You can't sweat out . . .

Archive for January, 2009|Monthly archive page

How Kings of Leon were upstaged by Al the limo driver

In Jesse, the Rippers, and their contemporaries on January 31, 2009 at 11:58 am

From what is believed to have been the world’s largest potato, to a fantastic set by rock’s new royalty, Kings of Leon, to cruising the streets in the best post concert ride since the Mr. Softee truck incident last November after seeing Cold War Kids, Thursday night exceeded all expectations.

Per usual, I found myself as the only vegetarian in the group at a steakhouse.  This establishment, Uncle Jack’s, doesn’t even have a menu; instead, the waiter runs through about a dozen options of different cuts of meat and varieties of seafood.  As is customary, I summoned my deepest, manliest voice and ordered “anything that’s vegetarian.”

About forty-five minutes later I had in front of me about foot long shoots of asparagus, heads of broccoli that looked like Bonsai trees, and a potato that was literally the size of your head.  I mean, this thing must have weighed two pounds.  And it dominated me.  The potato mixed with the gin and tonics in my stomach and made me feel gloriously Irish/Dutch, putting me in the proper mindset to be rock and rolled.

Our group of eight, including future Guinness Book of World Record holders Storelli and Corrigan, got into Madison Square Garden just as Kings of Leon’s set was beginning.  I’ve seen a good number of shows at MSG, and this one topped them all.  The only three that have even compared were Pearl Jam and Dispatch in 2008 and Tom Petty in 2006.  The Kings set was a roller coaster of utter and complete domination, culminating in a four song encore that melted Corrigan’s face completely off.

Including hits from each of their four discs, they satisfied me immensely by playing several songs off Aha Shake Heartbreak. Their newest album, Only by the Night, is probably my favorite thing to come out of the south besides the cotton that is used to make American Apparel t shirts.  They brought down the house with two songs on this album that almost caused me to black out from an overdose of awesome sound.  The two songs?  “Use Somebody” and “Sex on Fire.”

Yes, those are their two singles so far off the record.  Yes, that is so not indie to cite the singles as your favorite songs right now.  No, I don’t care.   Yes, I have been a Kings of Leon fan since 2005, when they played at the State Theater in Portland, Maine.  No, I don’t remember much of that show.  Yes, Jagger is bad for you.

After the lights came on, the crowd poured in the street and we met up with other friends and co-workers who were at the show and planned our next move.  Upon deciding to go down to Soho to hit up Nolita House, where our friend The Captain bartends, we were just about to hail a cab when destiny pulled up, in the form of a badass white limo.

We were able to talk the driver, Al (in all his mustached glory) , down to $20 for the five of us, which would turn out to be the best investment we have ever made.  The second we opened the door we knew we had made the right decision.  The floors?  Carpeted.  Lava lamps? Check.  Neon lighting? Check.  An ipod we had control of? Check.  Budweiser in cans? Check.  Feeling like pimps? Check.  The coolest NY limo driver other than Ranjit, who doesn’t really count since he is a fictional character on How I Met Your Mother? Check.

I want to relive Thursday night all over again.  And you know what?  I think I will.  All I need to do is have Kings of Leon come back to town, and Al will take care of the rest.   I have a feeling this is not the last appearance Al will make on JSF, as when we arrived at Nolita House, he gave us all his card:

Now #1 on my speed dial

Now #1 on my speed dial

I don’t know what exactly a Pim Pin is, but I like it.


Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles + Mighty Ducks = Fantastic. Secret of the Ooze + D2 = Radical. Just stop there next time, please

In What? This isn't a documentary? on January 29, 2009 at 1:22 am

Someone, somewhere, once told me, “Good things come in threes.”  It was probably a drunk guy referring to threesomes he never had, but that’s neither here nor there.    A lot of times, three is in fact better than two.  That’s just how quantities work.   In the case of movies, however,  the third is sometimes the straw that breaks the camel’s back.  And, in turn, makes me extremely angry.

The two prime offenders?  Whoever green lit the third movies in the Mighty Duck and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle franchises.

