My Life In Super Bowls

Or “Football Memories From A Guy Who Only Watches Football Once A Year.”

Super Bowl XIII: Steelers vs. Cowboys (1/21/79)

Taking place a mere eighteen days after my birth, Super Bowl XIII was the first NFL Championship game of the JG2 era. This match-up also provided my father, the great JG1, with his most epic gambling win of all-time. Pop put $10,000 (that’s TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS) on the heavily favored Steelers, who beat the Cowboys 35 to 31. The Old Man’s been a Steelers fan ever since. According to Greene lore, these Super Bowl winnings were used to pay off the hospital bills from my equally triumphant birth – I have a sneaking suspicion, though, that this lump sum was actually directed towards the replica of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang my father kept in our garage until the stock market crash of 1987.

Super Bowl XXI: Giants vs. Broncos (1/25/87)

I remember very little about the game or any kind of partying. What I do remember is the next day, when I put on the non-descript Giants jersey I had received for Christmas a month prior and demanded my younger female cousin take a polaroid of me flexing near the laundry room. After the polaroid was finished drying, I requested she caption the photo “Young Lawrence Taylor” in red magic marker (which she did). It’s true – I did have some gridiron aspirations as a child. Unfortunately, Jebus didn’t make me as rough and tumble as the other kids. This lily would have positively wilted in the backfield.

Super Bowl XXIII: 49ers vs. Bengals (1/22/89)

Television was going through a small 3-D craze around this time. Thus, Super Bowl XXIII’s halftime show – some kind of 1950s rock n’ roll Elvis extravaganza – was presented partially in 3-D. It wasn’t nearly as good as Channel 11’s 3-D presentation of Hondo starring John Wayne; those injun arrows were comin’ right at me! If I remember the basic plot of this halftime show correctly, it began with a number of hot pink UFOs landing on the field at Joe Robbie Stadium a la The Day The Earth Stood Still. Mankind was frightened until the aliens revealed themselves to be interstellar Elvis impersonators! Awesome! For some reason, I also remember ZZ Top somehow being involved, but I could just be making that up (because I’m a die-hard ZZ Top fan and think they should be involved in EVERYTHING). My parents had a pretty big Bowl Bash this year. The action even spilled over to my mother’s “pink” room, a.k.a. the living room where I wasn’t usually allowed to hang out. I think my father bought a TV specifically for this Super Bowl party and put it in that room. Again, I could be mis-remembering things. Maybe the Super Bowl didn’t even happen that year.

Super Bowl XXV: Giants vs. Bills (1/27/91)

Went to some serious footballers’ party with my parents. Most distinct memory: the elderly Buffalo fanatic in attendance who had the Bills’ emblem painted on her saggy, weathered cheeks. In retrospect, it was a really accurate rendering. This was the year Whitney Houston blew the doors off the National Anthem. America really flipped a biscuit over that one. Too bad the Kuwait invasion only lasted like two days. There was some other kid at this party named Jimmy who at one point said something about Anthrax (the band), and I remember thinking, “No one our age actually likes Anthrax.” I was twelve at the time.

Super Bowl XXIX: 49ers vs. Chargers (1/29/95)

The first Super Bowl of the post-Cobain era. One of those rare moments when I noticed life goes on after insurmountable tragedy. No amount of grunge-related suicides was going to stop Steve Young from dominating this Miami-based game. The ‘95 halftime show was that Indiana Jones stunt show, entitled Indiana Jones and the Temple of the Forbidden Eye. A huge fight erupted between myself and my father when I announced I would be spending the half in my room watching “Beavis and Butt-head.” JG1 was, for some reason, livid (did he secretly invest in this Indiana Jones thing?) As soon as Indy was finished battled Dan Marino (or whatever the hell they did), my father poked his head in my room with an amazed look on his face. Quoteth Pops: “EVERYONE’S going to be talking about that tomorrow.” I felt bad for exactly one second. The next day at school, I only heard one person mention the Indiana Jones Football Stunt Spectacular. They didn’t seem all that enthused about it.

Super Bowl XXXVIII: Patriots vs. Panthers (2/1/04)

For years, I sat around wondering just how hot Janet Jackson’s boobs looked when they weren’t being oppressed by clothing. Surely even the briefest glance at Miss Jackson’s imaginably gorgeous chestal region would send me into severe cardiac arrest for the rest of my life. Imagine my disappointment when I finally did get to see one of JJ’s milkers and it looked like a pile of melting frozen yogurt with some weird lawn ornament in the middle. Talk about the wrong time to pop out a hooter. I blame that Thai sex slave outfit she was wearing. I was watching the game alone with my girlfriend at the time, and she turned away from the TV just as Janet’s titty came out. Thus, she did not believe me when I exclaimed, “Holy shit; Janet Jackson just flashed the Super Bowl!”

