Dig it!

This blog sure has been willy-nilly of late, ain’t it?  Sorry about that.  New schedule…summertime business.  Them’s the breaks.  While I’ve got you for a minute, I just wanted to slap together some stuff that might keep you busy until the next “real” blog entry.  Just some stuff I like.  Maybe it’ll help you wrap your head around me a little.  For example…

The Novels of James Ellroy

Gott DAMN that guy can write.  I’d never read any of his stuff before the movie adaptation of L.A. Confidential hit theaters.  But that flick blew my skirt up, so to speak, and my dear ol’ mom got me a copy of the screenplay.  It was as good or even better than the movie!  Sounds weird, I know…but the script had so many great notes and asides that nicely filled in the gaps between book and movie.  Here’s what you do: next time you’re at the library or bookstore, check out/purchase/read/steal the screenplay for one of your favorite movies.  Terminator 2 is AMAZING in screenplay form.  (Pretty goddam good movie, too.)

Kim Basinger’s cleavage in no way influenced my decision.

Anyway, recently I started picking up some of the other Ellroy books, to fill in the rest of his “L.A. Quartet.”  I read ’em out of order, because I wanted to read “The Big Nowhere” first.  See, the main character is a scummy bagman/former cop named Turner Meeks.  In the movie version of “L.A. Confidential” they change his name to Leland Meeks.  WHAAAAAA?!?!  Why would you change that awesome name?  Doesn’t matter, because in the movie he’s just an old guy and then a corpse under a house.  Meh.  Maybe it’s better that way.  Fuck you, Leland!!  (Oh.  Maybe I should’ve said “spoiler alert.”  My bad.)

But then I read “The Black Dahlia.”  Holy shit, what an amazing read.  The movie version kinda sucked.  I will say, however, that the casting director got some things right.  As I started reading, I thought “This Lee Blanchard character sounds a lot like Aaron Eckhart.”  I went to IMDB to refresh my memory of the film and DAMN!!  Aaron Eckhart played Harvey Dent!  Or Lee Blanchard!  I’m all confused.  But in closing, read Ellroy’s stuff this summer, then play some L.A. Noire and sip a good Scotch, neat.  You owe it to yourself to lose yourself in late-40’s/early-50’s Los Angeles.

Sharks, motherfucker.

As I write this, there are 75 days until Shark Week on Discovery.  As I write this, there still hasn’t been a better shark-related movie than Jaws.  Did you know that Spielberg’s big gamble which also became the first “summer blockbuster” is 37 years old?  Did you know that “Deep Blue Sea” was a steaming pile of HORSE SHIT?!?  Okay, maybe that thought had occurred to you.  The point is, if you are a shark junkie like me, there just isn’t enough quality shark-related programming out there.  Discovery treats sharks like the goddam McRib, only dangling them in front of us for a LIMITED TIME!!  GET ‘EM WHILE THEY’RE HOT!!! Or, you know…while they’re cold.  Because, you know…cold-blooded.  Fish and all that.

Never. Gets. Old.

Did you know that there are over 350 different kinds of sharks?  Did you also know that there will be substantially less if stupid motherfucking shark-finners, sport fishermen, and the Japanese don’t stop fucking things up?  Yeah, I’m swearing, because that shit gets me mad!  Jesus, people…these things have been around for 64 million years!  If there were still dinosaurs walking around, you bet your ass they would be off-limits as far as soup-making materials and touristy necklaces go.  So why do people think it’s okay to mess with the sharks?  Maybe I should start the rumor that Mahi-Mahi are one of the deadliest killers in the depths of the briny sea!  Did you know that the deadly Mahi (otherwise known as “Dolphin Fish even though they are nothing like dolphins) can devour an entire water buffalo in a matter of seconds?  Fact.  They’ll strip your dog down to bones in the blink of an eye, which is much more terrifying than the scene in Jaws when you see the kid on the raft go under and then we zoom-in dolly-out on Chief Brody’s reaction on the beach.  You know all those dog skeletons you see washing up on the beach when you hit Ft. Lauderdale?  Thank the evil Mahi-Mahi for that.  Another fact:  “Mahi-Mahi” is actually an old Polynesian word for “red-fanged evil smile fish which is a killer of children and dogs”  I know, the Polynesian language is fucked-up, but that’s what it means.

Okay, I’m going to quit now, because I’m getting mad.  If you’re curious/want to help, by the way, check these folks out…http://www.stopsharkfinning.net/

I’ll be back with a heapin’ helpin’ of good old-fashioned entertainment soon.  In the meantime, read James Ellroy and wait for Shark Week.  I love you!  Carry on.

Rock Girl III…the REVENGE.

So tonight we crown a new Rock Girl.  Tonight one of these amazing ladies is granted the awesome gift and awesome responsibility of not only representing the greatest rock station in North America, but the city of Ft. Wayne itself.  There are accolades and rewards that go with this title.  The young lady in question won’t quite be a kept woman, but she’ll have a furnished apartment, a new car, and tickets to every major event in the city for a year.  But there will also be responsibilities.  This person will be a role model.  Not just to young girls who aspire to become models and actresses, but to the rest of us.  A great number of gals that entered the contest this year did so because they saw how much fun the first two Rock Girls had.  We certainly hope that trend continues. 


