapult. The evidence was overwhelming on Saturday, when we got our first bit of snowfall. Luckily, I made sure to stockpile the essential bread, milk, and toilet paper before the big storm the Mayans tried to warn us about touched down and made the streets all damp. It wasn’t even good snowball weather. All it left me with was a minor inconvenience and a hankering for a milk and toilet paper sandwich.

I’d like to thank Tiger Woods for filling the void with plenty of salacious slush to frolic in. I kind of feel sorry for Tiger, mostly because of the many double entendres that exist in golf terminology. Por ejemplo, there’s no fair way to tell just how deep in the rough his balls are, but he needs to improve his lie with so many holes left to play. And it’s only too perfect that there’s nine strumpets (I’m bringing that word back) claiming he left a divot in their sand trap. Most women I’ve talked to seem to agree that the best word to describe him: Putz. Then, of course, there’s the obvious cat pun that I haven’t heard anyone make yet, so please pardon me while I make it here. He should probably change his name to *deep breath* Cheetah. I’m here all week. Try the veal.

If Tiger’s travails weren’t enough for you, then maybe you got a kick out the latest schadenfreude exhibition put on by the Washington Redskins, who outplayed the undefeated Saints for all but about two minutes of regulation. They had a chance to go up by 10 points with 1:52 remaining. Here’s a reenactment of what happened next. Viggo Mortensen represents the Saints, William Hurt represents every Skins fan watching, and the henchman with the chip shot chance to seal the deal represents Shaun Suisham

I suppose the other henchmen represent the many missed tackles of LaRon Landry… And after that, the Skins once again failed to succeed or succeeded at failure, and for all of that effort, they got squadoosh. I know the team is embroiled in a legal fight to change their name. After this loss, may I suggest they change it to the Generals. If you got trigger happy with your remote during the game, hopefully you were able to catch this infomercial gem that was on Channel 7 during the first half…

Wow, Bachelor of the Arts Baracus hawking cookware to a paid studio audience of fools not even fit for his pity… I’m pretty sure even Dirk Benedict would’ve turned that gig down. Mr. T’s street cred shouldn’t be swayed by this tiny pock mark. After all, he got past this…

Big doings in sports that don’t exist, too. Of the four teams that I helmed this fantasy football season, a whopping one of them, The Minnesota Vicarious, was able to back into the playoffs, while another, The Most Humble, has an outside shot. As for the other two, I’m starting to come to grips with the fact that my fantasy just might be mediocrity and crippling disappointment. I’ve got it that good, apparently.

Speaking of reality, do yourself a favor and check out my comedy compadre, Ryan Conner’s breakdown of the televised collision of two trains carrying a load of douche nozzles known as Jersey Shore. Click here to feel better about yourself.

To be continued…

Last Minute

Hey there ‘Redheads… I managed to will myself out of my Thanksgiving food coma to shoehorn one last blog into these waning minutes of November. I hope everyone had a gullet-stuffing Turkey Day. And when I say everyone, I mean everyone…

I was a little disappointed in my overall Thanksgiving consumption. I didn’t pace myself and I filled up too quick. Maybe I overdid it on spinach & artichoke dip while taking in the slate of football. Hindsight is 20/20, even though my field of vision started narrowing as the meal went on. When it was time to head home, I had to punch an extra notch in my seat belt. The only door buster deals for me were the ones I tried to wedge myself through. If I hadn’t pushed away from the table, and maybe gone after another helping of pie, the medics would’ve needed to knock out a wall to get me. Meals like that are the reason I don’t own a scale…or a Wii Fit. Wii Fit is an amazing little device, though. I hopped on one at a friend’s house, and it was able to analyze my level of physical fitness, then it went online and called the paramedics. It also makes recommendations about different foods to eat. I think it told me not to buy any green bananas.

I’ve also been gorging myself on an unhealthy amount of cinematic mayhem as well. Over the weekend, I caught 2012 and Ninja Assassin. My expectations were low to middling for both, thus allowing me to be pleasantly surprised. When I first saw the ads for 2012, I figured it was going to just be an fragile candy shell of CGI destruction with no real velvety nougat to hold things together. The scenes of global annihilation are very well done. I’m pretty sure this was given away in the previews, but a tsunami dumps an aircraft carrier onto the White House. You also get to see California slide into the Pacific and Woody Harrelson get carbonized by a volcano erupting out of Yellowstone National Park. All of this on it’s own would be pretty ho-hum, but leave it to the unassuming John Cusack and his plucky family unit to find a compelling way to survive. It was also nice to see that Oliver Platt found work. I’m pretty sure the Mayans predicted that, too.

Now, if you like your mass killing a little more up close and personal, then might I recommend Ninja Assassin. This movie isn’t just a bloodbath, it’s a blood jacuzzi. It’s a classic tale of bloody betrayal, bloody revenge, and the resulting bloody stumps. This is the latest offering from the Wachowski brothers, who produced the flick. It does have some cool Martixy imprints on it. Their patented bullet-time effect is translated to ninja shurikens that rain death from the shadows, turning their targets to quivering piles of slurry. My only complaint, was that since ninjas operate mostly in the dark, some of the action was tough to keep track of. But there’s so damn much action going on that you’ll find a blood geyser no matter where you look. It’s got everything you want from this kind of flick: ninjas and a renegade bad ass former ninja that kills the previously mentioned ninjas with various pointy objects.

The one movie that looks like it’s going to be a giant load of crap, is Avatar. Don’t get me wrong, I love me some James Cameron. Aliens and Termintaor 2 are two of the greatest pieces of sci-fi action ever made. This just looks like it’s going to be an over-bloated, over-preachy piece of 3-D garbage. Don’t think that putting Sigourney Weaver and cheap imitation space marines in there will fool anybody, Mr. Cameron. Don’t be like Lucas and cheapen the dork memories we cherish with weak story-telling propped up by not-so-special effects. Stan Winston would not be pleased.

Ok, enough with the geek rant. Sorry about that.

That’s all for now. The balcony is closed.