Super Bowl XLII: Giants vs. Patriots (2/3/08 )

This was the year I mercilessly mocked the entire game with an equally snarky friend of mine at a packed Super Bowl party, because I’m a complete dick like that sometimes. Most people were laughing along with us, but I know a few folks wanted to kick our asses. At one point, I got into an argument about the forthcoming Iron Man movie. I believe I made the statement that no one in America gives a shit about Iron Man. Seventeen jillion people proved me wrong five or six months later when that bastard opened. See, that’s why I’m not a major Hollywood player. I don’t know people’s tastes. Anyway, when the Giants won this game, there was an audible roar in the city, like…well…like the Giants won the Super Bowl. One of my roommates at the time came home the next morning with a celebratory black eye.

Bart Simpson May Have Just Got Her Ass Fired

Nancy Cartwright has never struck me as the most “with it” or “hip” person. Call me a mad hater, but I’m not sure Nance understands what “The Simpsons” is all about. Exhibit A: in the Frequently Asked Questions section of her website, the voice actress remarks numerous times that she can’t believe she gets paid so much money to “burp and fart.” I’m sorry, but when was the last time Bart Simpson’s character revolved solely around gastronomical occurrences? Never? Yeah, that’s right. Even in those Tracey Ullman shorts, the little guy was attempting to discuss the concept of death with his father.

Exhibit B: Nancy’s 2000 book, My Life As A 10-Year-Old Boy. I’m pretty sure she’s the only member of “The Simpsons” cast to cash in this way, which is kind of sad when you consider the (far richer) careers of regulars like Harry Shearer and Julie Kavner. I flipped through Nancy’s slim volume once; I remember it kind of insulting my intelligence. The biggest revelation in 10-Year-Old Boy, if I’m remembering correctly, is the fact that Nancy Cartwright’s largest acting influence was the guy who voiced Huckleberry Hound. That would be Exhibit C.

I have a bunch of other evidence suggesting Nancy Cartwright “doesn’t get it,” like the fact I’ve never heard her on a “Simpsons” commentary track and the way she smiles, but all of that is irrelevant now in the face of some potentially devastating Scientology-related phone calls the actress allegedly made earlier this week:

No, I don’t understand what the hell she’s talking about – “auditing new OT-7?” Her “many wins?” Is she talking about Xenu or some awesome new video game? I don’t know. What I do know – or what I think I know – is Bart Simpson is the property of FOX Entertainment and cannot be appropriated for personal/religious purposes without the written consent of Matt Groening, twenty lawyers, and possibly some bonkers Australian. Like, Tim Allen can’t call people up as Buzz Lightyear and invite them to a “No On Prop 15″ rally because he thinks crossing guards should tuck their shirts in. Roy Disney would have his ASS in a VICE.

So did Nancy Cartwright just get her ass fired? Mmmm, maybe. I’m guessing (despite the Mariana Trench quality drop in recent years) that “The Simpsons” is still a pretty large revenue generator for FOX. They were renewed last year for three more seasons; beyond that, there could be films, spin-offs, and interactive media a la “The Simpsons Ride” on the horizon. This isn’t a TV show anymore; it’s an entertainment property. Bart Simpson is a big part of that property – some might say the core. Remove Bart and Homer has no foil; Milhouse, no friend; adults in general, no adversary. Whatever soul “The Simpsons” have left would be murdered O.J.-style if Bart was taken out.

Yet stranger things have happened. Valerie Harper was killed off on her show, and she was the main friggin’ character. Nearly the entire principle cast of “Happy Days” was gone when that show ended. Hell, I think Letterman and Leno logged more time behind Carson’s desk than Carson did in the late eighties. So I guess a Bart-less “Simpsons” isn’t inconceivable. It would be an amazing/shocking/sad/historical/kinda funny/totally crazy move, though.

Here are three predictions regarding the outcome of “Nancy’s Folly” that I will totally play up if any of them come true:

1. FOX, Groening, and Cartwright go to war. They kill Bart off on the show. “The Simpsons” ends. Everyone has a bitter taste in their mouth.

2. Cartwright is fired. They either replace her or write around Bart until the show ends (latter more likely). Everyone just kind of feels weird.