I have no idea who’s going to win.  Last year, I figured it was going to be between three of the final ten entrants.  I was right, and Megan did such a great job that there aren’t two big shoes to fill (although she literally does have kinda big feet…she’s almost as tall as me flat-footed.  Taller in heels!) there’s going to be a crater.  A massive void that one spunky, gorgeous young woman has to try and fill.  And I think they will.  I think that of the remaining Rock Girl hopefuls, any number of them can pick up the torch and run with it.  And that’s exciting to me.


So thanks to ALL of the ladies in this year’s contest.  It’s been a blast just getting to know you all.  And I know that win or lose, you’ve had fun, too.  Keep at it.  You’re all wonderfully sexy and smart, and I think the city of Ft. Wayne should be proud at the quantity and quality of young women we have here.





Huh.  Title “optional” it says.  Weird.  But, since I’ve been having a taste of the alcoholic nature this evening whilst watching “The Rum Diary” with my beloved Sweet baby,  thought I’d share a couple of quick things.  Also, as an experiment, I’m not saying shit about this on Facebook or whatever.  Just to see how many people are actually paying attention.  Ah!  A challenge!  Of sorts, I suppose.


Anyway, here’s a neat stat.  I started this blog at the end of July, last year (whatever the fuck year THAT was) and anyway, I  have had 31,443 people read it since then.  I think that’s pretty awesome.  It’s not the most.  It’s not like I work for “Cracked.”  But I like it.  Good stuff.  Thanks.  (I say this to YOU because I know you just read it, and are one of the people that “get it.”  Seriously.  Thanks.  For all the shares, likes, etc. as well as your comments.  And for reading my fucking dreck this long!)


And something else weird, ethereal, and awesome happened to me this week.  As some of you know, I work in the Radio Entertainment Industry (one of my very FAVORITE industries!) and so I found myself at a particular New Car/Used Car Sales Lot o’ FUN, MOTHAFUCKA!  Thi is one of the places we, the lowly “rock jock” find ourselves all the fucking time, trying to suck the teat of the corporate madre in order to pay our mortgage.  No matter.  It was okay.  $150 for four hours work.  Not bad.  No matter.  Because here’s the AWESOME part.  While I’m out there, talking to some old guy with a cane who had come there (ostendibly) to look at vehicles, I learned that he had owned an original German Opel like the one driven by a chick I crushed on in High School, but also had owned an original 3-cylinder Subaru.  Dude was cool.  Anyway, his kid(?) came up later and also spoke with me.  He didn’t say one word about the radio station I work for.  Instead, he said ‘Hey!  I read your blog!  I’m “Umm…yeah!” ‘  


That.  Was. Awesome.  Did he hear about this blog on the radio?  Good chance.  But what made me smile is that he was more interested in this blog than me playing Nickelback and telling dick jokes.  That made me feel really good.


So thanks, dude.  And thanks to you.  Seriously.  I want to kiss you.  (Some of you more deeply than others.)  As a reward, here’s my wife and me on our ten-year anniversary cruise.  We had walked all over the goddam Bahamas and were tired, hungry, thirsty, and sweaty.  Perfect.


Old-Timey Movie-time Time! (Part Three)

Okay, time to put this puppy to bed.  By the way, congrats on reading what is my twentieth post!  Wow…doesn’t seem like it should be that many, but there you are.  In case you missed the build-up to this post, well…here you go.  And here.  All caught up?  Good.  Let’s get it on…

Battle of the Bulge

This is the film my father, brother and I would watch every Sunday morning that it aired on one of our local TV channels, which was every-third-week.  Or so it seemed. Yes, this was before we had cable and waaaayyyy before on-demand or what-have-you.  They ran the hits over and over, and apparently this was one movie that the local station had the rights to, so we reaped the benefits.

Eat your heart out, Spielberg!

Why It’s Great: There were a lot of great war films out by the time this one hit theaters in 1965…but this film struck a nerve in my family because my grandfather had participated in events in/around the Bastogne area in 1944.  History time: Grandpa Oren Watson’s 94th Infantry Division was tasked by General Patton with first holding the Siegfried Switch Line against the Germans south of the “Bulge” and second actually attacking across the goddam line to catch the dirty Krauts by surprise, which they totally did.  Oh, by the way, the 94th was primarily a National Guard unit, and many of the men were replacements that had never seen combat. Across from them was a GODDAM S.S. MOUNTAIN DIVISION SUPPORTED BY A TANK REGIMENT. Oh yeah: I should mention that the 94th didn’t have any tanks.  They had some bazookas and a few hand grenades, but yeah.  I imagine some of Grandpa’s cohorts promptly shat themselves before they sucked it up, jumped off, and drove the Germans back to behind their original front lines, almost closing the Bulge and capturing the entire Nazi strike force in a Patton-led snare.  Goddam Montgomery…

