I’ve gotten a disproportionate number of encouraging emails and instant messages, so I just wanna start off the Friday column by giving my thanks to those who sent unsolicited words of kindness. And underwear. That was cool too.
I’ve been talking to a few people about the whole “swag” thing, but really, I think they only thing sadder than having a thong with my name on it would be if nobody bought one. Not sure why, but the thought of that makes me sad. I’m talking “when I watch ‘A Walk To Remember’” sad, that irrational, inconsolable grief that comes along once in a blue moon. Or when Starz shows it for the 15th time this month.
Also, as one reader pointed out, “ ‘Wading in the velvet sea’ takes on a whole new meaning when it's on underwear…” As the Sports Guy would say: these are my readers.
No swag for now, thank you. Barely can handle book sales, never mind Thermos mugs with my face on them. Or the Ryan action doll, with a pull-string that spouts various signature phrases, such as “This reminds of that time on ‘Buffy’…”, “Well, it can’t get any weirder, I suppose…”, and “I think this girl is the one…no, really. Hey, why are you laughing?” Nothing like that. No Ryan McGee-sponsored Boneless Buffalo Wings. No “Patron Saint of How Did All These Glasses Get Into So Many Nooks Of The Apartment” named after me.
Just a site with a lot of words and the occasional picture copied from the AP wire. And, every Friday, the thoughts and concerns of the past week assembled and presented like a blog-based party platter. Watch out for the dip: I made it from scratch, and haven't perfected the recipe yet.
(For those of you coming late to the rambling game, yes, these are homages to Bill Simmons from ESPN Page 2. Also, speaking of Page 2, bring back Stacey Pressman, Page 2! A lonely online nation turns to you. OK, I turn my lonely eyes to you. She rocks. Bring her back.)
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I know now while they call the new Real World/Road Rules Challenge show “The Inferno”. After 15 minutes of watching it, I wanted to set myself on fire.
I work along the main road through which the Patriots had their victory parade on Tuesday. Afterwards, as fans walked back from the ensuing rally, they had two faces. The “Dear Lord, What Will Now Distract Me From My Meaningless Existence In This Earthly Realm” and the “Dude, You Look Like a Cousin I Once Kissed”.
Interesting connection between the Patriots’ Super Bowl victory seasons: we found out two years ago that the NFL has a “tuck” rule, and this year found out the FCC has a “nip” rule.
IM of the Week: So I get an instant message Tuesday from a reader in Chicago. Turns out there are a bunch of students out in DePaul Law who are daily readers. Jokingly, I ask how big the DePaul Ryan McGee Harem is. She replies, “Ha! That’s a much better name for our group than the current one: ‘Bitches, Blunts, and Subpoenas’.”
Last weekend saw three major movie releases: “The Big Bounce”, “You Got Served”, and “The Perfect Score”. I don’t even have a joke here. Good Lord. Nothing funnier than that “I’m the Dell Dude’s Wanna-Be Badass Cousin” telling B2K that they “got served”. That’s comic gold right there.
Speaking of “You Got Served”, is it a federally mandated law to have Steve Harvey in every movie that features a predominantly black cast? Is that part of The Patriot Act II? I'm happy he's getting work and all, but man, there have to be a few other actors who could use a job. The man's a machine. I don't think he sleeps. Maybe he's a cyborg, about to launch his missles on the East Coast. Hey, you never know.
And speaking of “The Perfect Score”, how does Scarlett Johansson go from “Ghost World”, to “Lost in Translation”, to “Girl With a Pearl Earring”, to this piece of crap movie? Shouldn’t this movie have come about 6 years later in her career, replete with full frontal nudity? I mean, I haven’t seen a fall this swift since the band Boston’s second album.
Speaking of Boston, is there a “better song on a crappier album” than “Amanda” on “Third Stage”? Seriously. That song alone is almost worth the $12 I spent on the disc, and the rest of the album only is played if I need to drain blood from my ears on command.
(And yes, I know Scarlett made “The Perfect Score” before the others, but man, shouldn’t contracts have a veto clause if suddenly, you get hot after the fact? C’mon, we can CGI anyone into a movie these days. Just invoke the veto clause, and boom, Jar Jar takes over in your place, and no one’s the wiser.)
I can’t decide if Paris Hilton’s whole “head cocked, eyes half-opened” look in every picture says, “You want me but you can’t have me” or “I can’t believe no one knows I’m a transsexual.”
