Upfront Week: NPH, Zack Morris and Sean Penn bowing down to my billiard skills

Last week, every major television network presented their programming schedules for the upcoming season.  Basically, it’s a week for advertisers to see new shows and their stars and then get boozed up afterward.  As an advertiser, it’s a good week.

I had a lot of dreams realized during the week at the various presentations.  One of my personal heroes, Neil Patrick Harris (NPH to those in the know), gave a rundown of the “Bro Code” at the CBS presentation.  The Bro Code, of course, is the laws of life his character, Barney Stinson, follows on How I Met Your Mother, one of the best shows on TV today.  This performance was followed, but not topped, by LL Cool J rapping a rendition of his classic hit “Mama Said Knock You Out,” which really has no tie-in to his CBS project NCIS: Los Angeles, but is a sweet jam nonetheless.    Plus it’s always fun to watch a bunch of middle-aged executives in the premium seats awkwardly raise their hands in the ayeere, and wave em like they just don’t caeere.

At the Turner (TBS/TNT/Tru TV) presentation, Mark-Paul Gosselaar was in attendance promoting the second season of his newest show on TNT, Raising the Bar. Which I have never seen.  I did, however, watch him come of age as a teenager at Bayside High.

The best night, as usual, belonged to FOX, as they presented their shows and then hosted a fantastic party at Wollman Rink in Central Park.  While nothing as crazy as the great couch crapping incident of 2004 happened, it was a party to end all parties.  The bars were stocked with bottles of virtually any beer you wanted, along with every conceivable type of booze, save moonshine and absinthe.  Stars from their shows were scattered around the party, providing photo ops.  So I grabbed a bottle of one of my beers of choice, and headed to get a picture taken with one of the most appealing stars in all of TV. . . John Walsh of America’s Most Wanted.

America's Most Wanted: Livin' the High Life

After the party ended, a large group of us left the park and entered a bar across the street, ordered some beers and proceeded to begin playing a few games of pool.   I was my buddy Storelli’s partner on the table, although he tried to replace me with a guy who was sitting on a couch about 15 feet from the table.  Normally, I would be offended by my partner trying to replace me mid-game, but 1. The High-Lifes were taking a toll on my dexterity and 2. The guy he was trying to replace me with won the Oscar for Best Actor this year.  That’s right, Storelli tried to do the old Sean switcheroo, upgrading from me to Sean Penn.

I wish the story ended with Sean Penn replacing me and then running the table, but it was not to be.  Instead, he quickly exited the bar after being recognized.  Or, as I will tell people for the foreseeable future, an Oscar winner chose to leave a bar because he knew he couldn’t match my skills on the pool table.  I win!

Important announcement: The 3,333rd person will soon be infected with JSF

That’s right, today will be the day when the 3,333rd viewer of John Stamos Fever will be unveiled.  Will it be you?  Look down to the bottom right of this page to see if you are this incredibly lucky person.  If so, please let it be known by way of comment and you will win the ultimate JSF prize (aka a massive shout out).

3,333

I don’t think it is any coincidence that this milestone will occur on St. Patrick’s Day.  33 was Larry Bird’s number when he played for the Celtics.  33 was my basketball number in high school.  33 was Yak, M.D’s basketball number in college (which he stole from me.  But it was for the best, as our warm-up shirts were not translucent, so pretty much nobody in the stands would have been able to see the number 33 until the last few minutes of the game, and then only if it was lopsided.  Oh college basketball, how I miss you).  JSF has also had exactly 33 views today at the point of this writing.  Stars are aligning.

So, until 33,333, this is your best chance to secure the amazing amount of luck that will come from a string of 3’s.  Good luck, godspeed, and happy St. Patrick’s Day.

Oh, and if the blog doesn’t get 12 more readers today, it will mark the biggest backfire since the Saved by the Bell producers replaced Kelly with Tori as Zack’s love interest.