Seeing D3: The Mighty Ducks and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III marked two of the three times I have been most disappointed leaving a movie theater.  For the rest of my life, I will never be as upset leaving the movies as I was when, as a 10 year old,  I begged my mother to bring my brother and I to see The Sandlot on its opening weekend.  Upon learning it was sold out, we went for the next best option: Groundhog Day. When you want Benny “The Jet” Rodriguez stealing bases and get Bill Murray reliving the same day, over, and over, and over again, well, it’s enough to make your ten year old head explode.   I didn’t start to develop sarcasm as my second language until later in life, so Bill Murray’s humor was completely and utterly lost on me.  While I love Groundhog Day now, I hated it in 1993.

But back to the issue at hand.  The two worst third installments after classic movies:

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III:

To be fair, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze were two instant classics in my mind.  The original Turtles was exactly what the doctor ordered, just a full, somewhat humanized, dose of the cartoon I had grown to love.  I remember being shocked that everyone in New York City was fooled into thinking the turtles were humans when they walked around with just a tan trench coat and hat on.  The follow up was even better, involving a somewhat mad scientist, Shredder coming back from his landfill grave, two extremely angry teens (Danny and Raphael), April O’Neill, Casey Jones kicking ass with a variety of weapons, the hapless Foot Clan, and the dimwitted duo of Tokka and Rahzar.  Those last two were inexplicable stand ins for Bee-Bop and Rock Steady, but that is the only complaint I have with Secret of the Ooze.

For the longest time, I was so angry about the third that I swore off TMNT altogether.  I can’t recall anything about the plot besides that the turtles went back in time to ancient Japan to battle with samurais.  Many shenanigans ensued.  At the time, I remember irate: Time travel just isn’t even possible! Apparently mutant turtles fighting crime under the guidance of human-sized rat were very realistic to me back then.

D3: The Mighty Ducks

The progression of the three movies is baffling.  During the first, they are a bunch of little kids playing pond hockey when a high powered lawyer and former Minnesota peewee league legend, Gordon Bombay, is forced to coach them as part his community service sentence for drunk driving.  Classic hockey and life lessons ensue, with Bombay and Captain Charlie Conway leading the way.

From novice skaters to league champions, we watched as Walt Disney pulled our heartstrings.  We even forgave them as they completely skipped several levels of development for D2 and suddenly our favorite skating birds were teaming up with a few other misfits and taking on THE WORLD in the Junior Goodwill Games.  Yes, the kids from Minnesota somehow made it onto the international stage, and even managed to not get penalized for ditching the team USA uniforms for their Ducks sweaters before the third period en route to their victory.

But honestly?  I just saw the Ducks defeat Iceland for the title.  You expect me to get drawn into them having to deal with the varsity team not accepting them as freshmen?  I’m sorry, but that was almost as unrealistic to me as a bunch of crime fighting mutants using a sceptor to time travel.

Reader’s Poll # 1:

Who would win in a fight: The Bash Brothers from Mighty Ducks, or Casey Jones from Return of the Ooze?

** Update ** I have decided this question is ridiculous.  Casey Jones would slaughter both of them and then go lay his mack down on April O’Neill.

Bloody nipples are terrifying, and world records are hot

In Uncle Jesse's Favorites on January 27, 2009 at 11:50 pm

I came to three very important realizations today:

1) I will never, ever, run a marathon.

The route of the New York City marathon passes my apartment 7 miles from the start, and each of the past two years, I have stumbled out of my bed at 9 in the morning to walk outside and watch as men and women run past, their spirits and energy levels still high.  Seeing these runners always makes me think in the back of my mind, This would be a great challenge, maybe I should look into doing it. Then, both years, I looked down and saw that I was still wearing my Halloween costume from the night before (both marathons were run on the Sunday after Halloween), and decided that running 26.2 consecutive miles probably just wasn’t for me.

The text I received from my buddy Ploof today really helped cement my desire to never run:  “[My girlfriend and I] ran the marathon in 4 hours, 40 minutes.  Two hours of which I ran sans shirt due to bloody nipples.  3 hours of which my upper thighs needed to be wrapped in vaseline coated ace bandages due to chaffage.”

This marks the first time that bloody nipples have caused me to decide anything in my life.

2) I made a horrible, horrible mistake when I failed to include Joe Esposito’s “Best Around” in The Karate Kid in my top movie songs list.