3. FOX docks the shit out of Cartwright’s pay. She continues voicing Bart begrudgingly because she wants to keep Scientology afloat with whatever money she’s got. The cast turns against her and the “Simpsons” oral history I write fifteen years from now has an awesome and super-juicy chapter about the behind-the-scenes feuding.

Now, some people are saying that perhaps the woman in this controversial recording is NOT Nancy Cartwright. To those people, I say your opinion is very cromulent.

P.S. – yes, I still plan on reviewing every single “Simpsons” episode ever. I had to give back the First Season DVDs I borrowed from my old roommate a while ago. Don’t worry, I’m going to buy my own set soon.

Gosh Darn That McKay Hatch And His Bean Dip Mother-Frito Pickles!

I don’t know if you were aware of this, but fifteen year old No Cussing Club founder McKay Hatch is the most cyberbullied kid in the world:

I assume this is a self-imposed title. It has to be. How can you even measure cyberbullying? What’s the standard? Are we to believe McKay has had to endure more e-slings and arrows than Canadian Darth Maul or this incredible human specimen (who also hails from the Great White North)? I question that. Seriously.

I want facts and figures. Hard data and statistics. You can’t just throw a title like that out there and expect people not to question it. Look at Cindy Margolis. She claimed to be “The Most Downloaded Woman” in the world. When people asked for proof, she had none, and the global community tossed her aside like yesterday’s trash in favor of real stars like Gillian Anderson and Teri Hatcher.

C’mon, McKay. Produce some charts or graphs or Venn diagrams. This is a Wiki world we’re living in. People want citations.

As for your cause, I’m down. Cussing is overrated, just like ear sex and chicken tartare.

P.S. – Who’s the most REGULAR bullied kid in the world?

Unsolicited Generations Punk Comp “Live Blog” Review

Various Artists
Generations 1: A Punk Look At Human Rights
Ark 21
1997

This punk compilation was human rights activist Jack Healey’s tribute to Eleanor Roosevelt, who forced the United Nations (at gunpoint, I hear) to adopt the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in 1948. Why not? Eleanor Ro and human rights both rock pretty hard. Since I’m lazy, I’m just going to listen to this sucker and write down my immediate thoughts in a “live blog” format, as opposed to listening to it a bunch of times and forming an educated opinion. Enjoy!

“Generations” by Electric Dog House

Punk in the same sense Siouxsie & the Banshees were punk. Actually, this sounds like Rusted Root – or at least what I remember Rusted Root sounding like. Goddamn flutes and didgeridoos. Oh, the singer just name-checked Jack Healey. Is the singer Jack Healey? I don’t know. Furthermore, I don’t care.

“The Alien Song” by Red Aunts w/ Exene Cervenkova

Why Exene changed her name from Cervenka to Cervenkova for this song I have no idea. It’s not really a song, even. It’s more of a spoken word piece over some goofy rock noise. What-EV. I used to have a pretty serious crush on Exene. Then I saw how what her personality was like in The Decline Of Western Civilization and I was like, “Whoa.”

“The Legend Of Pat Brown” by Assorted Jellybeans

My friends and I used to live by a code: if anyone liked Assorted Jellybeans, they weren’t human. What can I say? We were pretty hard on the entire ska punk genre. This version of “Pat Brown” saps all the energy out of the original Vandals take, but I can’t complain too much. This is probably my least favorite old school Vandals track. If I just committed punk heresy, I apologize. Don’t throw a rock through my window.

“Nervous Breakdown” by Pinq

I remember the first time I heard this Black Flag cover, I got so excited I punched the driver of the car I was riding in. That did not go over well. As far as Black Flag covers go, this one is pretty tight.

“21 Guns” by Good Riddance

Angry metalli-punk. Vegans who smoke and have giant ear piercings were into this circa ‘96.

“Coming To America” by Me First & The Gimme Gimmes

Can you believe this band has stretched their cornball punk cover shtick into a full-fledged decade-plus career? This is a fun song. Reminds me of Neil Diamond at the foot of the then newly refurbished Statue of Liberty in 1986. I think that was before David Copperfield made it disappear. That un-American fucker!

“Do Da Da” by Green Day

This song sounds like it may have become something else on one of their later albums. Green Day have a lot of stray tracks like that, it seems. As it stands, “Do Da Da” is a pretty cute, catchy tune. It pays for the dollar I spent on this bargain bin disc.