Mouse War 2009 is trumped by a 6 overtime THRILLER

Mano a mouso

I came face to face with the enemy of 2009 last night.  No, not Bernie Madoff (though somewhat similar in appearance).  Fievel.   The leader of the kind of army who stages surprise attacks under the cover of the night, steals the opposition’s rations and takes shits at their headquarters.  The kind of army who must be destroyed (or at least removed).

It all started when I was just trying to be responsible and pick up after myself.  Gathering some loose papers and popsicle wrappers from the coffee table, I walked into the kitchen having absolutely no idea what was about to go down.

Leaning over the garbage can to make my deposit, a flash of brown on the white plastic lining at the bottom of the receptacle alerted me that I was not alone in the kitchen.  Fievel!  Oftentimes wars are won not by a great maneuver, but rather as the result of a tactical error.  Maybe he could have climbed out if he had more time, and if he had not been up against a much larger foe.  Who was smarter.  And more of a ninja.

I dropped him off in the garbage can on the corner a couple blocks away, still in the tied garbage bag.  It may seem cruel, but I am not worried- I think Fievel can chew his way out of a garbage bag.  I mean, we’re talking about a mouse who ate through plastic to get to a caramel cream (who wouldn’t?).

Are we mouse free?  For the time being, it seems to.  But only time will tell.

Speaking of more evenly matched wars, Syracuse and UConn are in the third overtime of an epic Big East tournament quarterfinal on ESPN.  I was at MSG last night to see the Orange take down the Pirates of Seton Hall.  Seton Hall, by the way, has to be one of the most bogus Division I program in the counry.  Their uniforms are as ugly as their games, their mascot is a goofy pirate (below), and their cheerleaders look like they are cast members of MTV True Life: I live at the Jersey Shore (“cheez bawls.  Steak sandwiches.  We pretty much own this joint!”).  The male cheerleaders had my new haircut, and the females had thick thighs and surely thicker accents.   That was mean.

Killer boots man

But Seton Hall is not the story here, dude!  The Orange and the Huskies are putting on a ridiculous show.  It’s now 12:35 a.m, and UConn just missed a shot at the buzzer to send us to the 4th overtime.  This is the first 4 overtime game in Big East Tournament history, according to Bill Raftery, who managed to spit out this fact between seizures and yelling “The kiss!”  He also happened to be Seton Hall’s coach from 1970-82.

12:48- We’re heading for overtime number 5!  Unbelievable.  I’m getting tired just watching them.  When the clock reads 0.0 (for the 7th time this game), 65 minutes of play will have been completed.  Can we go to 6 overtimes?  Is that even possible?  Regulation ended an hour and twenty minutes ago when Eric Devendorf hit a three at the buzzer that was waved off upon review.

Devendorf has fouled out, as has UConn’s front line.  It’s 108-108 with 58.4 seconds left.  Wow.  36 seconds left, a recent sub for UConn just hit a jumper.  110-108.  Johnny Flynn from Syracuse just hit two free throws.  110-110.  15.1 seconds left, timeout UConn.  My palms are sweating.  Worse than when I executed Fievel’s capture.

We’re going to 6 overtimes!  I have no words left.  I want to stop writing.  I want to go to bed.  We’re heading towards 70 minutes of basketball, or for you math majors, 7/4 of a game.  According to Raftery, the longest college basketball game was 7 overtimes, between Cincinnatti and Bradley in 1991.  So now you know, and knowing’s half the battle.

Syracuse just hit a 3 pointer to open the 6th overtime, and amazingly, that is their first lead of any overtime, which is baffling.  UConn looks exhausted, and the Orange have seemingly caught their second wind, and now lead 115-110 with 2:40 left.

Hahahaha Paul Harris from Syracuse just got absolutely Sprited trying to dunk, but recovered and put in an And 1.  On that note, this entry is over.  I will give you the final score, when and if the game ends, but I am tapped.  Right now it’s 118-112 Syracuse with 2:12 left.  If I had to work as hard as either of these teams in Mouse War 2009, I would have surrendered the apartment.