While overall the list dominated, failing to include this song, in this movie, is borderline inexcusable.  Especially when I actually break into the song at least once a week, “You’re the best around. . . NOTHING’S EVER GONNA KEEP YOU DOWN,” at random times.  It really fits in any situation: I can keep equally pumped up to play a basketball game or make a sandwich when I start channeling my inner Joey Esposito.

3) This Sunday I am going swimming.

Not having hot water for 8 days (the streak ended yesterday) apparently wasn’t enough to chill me to the bone, so I am going to take the Polar Bear plunge into the Atlantic Ocean on Super Bowl Sunday.  I’m shivering now just thinking about it.

Mosher and I will be joining two epic guys I work with, Storelli and Corrigan, along with thousands of others, in an attempt to set a Guinness World Record:

Two important considerations go into this.  First, if we do in fact set the world record, we have the option of purchasing an official world record certificate. Is it a rip off?  Probably.  Will it look awesome on my wall? Undoubtedly.

Second, as always, frozen nipples > bloody nipples.

If only your life had a soundtrack like these movies…

In What? This isn't a documentary? on January 26, 2009 at 1:30 am

While we spent the day recovering from last night’s Early 90s dance party,  Jacko bought a Playstation 3 and spent 6 or so hours playing a game called Uncharted: Drake’s Fortune. I could make a comment about his lack of productivity for a Sunday, except I sat there watching him play for about 5 of those hours.  Anyway, I could care less about video games (because I am bad at them), but I am psyched to quite psyched about the PS3’s Blu-Ray capabilities, which we just tested out by watching 300.

First of all, Blu-Ray is sick.  When you combine it with a visually spectacular movie like 300, which is so battletastic that it is virtually impossible to watch it without getting about a hundred War Boners, it is almost too much to take.

Seeing it for the first time since the theater, however, reminded me of the one disappointing aspect of the movie: its lack of a killer soundtrack.   You can’t have it all, but when I spend two hours watching men with 8 pack abs killing Persians, I like to rock out a little bit.   A movie with a good soundtrack brings it to the next level, pumping up the audience.  I don’t think I could have written papers in college without the soundtrack to Braveheart or Gladiator playing in the background.

Obviously, a director doesn’t have to have tunes pumping for the entire movie, but can effectively pick and choose great songs to pair with great scenes.  Do you think Rocky would have been as good without “Eye of the Tiger” playing?  Think again.  But sadly, as great as the Eye of the Tiger montage is, it doesn’t make my top ten (plus one) list for the best movie songs.   Without further adieu, John Stamos Fever presents:


Honorable Mention

Every song in Forrest Gump

11. Vanilla Ice’s “Go Ninja, Go Ninja Go!” in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze

Vanilla Ice provides the soundtrack to the turtles dominating the Foot Clan in the middle of a classic early 90s club scene.  There has perhaps never been a greater rap single made for mutant teenage turtles in the history of movies.

10.  Urge Overkill’s cover of Neil Diamond’s “Girl, You’ll be a Woman Soon” in Pulp Fiction

First of all, Pulp Fiction is one of the best movies ever made, and this take on a classic Diamond hit is enough to make me want to become a hitman and work in tandem with Vincent and Jules.  Zed’s dead, baby.

9.   Starland Vocal Band’s “Afternoon Delight” in Anchorman

I think it’s safe to say that never before have four newscasters combined to sing a better rendition of a song that is all about having sex in the middle of the day.

The intimate times?  Outta sight, my man

The intimate times? Outta sight, my man

8.  The Dropkick Murphy’s “I’m Shipping up to Boston” in The Departed

Just unspeakably badass.  The song.  The movie.  The city.  The band.  Perfect combo, just one notch below the best use of an Irish song in a movie set in Boston.  That distinction goes to:

7.  Mychael Danna’s “The Blood of Cu Chulainn” in The Boondock Saints

When the Sarge and I shared a bedroom sophomore year in college, rarely did a day pass without one of us throwing on this song for inspiration.  It fits any mood, livens any situation.  In fact, please feel free to read the rest of this while listening to the tune here:

6. The Geto Boys’ “Damn it Feels Good to be a Gangster” in Office Space.

Why should Initech’s Michael Bolton change his name?  The sax playing pretty boy of the same name is the one who sucks.