“27″ by Lagwagon

God, this guy’s voice is like a stale fart on the subway. Whine much, bro? Lagwagon was another 90s punk band my posse declared war on back in the day. I feel like I saw these guys at a Warped Tour. I feel like they weren’t very good.

“Criminal” by The John Doe Thing

Another X member solo cut? Musta been a two-fer-one deal. Another not very “punk” track. Very mellow. Almost like adult contemporary grunge. Chris Isaak lite? That hits the nail on the head. Sorry, John Doe. Loved you in Boogie Nights!

“Synthetic World” by Swamp Dogg Does Moon Dogg

Dude, I don’t even know what the hell is going on here. It’s like a tuneless pile of crap that fell out of the whitest guy at Harvard’s butt. Vanilla Honky, Jr.’s vocals are constipated soul. On any other album, this would be a joke, found art, something created in earnest by someone who doesn’t realize the world is kind of laughing at them. Maybe that is the joke. At any rate, I have no desire to ever hear this again.

“Jilted John” by the Vandals

A peppy number marred by Dave Quackenbush’s lousy attempt at a British accent. Did I spell his name right? Ah, I really don’t care.

“Don’t Bother Me” by the Bad Brains

They don’t say anything remotely homophobic or misogynistic in this one. So A+, right? I think “Don’t Bother Me” was recorded in 1979 or some shizz. It sounds older than Abe Vigoda. Like it was recorded on a boom box (a motherfuckin’ BOOM BOX!!!). The guitar sounds a thousand miles away at some points, and the cymbals clip like Edward Scissorhands. Did you like my tasty simile?

“Bugs” by B.U.G.

Slammin’. Singer sounds like Rivers Cuomo a little.

“That Last” by Fetish

Unremarkable bass line opens this inverted mess. The chorus is nicely intense, but I hate all the obtuse framework. It’s the same kinda junk that kept me off Biffy Clyro and Incubus and pretty much every mainstream rock band that was blowing up when I was in college.

“Ya, Ya, Ya, Ya” by The Mr. T Experience

Not much to say about this classic MTX track. TRUE CLASSIC. One time I went to go see MTX and after the show, my friend went up to Dr. Frank (the singer) and said, “Oh man, I’ve been waiting for you guys to come back here for x amount of years!” Dr. Frank looked at him like he had cow semen on his face and uncomfortably replied, “Well, here we are…” I kind of wanted to punch that book-writin’, suit jacket-wearing douche right in his smug face. Then I woulda hit Dr. Frank. Yuk, yuk.

“Can’t Make Love” by Pansy Divison w/ Tre Cool

Wow, Green Day’s drummer is on this track!! That can’t save it from mediocrity. Now their Prince cover (“Jack U Off”), that’s where Pansy Division really shines.

“Push Shove” by the X-Members

Meh. Is that the singer from Manic Hispanic I hear? I bet that guy has some interesting stories to tell. Because he’s Mexican. They have a rich history. Mexican punk singers, that is.

“Health Care For All Americans” by Daville

A live cut. The singer tries to guilt the audience into “going off.” Too bad all you can hear is his dumb-ass voice and a low, messy din that suggests musical instruments. The Queen is not impressed.

FINAL SCORE: One and a half concerned punk out of four.

1983 Was A Good Year For Franken Berry

Chuck Biscuits: without question, one of the best drummers in the history of rock. Aside from being able to play with incredible accuracy at jaw-dropping speeds, this elusive Canadian freelancer also hit the skins with remarkable strength. He seemed to improve the sound of every band he was in – especially the Circle Jerks and Social D. Those two groups completely plateaued when ol’ Chucky B was behind the kit. Observe:

The general rock community also seems to agree that the only worthwhile period of Danzig’s solo career was 1988 – 1994, the years Chuck was pounding Glenn’s skins. It’s hard to argue that point after listening to “Godless”:

Yet music was not the only forte of the talented Mr. Biscuits (I know I’m talking like he’s dead, but he’s not – just retired). Did you know Chuck also holds a PhD in the competitive field of cerealogy? It’s true. The guy who played so many of the hot beats on Tougher Than Leather knows more about breakfast than me, you, or your wacky grandmother:

Best quote: “There’s strict instructions with these not to be opened until mere moments before Doomsday…”

I heard about this clip for years, and I have to say it exceeded my expectations. Someone needs to get Chuck Biscuits a regular spot on the Food Network immediately (maybe he can replace this tool). With his humorous baritone and respectable delivery, Chuck would be the hero of housewives and snot-nosed young children everywhere.