It’s over.

Start time: 9:36 p.m

End time: 1:22 a.m

Final scores:

Syracuse 127, UConn 117

My apartment 5, Team Mouse 0

Randy Moller: The follow up

Randy Moller is such a golden god that he deserves another post, including a link to his greatest hits.

The above link is to the Panthers’ site that is updated each time he spouts out a fantastic goal call, so you will never have to miss a Randy Moller gem again.  Bookmark it.  Right after you bookmark John Stamos Fever.  Wait, you surely have already done that.  Unless you are the person who recently found the blog by typing “how to reduce a fever” into a search engine.  I doubt they bookmarked it.  This is not the place to come for that information.  Sorry to that random peruser if his or her fever was exacerbated in any way from this site.

And if it wasn’t, they should check their pulse.  Because if Randy Moller’s goal calls don’t get your blood flowing, not much can.

Oh, and one final note:  MaineCoast12 will surely shed a tear when he sees one of Moller’s greatest goal calls: “He shoots he scores!  Take me down to the paradise city!”  I rest my case that Moller is the greatest hockey announcer ever.

He shoots!  He scores!  Mmmm that IS a TASTY burger!”

I want to ride on a garbage truck like it’s my job

Last night was an apartment cooling for the ages.

I’ve been to plenty of housewarming parties- people move, people party.  Everyone wants to show off their new apartment after spending a day or two enduring the dreaded moving and setting up process.  This was my first housecooling, on the other hand, an event that lets your friends see the way the apartment looked before you made it oh so homey.  (Sidenote- I thought I just invented the term housecooling, but a quick search of the word on google turned it up in the infamous and spectacular urban dictionary.  Bollocks.)

In the wonderfully clean, freshly spackled apartment, we sat on the floor drinking beers as a lovely couple I happen to know celebrated the end to a year in Manhattan.  At the end of the night they would head to their new home in a fantastic land where a tree grows and the Dodgers once reigned supreme.  But first, one last batch of good times was to be had by all.

Anyway, it started with somewhat awkward small talk before progressing to a five man Either/Or game involving a former German exchange student who went from Munich to Iowa to New York before coming into my life like a brilliant shooting star and posing one of my favorite Either/Or questions to date.  After we explained the rules, der mann came out with the instant classic “garbage man or janitor.”  The first three respondants were mixed, but for me the answer has always been, and always will be, garbage man.

Fact: My first dream job was being a garbage man

Fact: I suggested we name our new puppy Garbage Man

Fact: I was about three years old during the above incidents, but I will always remember how badass the garbage man looked to me, standing on the outside of the truck as he rode to his next pickup

Fact: Sometimes it’s okay to fall short of your dreams

The amiable German, on the other hand, answered janitor, rationalizing that janitors “get to hang out in high schools.”  To which I lost it laughing.  While I appreciated that spin on the question, hanging out with high school girls has never really been that much fun.  I mean, Zack Morris clearly proved that when he and the gang went to talk to cool college girls at The Attic.  And you really don’t get to ride anything cool like if you’re a garbage man, so I gladly took a swig for being in opposition of the originator.

Around this time, three pizzas arrived and for the first time in my life, I was made to feel guilty by a pizza box.  Instead of a jolly Italian man tossing a pizza or the name of a restaurant, the top of each box was an advertisement for the Ab Rocket.  I did not realize when you order one topping, you get guilt on top at no extra charge.  The Ab Rocket, by the way, is only rated 2.5 out of 5 stars and the first customer comment on the review is Don’t Buy This Product.  I don’t know what’s more sad, the fact that the marketers of the Ab Rocket thought pizza boxes would be a profitable venture or that 25 people actually bought one for almost a hundred bucks and then reviewed it.

As Fat Tuesday ended, so did the party, and gathering up every last bit of trash, the apartment was left for a final time.  I’m guessing it will host its next party, a housewarming, in a couple weeks.  It will undoubtedly be a lamer, though perhaps slightly more comfortable, affair.