5. Gerry Rafferty’s “Baker’s Street” in Good Will Hunting

Fresh off his initial mention in last week’s guest for his virtuoso saxophone skills, Rafferty is back for “Baker’s Street,” which stands out as the best song in an amazing movie filled with great ones. Next time I beat up someone from my kindergarten class, I am definitely listening to this song on my ipod.

4.  The Drifters’ “This Magic Moment” in The Sandlot

The Drifters get the nod for a great song, sure, but the real hero of this scene is Michael “Squints” Palledorous, who effectively fakes almost drowning in order to lay the hottest kiss of his young life on the lifeguard of his dreams, Wendy Peffercorn.   This is the greatest kissing scene in the history of Western Civilization.

The Great Hambino may have the sharpest tongue, but Squints uses his best

The Great Hambino may have the sharpest tongue, but Squints uses his best

3. Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes” in Say Anything

Lloyd Dobler: making straight guys consider falling in love with a man since 1989.  Cameron Crowe: using ridiculously sweet songs in his movies since the beginning.

2.   Randy Edelman & Trevor Jones’s theme song to Last of the Mohicans

In order to create a song that matched the epicity of Daniel Day Lewis’s character, Hawkeye, Edelman and Jones must have had to sell their souls to the devil.  Luckily for us, they did, and were able to lay down the single most badass song I have ever heard:

And of course, in our top spot, another gem from Cameron Crowe

1. Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” in Almost Famous

If you have never had a latenight group singalong to “Tiny Dancer,” well my friend, you just haven’t lived.

Uncle Jesse could outplay any of the guys on Tool Academy even if he shaved off his mullet

In Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood on January 24, 2009 at 6:26 pm

Before he married Aunt Becky, Uncle Jesse was what you would call a player.  There is an ad in magazines for Canadian Club right now that says before he met your mother, your dad got two numbers in one night.  Apparently this is supposed to be impressive.  And maybe it was in the early 70s, or whenever those ads are supposed to be based in, but it was not in Uncle Jesse’s prime.  Uncle Jesse could get two numbers in a room just by leaning against the wall and putting out the vibe.  Your dad may have drank Canadian Club whiskey, but he was no match for the charisma, mullet and leather jacket of Uncle Jesse.

One Friday night while out in San Francisco, Uncle Jesse got the numbers of 77 beautiful women, 43 of which he would later bed.  The other 34 were denied access to unspeakable pleasure because either: a) they were only hot enough to give Jesse their number, not sleep with him b) they didn’t like Elvis or c) there are only so many days on the calendar.  It wasn’t too hard for him, as Uncle Jesse Syndrome is a precursor to John Stamos Fever.

FR?  Freaking Radical

FR? Freaking Radical

Once he met Aunt Becky, however, Jesse burned his black book (though he was offered $500 from Joey Gladstone for it).  His playing days were over.  He had a girlfriend, and he had a responsibility.  This example of a reformed player was obviously the inspiration for the new Vh1 new show Tool Academy.

The premise of the show is both amusing and baffling.  Eight guys thought that they were going to be in a competition to crown “Mr. Awesome,” a title that apparently these fools didn’t know has already been awarded to John Stamos by me.   And everyone knows there can only be one Mr. Awesome in this country.

Anyway, Vh1 flips the switch on these guys, and they are actually enrolled in the Tool Academy.  What’s better is that their girlfriends see all of their audition tapes, and hidden camera footage of their boyfriends flirting with, getting nujmbers from and even kissing, other girls.  So you have 8 couples, the guys just getting completely exposed for being huge tools, and then their girlfriends come out, causing all sorts of shenanigans to occur.  Whichever guy makes the greatest strides to change from tool to cool passes the Tool Academy wins $100,000.

On an episode I watched this morning, one of the douchiest guys on the show, Sean (ironically, the vast majority of people in the world with this name are unspeakably sweet), is trying to win back the trust of his girlfriend, Jaimee.  He’s vowing to change, really selling himself as someone who will be a good boyfriend.  Of course, this is the cue in the script for a blonde in the sluttiest short shorts I have ever seen to walk in the room and announce herself as Aida, Sean’s gilfriend of six years.  Sean is of course shocked, and while he has feelings for both girls, is forced to choose one to stay on the show (he keeps the six year streak going and picks Aida).