Freelance Writer Experiences First Rejection

Brooklyn-based writer James Greene, Jr. was shocked to learn today that ten story ideas he pitched last month to Свекла, Siberia’s number one satirical news outlet, have all been rejected for being “impossibly, ridiculously, and sickeningly American.” It marks the first time anything has ever gone wrong in the young author’s life.

“I’m really at a loss for words,” Greene, 30, said in an interview conducted this morning on the steps of his million dollar brownstone apartment. “I mean, I’ve had so much success before this. I’ve never had to deal with this kind of rejection – or any kind of rejection, really. I just wonder now who’s going to pay the cleaning bill for this fancy fur coat I’m wearing. All these lobster stains are starting to really smell.”

For their part, the staff of Свекла had little to say. “We think James Greene is a talented writer,” read a brief statement on the paper’s website. “Unfortunately, he is a bourgeoisie Western pig whose opulent, lobster-based lifestyle we do not want associated with our publication. Plus, he looks really fucking stupid in all those fur coats.”

Greene has considered legal action, but claims he has more pressing matters on his agenda.

“Polo season is right around the corner, and I’ve really let myself go. I need to stop slacking so I don’t become the laughing stock of the professional circuit,” he said while keeping a monocled eye on his telegraphic stock printing machine. “I do say, Amalgamated Phosphates has taken quite the nosedive.”

Here now are the ten ideas of Greene’s that Свекла passed on:

Area Man Swears He Once Saw Movie Where Kevin Bacon Voiced Talking Salad – “Despite any discernible evidence that such a film exists, an area man is convinced he once saw a movie on late night television in which Kevin Bacon provided the voice for a talking Cobb salad. When pressed for details, the individual in question admitted he may be confusing Kevin Bacon with Patrick Swayze.”

Sixties Still Greatest Time To Be Alive, Say Hippies – “A recent poll suggests that 95% of hippies and flower children still believe the greatest time to be alive was the 1960s; meanwhile, a similar percentage of bitter punk rockers claim the Sixties were ‘complete bullshit, man.’”

Civil War Re-Enactors Losing Ground To Spanish-American, WWI Re-Enactors – “As the popularity of Spanish-American War and World War I re-enactments increases among teenagers, Civil War re-enactors are facing a very real war over the young fans of fake military skirmishes that keep them in business. ‘Yo, Gettysburg is mad corny, son!’ says Dwayne Rogers, 14, of Bangor, PA. ‘It’s all about William Randolph Hearst and the sinking of the Maine this year, kid!’”

Ghost Of Mickey Mantle Too Drunk To Haunt Anyone – “Paranormal investigators in the New York area were stumped regarding the area’s lack of Mickey Mantle hauntings until they heard from other spirits that the ghost of #7 was too soused to carry out his chain-rattling and wood-knocking duties at the bars he used to frequent. The Mick’s imbibing has particularly irked the ghost of Billy Martin, who feels he’s had to pick up the ectoplasmic slack in Mantle’s absence.”

ALF Magazine Unveils Extensive Photo Archive – “ALF Fanatic, the magazine devoted entirely to the wise-cracking alien puppet of 1980s sitcom fame, has put its vast image archive online for public use. The collection offers many unique and never-before-seen photos of ALF, including shots of the furry star dressed as Carmen Miranda and a series detailing the puppet’s presence at the 1987 Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.”

Warner Brothers Announces Remake Of Tannheimer Home Movies – “Warner Brothers Studios announced today plans to bring the home movies of Humble, TX’s Tannheimer family to the big screen. ‘We think there’s a tremendous story to tell here,’ said an unnamed exec of the movies, which mostly center around Christmas morning 1988 and the clan’s acquisition of an above ground pool the following summer. Michael Bay has signed on to direct.”

Santa Disliked Kids, Says Former Lover – “As the world mourns the loss of Santa Claus from an AIDS-related death, a former lover of St. Nick’s has stepped forward with shocking details about mankind’s symbol of hope and love. ‘Santa never really cared for children,’ revealed Jasmine Ophelia in an interview with Playboy this week. ‘He got roped into the whole toy thing by his dad…his real passion was playing the harp.’”

Hamburglar Turns Life Around, Forms Gospel Band – “For years, he wore a mask and a cape and stole foodstuffs from an unsuspecting clown. Nowadays, the Hamburglar is a born again Christian who admits he was ‘in a bad way’ all those decades ago and spreads the word of God via his tambourine. His ultimate hope, though, is that Ronald and pals one day forgive him.”