Back to what makes this movie great to me. Oh, wait…I just told you!  Knowing how close my family history is connected to the story is what really seals it for me.  Sure, the movie was great for what it was: an old-school battle movie.  Henry Fonda is good as US Lt. General Kiley, and Robert Shaw is menacing as Colonel Hessler, loosely based on actual German Colonel Joachim Peiper.  But honestly, “Band of Brothers” did a better job of telling the story of the men on the ground, the daily fatigue and desperation of the men trapped in the German encirclement. But as a kid, there was nothing better than seeing all those tanks, and their bombs, and their bombs, and their guns, ZAAAAHM-BEEE! ZAAAAHM-BEE!! And like “The Longest Day” it did a great job of following the stories of several individual characters to give the viewer the scope of this massive operation on both sides.  Sure, there are inaccuracies. Sure, all of the characters are made-up amalgams of real people.  But overall, it’s an epic big-time Hollywood shoot-em-up from the days before Michael Bay got his hands on a CG machine.  It’s also one of the last big war movies to come out before the US escalated the conflict in Vietnam, which means it’s unapologetic and non-political.  It’s just good ol’ American grunts slugging it out with Nazis.  And that’s just fine with me.

"Ve shall be needing a bigger boat, mein herr."

Fun Fact: Charles Bronson and Telly Savalas were contractually obligated to appear in every color-filmed WWII movie made until 1978. Okay, I made that up.  In this one, Bronson has my favorite line, and my sister-in-law’s husband Salim and I love to repeat it every Christmas: “Wait a MINUTE! Those were MP’s, not engineers!” See, there are these Germans posing as American troops and…oh, screw it.  Just watch the goddam movie.


Number one.  And it isn’t even close. Possibly the best film ever made.

He was only 5'8" and had a face like a hound dog. And he RULED.

Why It’s Great: I made my wife watch this movie, and she said “It’s not bad!” This is high praise indeed, because one area where my lovely Sweet Baby and I disagree is in my love for old films.  She will automatically turn her nose up at anything shot in black and white.  True story. But for her to enjoy Casablanca is a testament to the movie’s universal appeal.  Her only criticism was that the film contained a lot of cliche’s.  Then I pointed out that they’ve only become played-out devices because every filmmaker since has used them over and over again. Seriously, how many times have you heard characters use a variation of these lines?

“We’ll always have Paris.”

“Round up the usual suspects.” (Shit, they even used that as a TITLE for a movie!)

“Play it, Sam.”

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

“Here’s looking at you, kid.”

“Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine. ”

“I stick my neck out for nobody.”

“If that plane leaves the ground and you’re not with him, you’ll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life. ”

“It doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.”

Good shit, right?  Casablanca landed six (SIX!) quotes on AFI’s “100 Years…100 Movie Quotes” list. And that’s not even getting in to the fact that even the way the film was shot influenced directors right up until oh, I don’t know…fucking TODAY!  The scene towards the end where Rick shoots Major Strasser  and the camera cuts quickly between the reactions of the different characters? Before the release of  Casablanca in 1943, it would have been one shot, with all the characters on the screen at once.  Basically, it would look like a stage play.  That’s how Hollywood directors shot movies back then: many of them were just stage directors who’d decided to get into the movie business.  By 1942, you had a crop of filmmakers that had begun experimenting with ways to spice things up and make the scenes “pop” more.  The opening scene in “Citizen Kane,” released in 1941,  has the camera flying up and through a window into the house.  It. Blew. People’s. Minds.  To me, this was the beginning of the true Golden Age of Hollywood.

But I haven’t even mentioned the story!  Or the characters!  I mentioned in Part Two that the “anti-hero” was something new back in the 40’s and 50’s.  Sure, you had the film noir hard-boiled gumshoes, but honestly some of those guys were hard to really like.  Rick Blaine, however…this guy was someone you rooted for.  He’d fought on the losing (but morally right) side before like Mal Reynolds and his Browncoats.  He helps out a young couple who are afraid they’ll have to sacrifice the young bride’s virtue by letting them win at his casino.  And ultimately he sacrifices not only a chance at a long, happy life with his true love but also a lucrative casino/nightclub in order to do the right thing.  And by so doing, he even makes an honest man (and sidekick) out of the corrupt Captain Renault.  He inspires, like Jake Brigance did to Harry Rex, and Randle McMurphy did to everyone in Cuckoo’s Nest.  Rick Blaine is Han Solo coming back to save Luke so he can blow up the Death Star.  He is a hero.  He’s just sort of gruff and has a hint of darkness hovering around.  And we’ve come to love that sort of thing.

She was two inches taller than most of her co-stars. And obviously way more attractive.

Fun Fact: The crew was meticulous in the way they shot Ingrid Bergman. She was shown primarily from her preferred left side, and lights and filters were employed to make her eyes sparkle.  Well, sparkle more than they already did.  What a dish.

And here’s your bonus fact and video.  The text is from IMDB

“In the famous scene where the ‘Marseillaise’ is sung over the German song ‘Watch on the Rhine’, many of the extras had real tears in their eyes; a large number of them were actual refugees from Nazi persecution in Germany and elsewhere in Europe and were overcome by the emotions the scene brought out. ”

Notice that the Germans sing “Watch on the Rhine.” That was the German code-name for the invasion of the Ardennes Forest, AKA, the “Battle of the Bulge.”  That, children, is how you wrap up a blog.  Here’s lookin’ at you.