I kind of hate myself for watching this show, but I can’t get enough.  It’s totally fake (while dumb, I’m sure these guys understand the concept of TV and how their girlfriends would eventually see what they happened, when the show aired), and the guys are all ridiculous meatheads.  The girls all look like the type who, while somewhat hot now, will eventually progress to a forty year old woman with two kids, no money, sagging boobs and a rocking fupa that she accents with the tightest pink Juicy sweatsuedos available.  The whole point of the show should be these couples getting counseling on how to ensure they never procreate.

I got a fevah. And the only prescription is… more SAX

In They have the Fever on January 23, 2009 at 12:49 am

Sometimes, when in the right hands, the sax is better than sex.  I mean, so I’ve heard.  I can’t play the sax, and I’m not married yet, so I kind of just have to rely on second hand accounts of both.  Two loyal JSF readers, the golden god Joe Sarge and Tommy (aka Maine Coast 12) Nale, love the 80s.  And they love the sax.  Particularly, they seemed to love when the sax and the 80s mixed.  I was intrigued so I asked for them to provide the first ever guest contribution on John Stamos Fever.  And what I got was a brilliant tornado of emails filled with gems from these two.  When the dust finally settled, here’s what I was able to piece together:

While the sax may not be the uber instrument some wish it to be, with correct placement and execution, it has the power to raise a song to that next level of greatness.  Historians have theorized for decades about when the true birth of the saxophone as a dominant instrument occurred, but few argue with the fact that Gerry Rafferty, fresh off some great work with Stealers Wheel, really held the coming out party for the saxophone.  He helped make it a staple, God bless him.  And a staple it has stayed.  The high was when our president was a rock star on the sax.  The higher, of course, was James Brown’s “Living in America.”  What a classic.  You just know that James was sitting around his mansion, smoking some crack, and saying, albeit inaudibly, “How can I make this song I’m using in Rocky IV more hip?”  Clearly, in a cloud of smoke and after several pipe burns, he found his answer.  Unfortunately he was not prescient enough to find a way to save Apollo from a vicious and fatal beatdown.

Yes, the 80s were a dominant decade, and the sax was there to usher it in.  For example, there’s the heavy sax usage in the “The Heat Is On,” a song that not only launched Glenn Frey’s solo career (and a completely kick-ass appearance on Miami Vice) but also served as the intro for the opening credits in one of [Tommy’s] favorite movies, and arguably the first buddy-cop comedy ever, Beverly Hills Cop.  The sax wasn’t done though.  By 1985, it was just getting warmed up as the last two minutes or so of Kenny Loggins’ “Danger Zone” is just one big sax orgasm.

There are many ways to incorporate the saxophone into a song but all methods result in the aural bliss we have come to love and sometimes crave uncontrollably.  The Sarge has broken the way the sax is used in songs, and in movies, into the following four categories:

Ultimate Sax:  Some songs just grab the sax and run with it.  The lead singer knows when they have to bow down to the instrument, for it is the star.  Huey Lewis and the News and James Brown had that big band sound and made liberal use of the saxophone. The aforementioned “Living in America” and “Back in Time” are not only fantastic but helped to make Rocky IV and Back to the Future the awe inspiring films they are.

Sax on repeat: Other songs feature the sax appearing again and again. “Who Can it Be Now” and “Overkill” by Men At Work and “Your Latest Trick” by Dire Straits are such gems.  Each of these keep coming back to the saxophone just as Rambo keeps single-handedly defeating entire armies and saving the day.

Sax solo: Hits like “If You Leave” by OMD, “Never Surrender” by Corey Hart, “Rio” by Duran Duran, and even “Kokomo” by the Beach Boys blindside you with amazing saxophone breakdowns.  Some are short and sweet while others are quite substantial.  In terms of drinking, the sax solo “was to music what an Irish Car Bomb is to a night of drinking–everyone’s enjoying the show, cruising along and having a good time until the Car Bomb’s start flowing, and then holy hell it’s all over, people take it to the next level, and awesomeness ensues.”

Happy ending sax: A Happy ending sax hit, much like its massage counterpart, finishes off with something extra and leaves the listener with a wonderful sense of euphoria.  “Dancing in the Dark” by Springsteen, while having some difficult to hear sax throughout, kicks it up a notch at the end.  And while listening to “Super Freak” by Rick James or “Danger Zone” by Kenny Loggins, you’re probably thinking, “This can’t possibly get any better” and then wham, super crazy awesome saxophone solo that blows your mind.