Iggy Pop Died Fifteen Years Ago, Scientists Claim – “A group of scientists at MIT proposed a startling new theory this week that suggests rebel rocker Iggy Pop died fifteen years ago and that his corpse has been involved in a prolonged Weekend At Bernie’s-type situation. ‘It’s one of those things that’s both sad and funny at the same time,’ commented Pop collaborator and friend David Bowie.”

Citibank Hits Employees Up For A Few Bucks – Desperate for a hot cup of coffee and a donut, failing banking giant Citigroup begged its remaining employees Wednesday morning for ‘a dollar’ or whatever they could spare. ‘I haven’t had a decent meal in weeks,’ the company said. ‘You know I’m good for it, c’mon! I’m a working guy just like you. I’m just going through a rough patch right now.’”

James Greene, Jr. currently divides his professional time between Cat Anus Monthly and The Pepperidge Farm Report. He won a Charles Rocket Award last year for a piece entitled “Pauly Shore: What Went Wrong.”

Today I Mourn A Stooge

Check out my Crawdaddy!-approved Ron Asheton eulogy. Here’s a sample for the discriminate link clicker:

“I remember hearing ‘No Fun’ for the first time on the house sound at Side One Records, the hippest record shop in all of Volusia County, one otherwise stupid afternoon during my freshman year of college. It made me want to put on the darkest sunglasses I could find, clap my hands, and nod my head with my mouth open like a mental patient whacked out on rhino tranquilizers. It was that good. This vinyl copy of The Stooges was priced at $15—I think it was some kind of collector’s item because Dave Alexander had farted on it or some shit. I wasn’t about to pay that, but the cavalier soul of “No Fun” stuck with me. How could it not? That riff was, as a Vermont hippie might say, so crunchy.”

If the Flower Children did anything right, it was appropriating “crunchy” for adjective use outside the food world. Thank you, filthy jerks.

I Got Paid To Hang Out With Amanda Bynes

Two years ago, former Nickelodeon starlette Amanda Bynes shot a film called Sydney White in and around the greater Orlando area (where I lived at the time). They had an open call for extras, so one day I showed up out of sheer curiosity, was deemed attractive enough to participate, and the excitement of major motion picture-making began. On the JG2 Thrill Scale, the entire experience fell somewhere between group sex with the cast of “Friends” and visiting Cleveland. A true adventure, one that was almost worth every cent of the seventy-five dollars I was promised, and one that I shall recount for you immediately.

The day of shooting I was involved in took place at my alma mater, the University of Central Florida – specifically, the Health & Wellness Center (that’s fancy talk for “the gym”). It didn’t dawn on me or any of the people who accompanied me that day that clothing of the work out variety would be preferred garb for those who wished to participate. I mean, shit, I went to the Health & Wellness Center all the time back in the day, but I never worked out. That’s where the smoothie bar was. I used to be ALL ABOUT the smoothie bar. Anyway, my friends and I were all wearing jeans and shit. As soon as we saw throngs of extra hopefuls all decked out in short shorts and undershirts for what was obviously going to be a gym sequence, we sort of realized we might be totally fucked.

Luckily, one member in our party kindly agreed to run back to her apartment and grab whatever stray exercise clothes she had lying around. This resulted in me wearing a pair of shorts so snug I was nicknamed “Daisy Dukes” by a member of the crew. Hey, at least I got to be in the movie. By the by, this particular crew member had a nickname for everyone (“What’s up, Checkers? What’s up, Ham Bone?”), a personality quirk that was ten thousand times more annoying than his general bro-speak or Clinton-era goatee.

Even though I now had an awesome pair of nut-huggers to my name, I was still sent to wardrobe, where a stereotypically flamboyant costume person was letting everyone know what size they were (“Nuh-uh, honey, you are not an extra large!”). I got a Champion brand shirt from this fellow; apparently Champion had a stake in Sydney White. Many extras were forced to wear the almighty C. I’m not sure how I felt about this. If we’re in the background, potentially out of focus, why the hell does it matter what brand of shirt anyone’s wearing?

It was this logic that lead me to put on the Gluecifer hoodie I brought with me. Let’s see how far I can get wearing this, I thought. Surely the mighty Glue logo will be spotted and nixed in favor of corporate whoring before anyone can say Biff Malibu. Wrong. No one said boo about my last minute costuming decision when I was chosen to be a part of the first shot. Below the waist, however, was another matter. Seems my boxers were sticking out the end of my circulation-interrupting shorts.