Old-Timey Movie-time Time! (intermission)

Hey, nothing big…doing some research for the next half of the blog that I began yesterday.  I actually intend to put some movie stuff in there since, you know, it’s right in the title of the blog and all that.  I may even take the extra step and PROOFREAD the next part!  I know, right?!

So while you wait (eagerly, I’m sure) for Part Two, check out my new BlogRoll over yonder on the right-side margin of this here page.  It’s basically links to some of the blogs I read and get inspired by.  There are one or two (COUGH! poptartvomitshere COUGH!) that I did not include, because I’m not sure how the authors feel about people reading their blogs.  Specifically, how they feel about people that read this blog also reading theirs.  Savvy?

Thanks.  Read that stuff then check back (hopefully) tomorrow for the gripping conclusion of whatever the hell I started writing about in the first place.



Old-Timey Movie-time Time! (Part One)

If you know me, you know I dig old stuff.  And I mean OOOOOLLLLLDDDD stuff.  Sure, I have a brand new grey felt Fedora on the way (thanks, ma!) and am a certifiable Dapper Dan man.  I don’t want “Fop” goddammit!.  This led me to a realization the other day.  People stopped wearing hats for a while.  I don’t mean “caps” like the ones worn by baseball players and hip-hop DJ’s.  I mean “hats.”  Fedoras, Bowlers, the odd Fez…hats, boys, hats! The kinds worn by men!  Real men who fought Nazis and stopped the spread of Communism!  Hats, I say! Anyway, recently the trend has started reversing itself.  Thanks in large part to Justin Timberlake and the P. Diddy set, stingy-brimmed fedoras and pork pies have moved from the fringes of hipsterdom into the mainstream.   Hell, you can get a decent lid at Wal Mart, fer gawd’s sake.  For too long Indiana Jones and Mythbusters’ Adam Savage were the only dudes you regularly saw sporting a hat with any sort of brim.  And frankly, that ain’t enough.

Feast your eyes, ladies!

And there’s a very simple reason for this trend:  hair.  Rather, hair care products.  See, Don Draper got guys interested in the side-part again.  AXE even makes a variety of pomades for the gentlemen among us to slick or comb their hair like, well…gentlemen.  Who wants to go to all the trouble of either spiking up their ‘do like it’s 1998 or crafting a painstakingly messy look out of putty and wax only to either REALLY mess it all up or even worse…GASP…cover it up with a hat?!?  Madness!

"Sorry, I can't talk right now. I've got douchebag stuff to do."

And suits…boy, do I love suits! Of course, I work as a retarded morning show rock radio DJ, so I rarely have to wear them.  That’s why I like playing dress-up.  Remembering how to tie a tie is always a great adventure!  It usually ends with me standing in front of a mirror for fifteen minutes trying to get the skinny back portion of the tie to not be eight inches longer than the front before I say “fuck it…I’m wearing a vest anyway.”  Yes, the suit is awesome.  It makes you look smart, older, respectable, classy…all the things my old Rancid t-shirt or Edmonton Oilers jersey fail to convey.  Why, with my tattoos all covered up I look a proper gentlemen!  Like a dad or something!  And let’s be honest…if you’re going to drink a martini (Bombay Sapphire for me, please) or scotch on the rocks,  a suit makes it so much better.  The inverse of this is also true:  if you have a three-piece suit and fedora, I’d best not catch you drinking draft Bud Light out of a goddam plastic cup.  I’ll box your ears, young man!

So, Mr. Bond! We meet again!

Jesus…it’s finally happened.  I am my grandpa.  Also, I haven’t even mentioned any movies.  I tend to get distracted, you see.  So let’s call this “Part One” and I’ll get back atcha later this week with the flicks, mmm-kay?  Swell!

Chicks, man.

Over the past weekend, VH1 Classic ran both of the “Fletch” movies back-to-back.  I fondly recalled how funny Chevy Chase could be back in the day. I also remembered how my teenage years were made considerably easier by the likes of Dana Wheeler-Nicholson playing the part of Gail Stanwyk.  Soooo gorram cute.  And then POOF! She all but disappeared until she showed up in the amazing “Tombstone” as Wyatt’s common-law wife. (She looooved the laudanum.  Loved it!)  And then, BAM!  “Fletch Lives” hit me right in the pelvis with Julianne Phillips, Bruce Springsteen’s ex-wife.  A model-actress!  What a concept! So, yes.  The eighties were a great time to be a young man who had an overabundance of hormones and tissue paper and for whom no internet had yet been invented.  Here, then are my top-seven 80’s Screen Queens (read: masturbatory material.) They’re not the best-selling or highest-grossing actresses, mind you…most of them fall into the “Oh, yeah!  I remember that chick!” category.  But they’re all mine, bub.

#7. Kelli Maroney

Did SoCal cheerleaders wear...sweaters? Really?!?