I know it's a best late, but my favorite three singles from 2003: "Hey Ya!" by Outkast, "Stacy's Mom" by Fountains of Wayne, and "Whe I'm Gone" by 3 Doors Down. Speaking of Fountain, I picked up their CD last night as an impulse buy when picking up the "Lost in Translation" DVD, and if I had just heard this song Tuesday, I coulda saved myself the whole "life through Coldplay" endeavor and simply linked to those lyrics. Just amazing. Might be my new favorite song.
People have been apparently clamoring for Janet and Justin’s removal from the upcoming Grammys. In a related note, people need to get a freaking life.
CBS is instituting a new delay for the Grammys broadcast after the Super Bowl halftime “debacle”. A press release states: “"The precise length of the new delay has yet to be determined.” So, we’re looking at anywhere between “10 seconds” to “only after Powell approves it for his kids”. At what temperature does a television burn?
The Massachusetts Supreme Court this week voted that a “civil union” was in fact not good enough to support their previous ruling that paved the way for legal, gay marriage. Many people were up in arms over the announcement, and then went home to ignore their kids and not have sex.
Honestly, we’re worrying about nipples and dictating who can publicly and legally declare their love for one another. At some point we just need to step back, take a deep breath, and all work together to figure out the lyrics to Snow’s “Informer”. Let’s unite, people.
During the past week, the Georgia state superintendent tried to remove the word “evolution” from the curriculum, replacing it with “biological changes over time”. WWE star Triple H threatened to never defend the World Heavyweight Championship title again in Georgia, stating, “If the state of Georgia won’t put over my faction, I will never wrestle again in that backwoods, hick state.” In a related story, about three of you got that joke, but it’s making me giggle, so there you have it.
In another wrestling-related incident: during the Royal Rumble two weeks ago, my brother came over with his girlfriend. She was terribly bored at first, but really got into it by the end. She would get audibly upset when certainly people were eliminated. I thought this was pretty cool, her getting into it. And then, at one point, she follows a sigh of disbelief with, “He had really cool pants, he CAN’T be eliminated!” My excitement sorta dwindled after that.
(One last wrestling bit: if you like any of the writing here, and remotely like wrestling, you'll read everything by this guy. He's just genius. I usually only watch "Smackdown" so I can get his jokes fully.)
I’m voting Dido into the “Artists Who Consistently Put Out The Same Song While Hoping No One Notices” Hall of Fame, joining inaugural bands Clearance Clearwater Revival, The Gin Blossoms and Staind. (Please, help me vote some more in, I’m all ears.)
OK, if Clay Aiken’s invisible, he still needs to figure out a way to watch you in your room, right. I mean, what if all the doors and windows are locked? He still possesses physical form, just hidden, yes? He has to abide by some basic laws of nature. Or learn how to pick locks. And yes, I’ve thought about this too much.
Is Jack White the ying to Ben Affleck’s yang on the tanning spectrum? Just curious.
Someone found my site this week via the search “smeagol and valentines day and gollum”. Apparently, we’ve had it wrong all along—you’re supposed to carry dead rabbits in your mouth to your sweetie pie. Then again, both Smeagol and your girl think rings are the precioussssssss.
This is what my hostess for a weekend get-together gave me as a checklist to bring to her apartment: “memory card for PS2/beer/grappling hook/$10,000 in small, unmarked, non-sequential bills/night vision goggles/a flamethrower/a topographical map of Mozambique/superman issue #386”. I’m still wondering if my reaction should be “awe” or “call the cops”.
Nominees for Best Male Pop Vocal this Sunday: George Harrison, Warren Zevon, Sting, Michael McDonald, and Justin Timberlake. And the Grammys wonder why they are no longer relevant. Holy crap. I mean, I applaud the out-of-the-box picks here and all, but why not just go all the way and nominate Zamfir while we’re at it?
I’m waiting for the flip side to the “It’s Good To Be…” Series on VH1. I propose we call it “It Completely Sucks Ass To Be…” as the working title. We can feature Vanilla Ice and Britney Spears’ ex-husband in the inaugural episode. Preferably with Vanilla beating that guy with a bat while Chris Kattan is nearby screaming, “VANILLA! NOOOO!”
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Coming Monday: My minute-by-minute Grammys dairy. To see what happened last year, go here.
Have a good weekend everyone.
Posted by Ryan McGee at February 06, 2004 08:49 AM