Experts still won’t go as far as to say that the sax is inherently awesome–although it may well be.  Many think that maybe it just seems more awesome because it’s involved in a lot of awesome songs.  It’s in “Bad to the Bone.”  80’s legends Huey Lewis, Hall and Oates, Dire Straits, Bruce Springsteen, INXS, Eddie Money, Gloria Estefan, and of course, Billy Ocean all had some big boy sax solos in some of their best 80’s hits.

Maybe the sax is entirely awesome (though nobody thinks Kenny G is awesome) all on it’s own, but it’s more likely the product of great placement and kick-ass timing.  Yes, the era of sax solos seemed to end with the 80s but the songs we got from it can still melt your face off with their awesomeness.

Everything good, mon?

In Just absolutely dominating people on January 21, 2009 at 10:30 pm
Reggie Spence aka the Jamaican Juggernaut aka the Best Landlord Ever was a man who dominated life before passing away at the end of 2008.
Fact: Reggie Spence never frowned
Fact: Reggie Spence crushed Bud Heavies from time to time
Fact: Reggie Spence started every conversation with “Everything good, mon?” and ended it with “No problem, mon!”
Fact: He was the glue that held the building together
Fact: Since he passed, the lock on our front door has been temperamental and our hot water pipe burst four days ago
Fact: Cold showers in January are brutal to unbearable
Fact: Pipes were afraid to burst in Reggie’s presence
Being the sleazy broker that he was, the guy who showed us our apartment in the summer of 2007 made our future landlord seem like kind of a hardass.  I mean, I even wore a tie when we went to sign our lease in hopes of making a good impression.  So, imagine my surprise when Reggie Spence turned out to be a complete teddy bear.  And a handsome teddy bear at that.  So handsome, in fact, that whenever he was not around for a couple of days, Mosher was convinced that he was off gallivanting around town with a bevy of women.
The world is a better place for having had Reggie in it, and we were lucky to live in his building.  Plans are already underway for Reggie Spencefest this summer.
Reggie, however, lives on in our apartment, as when we moved in, we named the wireless network we connect to for the internet “Reggie Spence,” after the man who added about 11 y’s everytime he said “hey buddyyyyyyyyyyyy.”
In other words, John Stamos Fever is brought to you by Reggie Spence.

Suit Up Sunday and a failure of epic proportions

In Just absolutely dominating people on January 20, 2009 at 12:38 am

Keystone Lights were crushed, a delicious smorgasbord of food was served, and one attendee of Suit Up Sunday had to hide the fact that he cried by leaving the room to “go to the bathroom.” Only 4 out of 5 attendees dressed appropriately, but everyone had a strong showing. Without further adieu, the participants:

Yours truly: Since the last days of 2008, I have been waiting for an occasion to break out the camel hair jacket that I found in the back of my old closet while I was home for Christmas. In addition to my salmon (it’s a super sexy, ultra-manly version of pink for those of you not in the know) shirt and pinstriped pants, I had the magnificently retro (though equally heinous) maroon, green, blue and orange striped tie made by The Racquet Club.

Cali: His 1980s Le Tigre jacket and khakis combination over a white dress shirt and blue tie screamed IT Director, but quickly became “out of work IT Director” when we discovered that not only did the shirt have short sleeves, but the tie was a clip on. However, his status upgraded to “badass IT Director” when he revealed that the clip on was authentic airport security that he had purchased from a laid off airline worker on ebay for the princely sum of $6.

The Chaz Bone: Chaz definitely won the award for most accurate portrayal of the men in the Canadian Club ads that helped spark interest in Suit Up Sunday, as his 1970s Brooks Brother plaid suit that was passed down from his father made it clear that not only is he a soon to be distinguished businessman, he was the classiest of the bunch. To that end, he provided delicious Scotch.

Beads: As anticipated, Beads rocked the 3 piece Burberry suit to perfection as he paired it with a solid red tie and sunglasses. With his new Boston Terrier puppy, Peaches, added in, the only thing that was missing from his outfit was a leash and a cane.