She was in that one movie: Specifically, she was in “Night of the Comet” which remains one of the best (and most-overlooked) post-apocalypse survival style movies ever.  It was funny, it was sweet…and it was the only movie to land TWO ladies on this list!  Kelli played a submachinegun-wielding cheerleader wayyyyy before it was cool.  (Eat it, “Sucker Punch!”  Oh, and as cute as she was in “Comet” she also looked like this in real life.

I don't think she's a real cheerleader...

Schwing factor: ***   She would’ve garnered more, but her on-screen sister, Catherine Mary Stewart upstaged her (while showing less skin!)

#6. Corrine Bohrer

The sexiest "DERP!" you'll see all day.

She was in that one movie:  Speaking of skin, Corrine makes the list on the strength of her performance (ahem…full frontal) in the craptastic golf flick “Dead Solid Perfect.”  Don’t worry, nobody else has seen it, either. If you remember Corrine, it’s probably from “Vice Versa” or the short-lived “Flash” television series.  But she didn’t get naked in those.

Schwing factor: ****  Cute body.  And pubic hair. (Hey, it was the eighties.)

#5. Kimberly Foster

She looks great considering her co-star was Bobcat Goldthwait.

She was in that one movie: Everyone remembers Kimberly from John Cusack’s second-best 80’s teenage romp, “One Crazy Summer” and she was pretty damned hot in that one.  Her not-as-vacant-as-you’d-like-to-think Cookie Campbell makes a teasing play for Hoops and has a douchebag for a boyfriend.  A blond douchebag.  That’s the only flavor douchebag they had in the eighties. However, the reason she makes the top-five is a little-known movie from 1988 called “It Takes Two.”  In that one, she plays a femme fatale that cons a groom-to-be into buying a fancy sports car that ends up being a lemon and he has to go and confront the blah blah blah wedding day blah blah Barry Corbin from “Northern Exposure blah blah…anyway, she’s hot.

As beautiful as a late-eighties Gretzky backhander.

Schwing factor: ***  She’s just fucking beautiful.  Cute hair, sexy glances…she should’ve been a major star.

#4. Catherine Mary Stewart

Eat your heart out, Cynthia Gibb!

She was in that one movie: Well, pick one.  Catherine was a B-movie mainstay, appearing in everything from “The Last Starfighter” to “Nightflyers” to the amazing Bruce Dern post-apocalyptic masterpiece “World Gone Wild”.” Ah, but THEN she appeared in a little film called “Weekend At Bernie’s.”  In the aforementioned “Night of The Comet” she set the standard for beautiful women in peril, and Hollywood has been riding that train ever since.  That chick from “LOST” would not come across as tough-yet-nurturing (and hot) and that chick from “The Walking Dead” who had to shoot her own sister down when she got all zombiefied (oops…meant to type SPOILER ALERT) would be just another woman trying to find her way in a “World Gone Wild.” See what I did there?  Also, Catherine gets bonus points for A) Pioneering the big-hair/teal blouse/pushed-up-sleeves look that you saw everywhere in the eighties and B) Being one of two chicks on this list with a three-part name that includes a variation of the name “Stewart.”  Oooo!  Who else?  Tell us, Uncle Turner!  Who else!

Patience, my children…

Schwing factor: ***   She’s beautiful, smart, and tough.  That’s a woman, right there.

3. Deborah Foreman

She's also smart. Perhaps tooo smart...

She was in that one movie: Everyone discovered Deb in the Nicolas Cage classic “Valley Girl.”  Sometimes, when I want to feel ancient, I remind myself the movie came out in NINETEEN-EIGHTY-FUCKING-THREE.  Deb also starred in her own vehicle, the rom-com “My Chauffeur.”  (Get it?  Her own VEHICLE!  I can do this all day.)  But the main reason, other than being one of those rare ladies that can pull off what I call the “innocent slut” routine, is her performance in a movie that literally changed my life:  “Real Genius.”  Her part is limited…but when she asks Chris Knight “can you hammer a six-inch spike though a board with your penis?” well…that’s it, boys.  Game. Set. Match.

Schwing factor: ****   Pouty lips, sparkling eyes, a cute little overbite…and a dirty mouth.  Meee-yow!

2. Lea Fucking Thompson

She totally looked into her son's underwear. In a bad way.

She was in that one movie: Let’s just pretend that Lea DIDN’T star in one of the best-loved sci-fi comedies (a trilogy, no less) of all time.  She still gets credit for the original “Red Dawn” as well as, oh, I don’t know…how about Space Camp, All The Right Moves, Some Kind of Wonderful, JAWS 3!?!? and the reason she makes it to the runner-up spot on this list: ladies and gentlemen, I give you the STAR of the epic George Lucas-produced masterpiece…”Howard the Duck!”  And by “star” I mean, of course, LEA’S ASS!!  My God…it isn’t the roundest or shapeliest.  And it’s not even naked.  Just a pair of cotton panties as she slinks across the bed.  But Gott DAMN could she slink. Gott. Damn.  A friend of mine once remarked that he wore out the “pause” button on his VCR because of that one scene.  Again, people, remember:  Teenage boys.  No internet porn.  We made do.