“Can you fix that?” some production assistant lady asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, feeling the need to act slightly douchey. “I mean, this is kind of who I am.”

She walked away.

So this first thing was the JG2 money shot. I got to walk directly behind Amanda Bynes and her costars as she introduces them to the gym, where everybody at their college hangs out (or so her lines indicated). They did the scene about ten or eleven times, maybe filming six or seven of them. Nearly every time, I just trotted by and out the door, where I believe I was out of camera range (at least I hope I was – I did a lot of silly things walking down the front steps of the Health & Wellness Center on the basis that I was out of camera range). Once or twice I gave someone passing by the silent, “Hey bro, what’s up?” One take, I pretended to check out a girl. Another time, I gently body-checked a casual acquaintance, another slight bit of anarchy I did not get yelled at for.

After that, I was tossed outside while another group went in. That’s when the waiting began. The long, hot, nearly interminable waiting (I believe this took place in April or May, which in Florida is like August everywhere else). When would they need us again? When would they bring more tiny apples to the snack tray? When would we break for lunch? When would this asshole stop giving everyone nicknames? When would any of these girls tell this guy to fuck off when he leaned down to hit on them?

The slightly shaded giant concrete steps/shelves on the side of the Health & Wellness Center provided a semi-comfortable place where we could stretch out and ponder more questions. How much of the budget are they spending on extras? Are those Robocop-sized cameras really necessary? Which one of these assholes is the director? When is Bynes going to come hang out with us?

Speaking of Manda Manda Manda, yes, I did get within less than two feet of her. It was a bit cramped in the area they shot “our” scene, and at any point between shots I probably could have reached out, grabbed her violently, and said something really intense and creepy while staring at her mouth. Unfortunately, I’m not that type of guy. She seemed really focused anyway. Our eyes met for one brief moment as we crossed paths, but Bynes had nothing to say. Guess she’s not into Gluecifer (or hefty Poles).

Right before lunch, I was brought back into the air conditioned glory of the HW Center for a wide shot of the gym floor. I was asked to lift hand weights near the back of the room. They might have just asked me to crochet – my degree of expertise in both fields is equally low. I pretended I knew how to build truly awesome guns, but I was only lifting five pounders. They kept flopping around when I brought them too high. The other guy using free weights looked like a pro. Hopefully clips of my shitty lifting skills will not come back to haunt me when I run for public office.

Lunch finally came. Chicken pot pie, mashed potatoes, and some other crap I’d only eat if I was starving to death. Coincidentally, I was. Some Coke or Pepsi wouldn’t have hurt, but these sickos only gave us watered-down Gatorade, unsweetened iced tea, and water. Hey Hollywood, some of us need caffeine. Don’t bust my balls on this again. I had to bum some change from a pal to liberate a three-month old Vault from one of UCF’s many vending machines.

The rest of the Incredible Amanda Bynes Extra Party Machine Experience was spent loitering outside the HWC, wondering when it would all come to a crashing, confused ending. Granted, there were many humorous riffs on the situation and insightful conversations about college and life in general, but we were spending our entire day outside in eighty degree weather, sitting on slabs of concrete in gym shorts. The sooner this shit ended, the better.

At around seven, twelve hours after this insanity began, the wranglers rounded us up and took us back to the wardrobe trailer to return our invaluable Champion merchandise. We also had to make sure our vouchers were filled out correctly, which of course they weren’t. A mad scramble for pens and writing space began, turning what was already a pretty big clusterfuck into six trillion atom bombs of bullshit. Somehow, I made it out alive.

Feeling like I just spent a day at the world’s lamest theme park, I collapsed into bed upon arriving home that night (but not before devouring a very sloppy peanut butter sandwich and attempting to brush my teeth). I did not softly drift into slumber that night; I fell from a skyscraper thirty stories tall onto a hard pavement of sleep, splattering my metaphysical guts all over the sidewalk of my bedroom. I have to hand it to any struggling actors out there whose main source of income is extra gigs. Kind of grueling work. Of course, there are harder ways to come by seventy-five bucks these days.

Sydney White was released in September of 2007 to scathing reviews. I’m pretty sure it was voted the worst movie of the year by more than one publication. Awesome. I never actually saw the damn thing, mainly because I couldn’t justify paying eleven bucks or more to see five seconds of myself (if that) cushioned by ninety minutes of cutesy teen drama. By the time the DVD came out, I had nearly erased the entire experience from my memory. I guess I’ll Netflix it, although I imagine if I was clearly visible in the film, someone would have said something to me by now (I originally posted this blog on Myspace a day or two after the whole she-bang).

