The weekend started off on a bum note (I left my keys in my apartment) and ended on a lot of highs (not the least of which were the roughly 10 ads for “Alias” during the Super Bowl featuring Jennifer Garner in lingerie)…the breakdown…
Friday
I don’t know about you, but lack of keys=lack of basic security for me. I instinctively do a pat check whenever I leave a room---I check for wallet, keys, and cell phone. They always reside in the front left and back right pockets of my pants. (Note to all would-be pickpockets….I’m lying. Maybe.) Friday morning, in my caffeine-less state, I threw my phone, but not my keys, into my wallet. Luckily, Jenny has a backup pair. Unluckily, her cell phone died and I don’t have her work number. Murphy’s Law clearly dictates, “You will never forget your house keys and convince yourself all day long that you dropped them on the T instead of leaving them at home until your girlfriend goes to her part-time job for the first time in two and a half months and you never bothered in the 8 months she’s been working there to get her office line.” The night ended with a viewing of “Goldmember”, though, so that was an OK end to a stress-filled night.
Saturday
I don’t know about you, but happiness for me is defined as two things, one of which has been gradually occurring in my house now---BRAND NEW FRICKIN’ KITCHEN. Hoo ah. New floors, new countertops, new fridge, new stove, and a mutha freakin’ dishwasher, which is a brand new addition to what could once pose as a Ghetto Brady Bunch kitchen. All of the shtick, none of the cleanliness. Inspired by the new look, I decide housekeeping is in order. So I dust, I mop, I scour bath tubs, I do the works. At one point, I decide to give some of the rugs a good dust shake.
I live on the third story of a house in Cambridge. The house is so old that it has started to bow in, slightly, towards the center from each end. In other words, you could have two people on opposite ends of the house with a marble. If they let the marble go, somewhere in the twain these two marbles would meet. Slightly disconcerting. The back porch where rug-shaking (as opposed to rump-shaking) would commence bows defiantly at a twenty degree angle away from the house. The whole thing looks like if a 7 year old with bad motor skills tried to draw a house on an Etch-a-Sketch. So I digress.
I’m on the porch, doing a little rug-shaking, and I look below, into the back yard. And it suddenly became very apparent how exactly they had disposed of the old fridge and stove. They had completely chucked it off the third story porch into the backyard.
Utter carnage reigned on the scene. The appliances lay broken, beaten, as if victims of a kitchen genocide that the U.N. Human Rights Commission should be investigating. While I was pitching a fit about my keys, some guys were pitching my kitchen literally out the window.
I had two simultaneous thoughts looking down at the wreckage:
1) I can’t frickin’ believe that the neighbors didn’t have 70 cop cars on the scene when what had to have been an earth-shattering thud broken the quiet solitude of our neighborhood.
2) I cant frickin’ believe the landlords didn’t tell me when they were doing this so I could have gotten home to take pictures.
Seriously. That would have been the coolest thing ever, seeing four guys pitch a fridge 30-plus feet to its’ doom. I could have videotaped it and sent it in to Fox’s newest reality show, “When Appliances Attack”. Throw in a few CG bunnies getting "Frigidaired" to death. Excellent, Smithers.
Sunday
Super Bowl Sunday, at Marc and Liz’s. Make Your Own Pizza Day. Commercials for “The Hulk” and “The Matrix” sequels. Jennifer Garner half-naked nearly every five minutes. Gwen Stefani doing the gravity-defying “Hey Baby” dance next to Sting. Knowing I'd go home to a brand spankin' new TV and surround sound theatre system purchased that afternoon at Best Buy (the other defintion of "happiness", that Charlie Brown musical be damned). All good things.
All of them paled in comparison, though, to Danger Jew.
All of this started during the pre-game show, when ABC was interviewing Tampa Bay wideout Joe Jurevicious. (Which of course instantly inspired a chorus of “My body’s too Jurevicious for ya, babe…” from me.) Jenny, having a bit of trouble seeing the screen, goes, “Wait, is his name Joo?”
Of course, we all heard the letters, “J-O-O” but thought, “Jew”. Marc and Jenny, being of the tribe and all.
So we all though that would be one helluva first name. “Jew McGee,” I say, “Has a ring to it. That should make your mother happy,” I tell Jenny. Liz then relates how Marc has always wanted to have his first child’s middle name be “Danger”, for obvious reasons. So I posited that these kids could grow up, start a production company, and call it “Danger Jew Productions”.
Simultaneously, all four of us seemed to channel the “UnderDog” theme. Throwing in random lyrics, “When he sees Gentiles drawing near, eating the pork that they should fear…” and going into the chorus, “Reads the Torah, wears a prayer shawl…” we had a merry old time being as blasphemous as possible. For those of you who don’t know the “Underdog” theme song, shame on you. The pinnacle of cartoon song writing. Up there with the “Thundercats” theme.
Danger Jew got us through a lot of the rough patches of the game. I must have threatened half of each team’s roster as well as John Madden with Danger Jew’s wrath, including his Green Goblin’ esque “Draidles of Doom”. Jenny posited that he could fly by twirling his payes at lightning speeds. We basically had a version of “Inspector Orthodox”. Good times.
Game? What game? Was there a game on? Musta missed that.