Go ahead and pretend you don't remember this. It's okay.

Schwing factor:  *****  Dat ass.

1. Mary Stuart Masterson

Okay, so...maybe she looks a little like Ricky Schroeder. I LOVE HER ANYWAY!!

She was in that one movie:  Along with Lea Thompson, her co-star in “Some Kind of Wonderful,” you could say that she has been a gainfully employed actress ever SINCE that 1987 classic.  But let’s be honest, most of her roles have been in chick-friendly fare like “Friend Green Tomatoes” but she did show up in the girls-with-guns western “Bad Girls” with Madeline Stowe, Andie MacDowell, and Drew Barrymore, so she proved that she can still do the sexy.  As Watts, the craps-shooting tomboy sidekick-turned-girlfriend, she made dudes want to cut their girlfriend’s hair off.  They wanted their chick to wear fringed fingerless gloves.  They wanted a wise-cracking, beer-drinking, rock-drumming girl that would have their collective backs when things got rough.  They wanted Watts.  You can hear her echo in iCarly’s Sam, “Firefly’s” Zoe, and Vasquez from “Aliens.”  She was bad ass.  She OWNS the number one spot as a result.

Schwing factor: N/A   It’s tough for me to assign a “sexy” factor to the woman I once fantasized about marrying.  No joke.  Had I been in Hollywood in the 80’s, there would’ve been a stalking charge filed against me.  I’m telling you, it was LOVE!!  AND I KNEW SHE’D LOVE ME IF SHE JUST GOT TO KNOW ME!!  WE’D BE HAPPY FOREVER!!!!!

On Hipsters and Nickelback.

A little backstory.  Remember the scene towards the end of “SLC Punk” where Steve-O recounts how Bob turned him on to punk rock?  The two of them are playing D&D in the basement and listening to Rush?  That scene is so powerful to me because THAT’S EXACTLY THE WAY IT HAPPENED.  Well, not exactly.  See, I was Steve-O (which is weird, because people say I look like Matthew Lillard) and big-time into the D&D and the Rush.  Still am.

People fail to realize that we ALL looked like this.

Anyway, one day while playing an obscure role-playing game called “TOON” which involved being a cartoon character (I shit you not) my friend Steve (irony!) played a tape he had from a band called the Dead Kennedys.  We listened to “Kill the Poor” and “Holiday in Cambodia.”  It was…different.  I won’t lie and say that I was immediately hooked, but it opened my eyes and ears to a new world.  This was also my junior year of high school, which was my favorite.  The year my hair got long, I wore black t-shirts and flannel, etc.  That year my girlfriend introduced me to a place called The Ross Theater.  They showed Rocky Horror on the weekends and local bands played what would later be dubbed “alternative” music. That year I had a shit-eating smirk in my yearbook picture because I finally had stopped caring what anybody else thought. Very liberating. A year or two later, someone hooked me up with a cassette copy of the Descendents “ALL.”  THAT was when my journey to the dark side was complete. Halle-fuckin-lujia.

You're welcome, GreenBlinkCharlotteFX!

Fast-forward to the mid-nineties.  I had found gainful employment as a radio DJ.  I was living a double-life as a country radio DJ who happened to go to punk shows on the weekends.  Two awesome things happened the summer 0f ’94: I met my future wife and I got fired from the country station, right as a band called “Green Day” blew the fuck UP.  Rancid followed Green Day, the Offspring ran though the open door, and bands like Face to Face and Wax followed them out into the world.  It was glorious.  By that time I had started work at a local rock station and got to see this all happen at the same time as the second wave of great Seattle bands hit:  Pearl Jam’s second and third albums had pushed them right to the top, Nirvana’s “In Utero” was huge in spite of/due to Kurt’s suicide…rock was king.  Punk rock had put it there.  It was during this glorious time period that I saw the beginning of something dreadful, horrible…scene-destroying. I met my first hipster.

Thanks for ruining one of my favorite beers, assholes.

Don’t get me wrong.  There have always been and will always be music snobs.  Remember virtually everyone in “High Fidelity?”  Yes.  But this cat was…different.  His name was Marc, and he worked for a local entertainment magazine.  His music reviews were smarmy, his dress code bohemian-Greenwich Village/industrial, and his attitude smug and superior.  See, he had been part of “the scene” for years, but resented the fact that now HIS beloved bands and sounds were being…gasp…mass-marketed and sold at places like BEST BUY!!  OMG, it was like anyone…anyone at all could walk into a store and pick up a copy of fIREHOSE or the MC5.  Blasphemy!  So he started doing what hipsters do.  He put down his heroes, abandoning them in the same way that he imagined they had abandoned him.  I mean, this motherfucker had a vinyl copy of “Bleach.”  Now that it was being re-released for ignorant frat-boys to purchase, well…he just couldn’t have that.  Many of us had similar reactions.  I mean, the whole CULTURE had been based on the fact that the way we dressed, the music we liked, etc. was not for everyone.  We were outcasts.  There’s a reason the perfectly-named Misfits became such a counter-culture icon (seriously, think of five friends.  One of them has that spooky skull-mask t-shirt, don’t they?)