Xtine: Xtine is Beads’s lovely wife who not only puts up with his shenanigans, but also puts up with ours. Not only did Xtine not class it up, she also made a side bet with Alex that we wouldn’t dress up for Suit Up Sunday, which was like betting that the hapless Devil Rays and the moribund football Cardinals would make it to their respective championships. Wait, what? Anyway, because she lost, she had to drink with us all day. Unfortunately, even after several beers she refused to class it up by even throwing on a sundress (we originally pushed for her wedding dress, to no avail). However, she allowed degeneracy to occur on her watch and made some delicious bean and cheese dip, so this transgression was overlooked.

My outfit was a calculated decision, as I wanted to channel a community college professor a la Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting. What class would I be teaching? Bitch Slapping 101. Beads, as expected, was unaware that we were even in a bet until I directed him to JSF. Soon everyone in the room was anticipating the Slap Heard Round New Jersey. Not since the Soporanos went off the air has northern New Jersey seen the level of pain I planned to induce. People all around the nation were debating whether Beads would be able to continue law school after I caused the right side of his face to cave in. Upon signing into my email account this morning, I promptly received a gchat from my mother (ghact with parents is kosher, being friends on facebook is not). No hello, no good morning. Just “did you slap him????”

The answer is yes, but as I relayed the details to her, I’m surprised she didn’t disown me. What am I talking about? I’m talking about failure.

The best idea would have been to wait until late at night, when the booze had run its course and Sunday Funday had stretched into Monday. But I started trembling with so much excitement that I would literally spill half the bean dip off my Tostito before getting it to my mouth. After being in his home for an hour, it became time to break to seal, and I had to first pass Alex.

What followed was perhaps the most disappointing, embrassing, regreattable moment of my life.

For a brief ten seconds, I became the idiotic kid who is so excited to open his Christmas present that he breaks the toy inside. In what can only be described as a “Jim blows his one chance with the hot foreign exchange student Nadia” moment, I made a split second decision to just go for it, and reached my right hand back to deliver the slap. My form was off from the start, and instead of making his head turn around like an owl, I barely grazed him with the tips of my index, middle and ring fingers. I have seen kids in kindergarten classes slap people harder for cutting them in the snack line. I have seen elderly women slap each other harder for an alleged scoring mistake during a Saturday morning bowling league match. I have seen babies slap each other harder than I slapped Beads.

As the laughter roared behind me, I walked into the bathroom and slumped against the wall. It was over. The slap I had written about, obessed about, dreamed about for over 96 hours had come and gone and I was left with nothing but shame, confusion and regret. In other words, it was a lot like my first kiss. So, the great slap of 2009 will go down not as the bone crushing slap that you all wanted, but as the slap that was as soft as an angel’s kiss.


2 days until the illustrious Mr. Beads gets slapped so hard he cries

In Just absolutely dominating people on January 16, 2009 at 11:27 pm

Yes, it is coming.  Suit Up Sunday is two days away, and Beads will soon be slapped (by his choice, according to our Booze Bet, which of course he is doubtfully aware of).  There is pretty much no way he read my previous entry (yes, I am bitter, so the slap will be intense).   Therefore, it is extremely unlikely he knows we are in the most epic bet of 2009.  It is even more doubtful he is reading this because:

a) Let’s be honest, at this point this blog is not that great.  Though it is mildly entertaining.  I mean, I hope.
b) He is most likely making up in advance for Sunday by spending quality time with his lovely wife, Xtine. Apparently it takes two days to compensate for the mayhem we have planned for Suit Up Sunday.  I only somewhat forgive him.
c) He has a life

Do I care?  No.  I do not even feel slightly bad that he has unknowingly been entered into a bet he will lose.   I love him, so I will love slapping him.  Why do I love him?

As I have written before, I am an unabashed fan of dressing appropriately for various events.  As Suit Up Sunday proves, Beads is a huge supporter of this activity.  Therefore, I know he will be excited when I suggest that we go see Notorious wearing the most fabulous sweatsuedos we own.  Now, I don’t own any spectacular sweatsuedos, but luckily for this challenge, Beads does.  In fact, he has the most banging green and gold sweat suit that has “Brooklyn” written across the chest of his jacket.  When I borrow this outfit, or his 3 piece Burberry suit (it is his choice), we will have the proper outfits to make a splash in the theater.