Besides, it not like I pulled some awesome stunt like this infamous guy at the end of Teen Wolf:

That dude’s playin’ with his wiener! I can’t believe they haven’t digitally erased that yet.

Two Epic Shark Jumps In Less Than Forty-Eight Hours!

1/16/09 – Never Forget. Readers of Ain’t It Cool News certainly won’t. That’s the day the geektacular movie rumor/review website ran their exclusive interview with teen rap sensation Soulja Boy, a.k.a. the guy who likes to blow his nose into money. The justification for this left field parking lot piece is that Soulj has some kind of half-live, half-cartoon TV show coming out soon (co-starring Mr. Breakin’ and Poppin’ himself). Highlights from the mighty AICN/SB summit include Soulja making non-ironic references to his “legacy,” denying the existence of Space Jam, and basically admitting he only started listening to Tupac and Biggie last week:

“Last night, I went to the Notorious premiere, and it was like, after I left that movie, I felt like I knew B.I.G. I was like, ‘Man, people was right!’ So I went on iTunes, typed in ‘2 Pac’ and typed in ‘Biggie,’ and I bought all their albums.”

Wow. AICN’s reputation has been pretty shaky in recent years; presenting an interview with the biggest poseur in rap just might sink them forever. It would have been one thing if Soulja busted out with some crazy insight or insider knowledge (or even if he just made some wild shit up about Iron Man 2). Instead, he drops some barely animated shit with the guy from “Fresh Prince” and licks Fifty Cent’s sack.

If you think that’s wiggita-wiggita-wiggita-whack, check out the Village Voice’s interview with Andrew “Dice” Clay from the day before. Yeah, you read that right. The Village Voice did an interview with Andrew “Dice” Clay. I think I actually felt the shark’s breath on that one.

You know, I pitched the Voice a bunch of stuff last year, and not only did they pass on all of it, they did so with an amazing lack of manners. Now I understand why. Next time I should come up with more stuff that includes phrases like “annihilating what’s between her legs” and “swing them around by their tits.” I should also probably be 60% more surly and somehow convey in my e-mails that I’m wearing wraparound sunglasses and a sleeveless leather jacket.

Hey, Village Voice – fuck you.

The Late Nineties Called – They Want Their Totally Money Chef Dude Back

Like most shut-ins and hermits, I spend an inordinate amount of time watching the Food Network. You have to hand it to the person(s) who thought up that channel – every single living creature on the planet thinks about food at least once a day. Subjects don’t come much more universal than that. If lemurs could watch TV, lemurs would most certainly watch the Food Network (and maybe CMT, for the “Knight Rider” reruns).

Lately I’ve noticed this particular personality all over the Food Network. Perhaps you’ve seen him. His name is Guy Fieri, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he was a time traveler from 1998:

In addition to the platinum spikes, dark brown goatee, and giant earrings, Guy Fieri also talks like it’s eleven years ago. On his flagship show “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives” (which is actually kind of a neat program; I like learning about greasy spoons across our great country), Fieri regularly uses the term “money” in the adjective form. Example:

“This Hollandaise sauce is totally money!”

I’m pretty sure no one’s said that since Swingers came out. Other staples of Guy’s vocabulary include “freak” (as in “get your freak on”), “Flavor Town,” and my personal favorite, “hot Frisbee of fun.” The boy likes his Fs. He also abbreviates…a lot. “Diners” is always referred to by Guy as “Triple D”; Fieri hosts this other show, “Ultimate Recipe Showdown,” the promos for which always begin with him saying, “Next time on URS…”

URS? How am I supposed to know what the hell that means? That sounds like an invasive medical procedure. It’s not even that catchy of an abbreviation. Is “Ultimate Recipe Showdown” really so much of a tongue-twister, Guy? Were the three seconds you saved abbreviating it that valuable?

I’m sorry, I know it might seem like I’m unfairly coming down on Guy. He’s just some harmless cable TV personality. I’m sure he makes a lot people happy. I just find it hard to understand how a guy like Guy exists in this day and age. I didn’t realize the era of Sugar Ray and Pets.com was something anyone was actively attempting to keep alive. I think even Mark McGrath has moved on from that weird, slightly heady period.

Guy Fieri, you confuse me. One day I will corner you in an attempt to figure your shit out. Also, I need directions to Flavor Town. I can’t find it on any map. I’m guessing it’s somewhere near Funky Town, but I want to be sure.