They just don't wear it quite this well.

But there were two ways for the disaffected to deal with this new world.  One, you turned back the clock and held on to your old bootlegged Stiff Little Fingers tape.  You put up old show flyers on your walls and wore unique colognes. (When I was younger, patchouli was used by all manner of subculture types, myself included.  Then it got co-opted by the Phish set and hippies have pretty much owned it ever since, even though patchouli and leather jacket is one of the most awesome scent combos ever.  Pity.) Two, you rejected anything and everything to do with the bands that you once championed.  You stopped listening to Rancid after they were featured on the Beavis and Butthead Do America soundtrack, and even went so far as to stop listeing to Operation Ivy.  You sought out the “next big thing” and got in early.  The only problem with that philosophy was that eventually the inevitable would happen:  the stuff you liked would get popular.  You’d hear a snippet of The Strokes “Last Night” in a car commercial.  The cycle completes itself.  Always.

Or worse...a KIA commercial.

Now, at the other end of the spectrum is Nickelback.  People know I don’t like this band.  I don’t like their songs.  I don’t like the eighties hair-band mentality.  You know, the “all we do is party and fuck! WOO-HOO!!  WE’RE FAMOUS!” attitude.  There have always been bands like this.  There will always be bands like this.  There will always be bands that try to emulate the sound and look of bands like this (COUGH – THEORY OF A DEADMAN – COUGH.)  And I’m actually okay with that.

"Whatcha thinkin' about, Chad?" Oh, just rock stuff.

See, it’s hard to hate on a band like this.  They’re succesful.  They’re a new generation’s Aerosmith.  And you know what Aerosmith used to be all about?  Partying and fucking.  I actually think that was the name of their second album (citation needed.)  You know what KISS used to sing about?  Yep.  how about Van Halen?  Ditto.  People, the Holy Trinity is this: Sex, Drugs, and Rock-n-Roll.  Notice that Rock-n-Roll finishes the race in third place.  Hell, for many bands Rock-n-Roll is simply a means to acquire the first two.  It’s okay.  I don’t particularly like it, but it’s okay.  Even better?  This sad, singular truth that the hipsters won’t embrace: If it weren’t for Nickelback and their ilk, there would be no reason for hipsters to exist.  There would be no punk rock, no counter-culture.  Without a Goliath, David is just a kid with a rock. 

In a world with Nickelback, David is a kid with a rock…that you’ve never heard of.

Quick and Dirty.

In reference to the title of this entry: THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!  So, there’s that.

Anyway, I noticed a couple of things the other day.  One:  I start wayyyy too many paragraphs with “Anyway…” so I’ll try to get more creative with my transitions.  Two, thanks to you reading this blog (and all the other entries herein) I’m approaching 10,000 views since the beginning of August.  Dayum…I never figured people would actually want to read this!  So in all sincerity, thanks.  And keep spreading the word!  Would it be out of the realm of possibility to see 20,000 by the end of the year?  Or to put it bluntly: can a nigga get a table dance?


So they had me in a “Brainstorming” meeting today to help a client find ways to market a series of sex-type classes for couples.  I shit you not.  They actually WANTED me in there.  Most of my ideas were rejected.  I suggested that the client have a series of classes called “Your Wife’s Asshole Is Like a 9-Volt Battery: You Know You Shouldn’t Put Your Tongue On It, But You Will Anyway!”  I also mentioned that many of us would sign up for a class called “Bitch, It Ain’t Gonna Suck Itself” and also “What The FUCK Was That Noise, And Where Did It Come From?”  I was asked to leave the meeting early.  Their loss!  But while I was bored, some thoughts crept into my had.  Here are some of them…

1. You know what would be terrifying?  Not zombies.  Fuck zombies, man.  They’re slow. (REAL zombies are slow.  28 Days Later was Rage Virus, you imbecile.)  Ah, but what if some mad genius outfitted an army of zombies with Segway scooters?  A horde of undead douchebags with Bluetooth headsets coming after me? I’m OUTTA here, Jack! Get me to some stairs, stat!

While writing this piece, I had NO IDEA that this was already a thing! Seriously, Google "zombie on a seqway." I'll wait.

2. People know I don’t like the show Big Bang Theory (ahem…) but did you know that the guy that plays Sheldon on that show was recently a guest star on iCarly?  True story.  He played a patient in a mental ward, and he was actually very entertaining.  See, sometimes you have to hate the game, not the player.

3. I’m starting a rumor, right here and now, that a big-budget remake of “Smokey and the Bandit” is underway with Michael Bay writing/directing.  Ryan Reynolds has been cast as Bandit, and Emmy Award-winner Peter Dinklage is signed to play Smokey.  In fact, in this remake the name of the character Buford T. Justice has been changed to simply “Smokey” because they want this thing to be as stupid as humanly possible.  I love the Dink, and though I hate to see him belittle himself (see what I did there?) with this kind of role, but dude…strike while the iron’s hot!  (Seriously, though…his Tyrion Lannister is spot-fucking-on.)

