Vu Vu, Zela…

Hey there, ‘Redheads… I hope you’ve got better things to do with yourself on a Friday night than I do. Here I sit, slaving over a lukewarm keyboard, so I can deliver a reheated batch of cobbled together Facebook status updates. The evening hasn’t been a complete waste. I was inexplicably possessed with the urge to take a roughly three mile stroll. I think I sprained a sweat. What cured me of my case of Restful Leg Syndrome? Maybe I’m just pumped up about the Wild World of Cup…

Have you caught World Cup fever? I’m not sure what I’ve caught just yet. Maybe it’s World Cup whooping cough. All I know is, now that the NBA has finished up, I’m ready for some futbol. Cue Hank Williams Jr. All my rowdy friends are here for…Friday morning. I was a little torn about today’s game between USA and Slovenia. Of course I was rooting for the home squad, but I felt a certain kinship with the Slovenians. I’ve often been called “slovenly”. And WOOHOO! A 2-2 tie! Yeah! Go team! Way to…finish the way you started. If there’s one lesson I’ve learned so far watching these games it’s, “Take the under.” I’ve seen more scoring at the Amish Star Trek convention after party. I suppose I’m like most Americans. We want action. Our eyes are trained to enjoy stuff like this (WARNING: If you’re epileptic, grab a spoon)…

Whatever your opinion of the action, you have to respect what these athletes are able to do on the pitch, especially when they’re surrounded on all sides by a giant swarm of bees. What’s that? Oh, right. That incessant buzzing is the South African ricola horn, the vuvuzela. Is it just me or does “vuvuzela” sound like the name of Jerry’s girlfriend in the Telemundo Seinfeld episode where her name rhymed with a female body part? It actually reminds me of being on the floor of the World Series of Poker a couple years ago. All you could hear was 800 players continuously shuffling chips. It sounded like it was raining. So, a lone vuvuzela probably isn’t so bad. A couple thousand of them and it sounds like you’ve got a blown speaker on your TV for the whole game.

Speaking of unbridled noisy patriotism, remove your hat and check out this ode to the American spirit…

If that doesn’t get you juiced up to watch our boys leave their cleat marks in another nation’s behind, then move to Russia.

That’s all for now. To be continued…

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Double Double…

Hey there ‘Redheads… I just got done watching Stephen Strasburg’s debut for the Washington Nationals. The kid’s got a cannon for an arm. One thing I don’t get about baseball tradition. Why in the hell would you smear a shaving cream pie in the face of your new stud pitcher after the game? “Great game, rookie.” “GAH! MY EYES!” Why don’t you give him a celebratory cleated stomp on the hand while you’re at it. I’m not saying a pie in the face isn’t a great way to welcome a rookie, but why not use an actual cream pie? Embarrassing AND delicious.

As you know, many jokes come at another person’s expense. Some have smaller accounts to draw from and some can pay for years of ridicule. This installment of the blog is going to be making a withdrawal from the bank of Helen Thomas. Don’t know who that is? Well, here’s a picture to help you out…No, wait, that’s not her. Here ya go…No, that’s still not right. Here it is…She recently retired over some controversial comments she made about the Israelis and Palestine and mentioning that they should go back to Germany and Poland…on camera…to a Rabbi. Any time you tell a race of people to go back where they came from or make a vague reference to the Holocaust, it’s not going to end well. Helen was a fixture in the White House press room, and by “fixture”, I mean she had taken root over the 50 years she’d been there. It’s not clear whether she’ll be returned to Jim Henson’s Creature Shop or if she’ll look into a lucrative career spinning straw into gold. Is she even retiring or did someone finally just say her name backwards three times? She makes an English bulldog look like Joan Rivers. At this point, I figured the White House spokespeople were only answering her questions because they thought she would allow them to cross her bridge. After such a long stretch, she’ll probably just return home and spend more time gardening and frightening the crap out of her grandchildren. Or she may sublet your nightmares. Surreal estate, I guess. Anyway, Helen, I hear Poland or Germany are nice this time of year.

Also, a belated happy 25th anniversary to one of my favorite movies, The Goonies. Have a Baby Ruth and go exploring. Or do the Truffle Shuffle. Unfortunately, I’m much better equipped to do that dance now than when I was 10. Check this out. Apparently, there’s a deleted scene from the end of the flick where the gang fend off a giant octopus…

Finally, a very happy birthday to my impossibly cute niece, Riva…She’s the big 0-2 today. I look forward to sharing a Fudgy the Whale with her this weekend. There’s a nice visual lime wedge to bite into after the bitter tequila shot of Helen Thomas, eh?

To be continued…

Remember

Hey there ‘Redheads… I hope everyone had a memorable Memorial Day weekend. I managed to get three bbqs under my belt. Good food + good friends = good times. It was not a good weekend for the world of pop culture iconography, as we lost another pair, Gary Coleman and Dennis Hopper. Both were disappointing, but not shocking. Hopper had been battling cancer and Coleman just seemed to be cursed.

When I heard that Gary Coleman passed, I did two things. First, I braced for the tidal wave of incessant parroting of his catch phrase, “What’choo talkin’ ’bout, Willis?” Second, I hopped on IMDB to check out what else, besides Diff’rent Strokes, he’d been in. When I clicked on his page, there were a couple related articles regarding the fall that led to his critical condition. One of the headlines caught my eye. It read, “Coleman’s Diff’rent Strokes Dad ‘Praying’ For Star.” I didn’t know what was more shocking, that Gary Coleman was dead or that Conrad Bain was alive. Then I found out that Charlotte Rae was also on the right side of the dirt. Somebody check on Danny Cooksey…Turns out, Danny Cooksey was John Connor’s redhead delinquent pal in Terminator 2. Nice to see he found work. But I digress.

Next to go was movie legend, Dennis Hopper. My first introduction to Hopper was as the nutty hippie science teacher in the sci-fi classic, My Science Project. Do yourself a favor and rent it, if you can even find it on DVD. I never saw Easy Rider, but I loved him in Blue Velvet and Speed. I’ll do the man a favor and not sully his memory by mentioning Waterworld or Super Mario Brothers. As a tribute to Mr. Hopper, please to enjoy one of the greatest scenes on film, between he and Christopher Walken, in True Romance

And now, because the rule of three must be satisfied (though technically it’s four, because Dio started the new cycle), we lost yet another Golden Girl, Rue McClanahan. I picture Betty White holding a sword aloft as lightning coarses through the blade… There can be only one! We need to be mindful of this precious natural resource that is slowly fading away. Without the beloved celebrities from our youth, what will we ironically reference? So, treasure the Betty Whites and the Abe Vigodas while they’re still here to be in Snickers commercials because pretty soon, that’s all we’ll have to remember them by…

Arnold Jackson, Clifford Worley, and Blanche Devereaux, you will be missed.

To be continued…