Two gangster outifts on the whitest kids you know, watching a movie about a badass rapper from Bed-Stuy in Brooklyn is pretty much the norm with us.  That’s just how we roll.

The illustrious Mr. Beads, Suit Up Sunday, and the Booze Bet

In Just absolutely dominating people on January 15, 2009 at 1:55 am

Two things I can’t live without? Water and sleep. Two things I wouldn’t want to live without? Killer music and selecting attire for the sole purpose of being awesome. Right now I am listening to The National’s Alligator, so I have the former covered on my end. A fine example of someone who loves the latter is my somewhat reformed (social probation to law school, holding a bottle of Colt .45 in his left hand to a having ring on that hand) roommate in college and one of my best friends, Beads.

Beads is one of the most legendary characters you could hope to meet, and also one of the people in my life who I have the most respect for. The ability in college to consistently walk near the precipice of expulsion while sitting pretty on the Dean’s List was an inspiration for me, though I never achieved either, for better and for worse. Sure, he may have broken his foot drunkenly walking up the stairs a week before we graduated, and yes, he may have let our Australian roommate talk him into getting a pink cast. But that was so 2005. Today he is the owner of a home and a puppy, an accepted member of his wife’s family, and a future lawyer. But you know what? Under this facade of respectability, he still a wildcat. Now that he is married, his shenanigans have to be a more controlled, but when he wants to, he can still bring the heat like no other. For instance, he couldn’t make it to our New Year’s Eve Party this year, but he arrived bright and early for Day Two with Mad Dogs in his hand and helped ensure that we would have to work hard for the next 364 days to top it. The first site that comes up with you type Mad Dog into Google? Enough said.

Anyway, one passion Beads and I share is for sometimes dressing ridiculously.  For instance, he spent the entire night of his bachelor party walking around Atlantic City in a custom made, 3-piece Burberry print suit that he acquired for the princely sum of $20 while studying abroad in China. I showed up at his house two nights before his wedding with a mustache.  My Halloween costume this year, a member of Team Zissou, featured his baby blue Wal-Mart sweatsuedo, which I borrowed from his place after we had gone out the previous night in Morristown NJ with matching Fu Manchus for no other reason than it was high time for a good facial hair party.

So, when I threatened to “wear a suit just to spite [him]” after he invited us to his house this Sunday to watch football and instructed us to “keep it informal,” the idea for Suit Up Sunday was born. As a result, I will be traveling to Morristown NJ with the Chaz Bone, another college roommate of ours and an all around swell guy. We will be wearing our most dashing thrift store style outfits, watching football and drinking heavily. It reeks of class and ridiculousness. I am actually looking forward to riding an hour on NJ Transit dressed to the Salvation Army Nines to take part in such a spectacle. The ultimate goal, of course, is to look like the guys in one of those Canadian Club “Damn right your Dad drank it” commercials (It now becomes even more woefully evident that I need to learn how to incorporate pictures onto this). To that end, Beads has promised Canadian Club, and because we are just that classy, Keystone Lights.

To create the stakes, I have come up with the following Booze Bet for Suit Up Sunday:

1) For every day that comes after he reads this for the first time, I owe him a shot.

a) So, if he reads this today (Thursday), I owe him three shots (for Thursday, Friday and Saturday), and so on.

b) Sunday is not only God’s Day, it is also Suit Up Sunday, so if he reads this then, he will have three shots poured when we enter his home, so we can all adequately make a toast to our sick outfits.

As we will not mention this bet before my arrival, upon my entrance, one shot must be poured and ready for immediate consumption, and Beads must tell me how many additional shots (if any) I owe within 5 minutes . Otherwise, I will let loose an evil laugh and instruct him to check out JSF to discover that:

2) If he greets me at the door with no shot, it will mean he has not read this, despite having wasted massive amounts of time surfing the internet since I posted this, and he will therefore owe me one of the following penalties (of his choosing):

a) 1 slap across the face (this may sound harsh, but I think he actually enjoys being slapped)

b) 1 shotgun of a Keystone Light followed by 1 shot of Canadian Club

c) He has to get up and fetch me a fresh drink whenever I request it for the remainder of Suit Up Sunday

As always, there are few things that give me the fever more than Sunday Funday.