TOTALLY not 'shopped.

4. Speaking of “Game of Thrones,” does anyone else think that George R. R. Martin only added the extra “R” initial so that people would call him “The American J.R.R. Tolkien?”  If so, that shit worked, because that’s EXACTLY what everybody calls him.  Maybe he’s just a big railroad fan.  Maybe somebody took his first choice, George H. W. Martin.  I ain’t care, long as he gets to writin’ some more books, y’all!

5. Finally, I learned recently that it was after the Battle of Bannockburn during the Scottish war of independence (the big one) that the esteemed GaGa’s received their peerage, land, and title.  Brave Lord GaGa so confounded the troops on both sides of the battle that Robert the Bruce was able to cement his claim to the Scottish throne by getting wasted and puking all over the Stone of Scone, which became customary at the coronation of every British monarch since.  In fact, the name of the sacred stone comes from the simple fact that scones were all the Bruce had eaten that day.  The English, upon seeing this horrifying display, wrote their digits on a bar napkin and left the field.  The Bruce never even called them back.  Actually, he totally ran into the English army a few weeks later and claimed he’d meant to call but couldn’t find their number.  Oh, and he dropped his phone in the toilet, so yeah.  But he suggested that maybe they could totally hang out one day.

"...the FUCK is he doing?!?"

The End.


See, here’s the thing about this blog.  Because of what I do for a living (at 98.9 the Bear) I have to watch what I say.  On the air, anyway.  Add to that the fact that I have two kids, ages six and almost-three, and most of my day is spent not saying “motherfucker.”  Too bad, really, as “motherfucker” and “goddammit” aare two of my favorite things to say.  The point I’m trying to make here is that it’s ’bout to get drrty up in this blog.  Because when not plugged into a mic broadcasting to literally DOZENS of listeners or taking my children to a gaddam splash pad or somesuch, I get short-term Tourette’s Syndrome.  Seriously filthy.  So y’been told.

Daddy, why did you call my teacher an ass-whore?

Right off the bat, here’s a recent incident at our fine radio station.  Someone discovered a discarded condom wrapper in the studio. True story.  Some idiot was smart enough to use a condom, but left the wrapper behind.  Perhaps they were trying to be all Kevin Spacey and leave little clues.  Perhaps they were just stupid.  But the amazing thing is this: no one has fessed up to banging someone in the on-air studio, even though THAT’S WHAT DJ’S DO.  Oh, I’ll add this little detail: the condom in question was a Magnum XL.  Yes, the perpetrator is apparently packin’.  Big time.  And yet, collective silence from our 99% male staff (see what I did there?  Male? Staff?)  “What’s that you say, Mister Program Director?  Big pecker?  No, not me!  When I get aroused it’s like a hamster trying to wag its tail!” What the hell has happened to male pride?  Back in the seventies and eighties, dudes were all about chest hair and unbridled male engorgement all over the place. “I don’t even use condoms.  Nossir, I simply grab an old bread bag, some duct tape, and Thompson’s Water Seal.”  Now we have online ads telling us how to increase the size of our junk.  God, we’ve failed as a society.

For the love of God...do NOT search for "huge meat" with your safe search filter off.

When my mind starts a-ramblin’ like this, weird thoughts materialize.  For example, I wonder if old guys generate as much man-sauce as younger dudes?  I’m 41 and have had a vasectomy.  My seed is more like “Seed-flavored Kool-Aid.”  Or so I imagine.  Never been that thirsty, frankly.  But I remember being in my twenties and filling up a pickle jar with my stuff after spending an afternoon with a copy of Swank magazine.  I can only imagine it’s a diminishing return, even if the body keeps making new swimmers.  Old guys probably just release a puff of air, like those things they (for some reason) blow on your eyeball at the optometrist’s office.

Okay, look right here while I fuck with your cornea for no good reason...

Back to the big-meat problem, or for the ladies, the LACK of big meat.  I think that’s a bit of a misconception, the belief that all women want twelve inches of “wrist-thick cock” (I read that description in Penthouse Forum once, and loved it so much that I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to work it in.  Yes, I just said I wanted to work in a wrist-thick cock.  Sure did.) is akin to assuming that all men want to fuck an inflexible hole the size of a quarter.  Not as cool as it sounds.

You know you want it...

Perhaps ladies should be thankful for what they have nowadays.  Lack of quality Mega-Schlong (a new movie on SyFy) isn’t all that big a deal now that men go down with regularity.  I’ve overheard old guys mention that they’ll never put their mouths on “that filthy thing.”  I think there’s more than just the old-school conservatism at work here.  I think it’s that back in the day, say, the late-40’s and early 50’s guys didn’t want to lick punani because they were afraid their hair would get messed up.  Likewise, when ladies had an orgasm (female orgasms?  In the FIFTIES?!?) they would get their hands in all that greasy, sticky pomade and then have to wipe it on the pillow or something,  embarrassing both parties and killing the mood.  And trust me, when it comes to pomade, I know what I’m talking about.

I also happen to be an expert in killing the mood.  Dang.  Wish that had been MY condom wrapper.