Well, it’s Thursday night as I’m compiling the thoughts and ramblings for the week. It’s also the start of a mini-vacation for yours truly, as I’m off work until next Wednesday. I had planned on a safari expedition in the Sahara, but then I looked up where that is, and it’s like, really not close to Boston in the slightest. It’s at least a two-hour drive away, by my estimates.
So instead, I’m here, rockin’ the vacation in high style---plaid pajamas pants and macaroni and cheese. Someone get “Cribs” over here, stat. I’m living like a rock superstar. Big house, five cars. The whole nizzle. I’m dealing with a home heating system that has the temperament of a really snobbish cat: it’ll work, but only when it feels like it. Highly frustrating to say the least.
But that’s OK, cuz I’m on vacation. Time to catch up on all of those things I’ve been meaning to do but haven’t had the time. Read a bit more. Get my oil changed. Run guns across the border. Try a new recipe. Dissect a yak. You know, those typical things.
Between the Grammys breakdown and my little contest this week, I’ve pretty much tapped my well of “completely random statements” for the week, but I managed to squeeze a few more drops of non-sequitur goodness. Who loves ya, baby? That’s right, Big Poppa RyGuy. On with the show:
***
This may be the coolest information in the History of Cinema. Say it with me: ZABKA! Put the Oscar in a body bag! YEAAAH!
My vote for the most unpopular restaurant for Valentine’s Day: "Illegal Seafoods".
Weirdest voice mail received during the Grammys: “Hi, Ryan. You don’t have to call me back, but I think Sting was wearing a skirt, and I figured if anyone would know, it would be you.” Um. What? Since when am I a male skirt expert? Someone hold me.
Oh great. NOW they start one. Six years too late to do me any good. Sheesh.
Good sign I wasn’t going to snog any of the girls I was out with on Wednesday night is when my co-worker volunteered the following bit of opinion to the group: “Yea, I could never shag Ryan. He’s got too much neck hair.” Just shoot me.
Same girl, one hour later: “And another thing…he TALKS all the time. And I can’t be there, you know, and him yap, yap, yapping the whole time!” I’m all for honest drunks, but man, this was ridiculous.
In addition, you know people at work are reading your website when, while out, they will say or do something and then look at you and say, “You’re not gonna write about that, right?”
Speaking of weird girl scenarios, I actually ran into my one and only match.com date the other night in Kenmore Square. This was the girl who, during our first date, told me she was still living with her ex-fiancée and already had a bed buddy. Whenever I think of rejoining that service, I think of her, and then just go download more porn.
It’s my firm belief that just about anything can be improved with the addition of lasers. Blenders, love seats, shower curtains, Jessica Simpson…anything, really. (MTV needs to get on this. If Jessica were equipped with lasers, I just might start watching that show.)
Speaking of lasers and Jessica Simpson, she might be one of the worst candidates for one of those laser shows at the planetarium. I mean, “Laser Pink Floyd” works, but “Laser Simpson”? Sorta like “Laser Norah Jones”. Just not that appealing to me.
Speaking of Norah Jones---her little dance in the video for “Sunrise” is officially the Cutest Thing I Have Ever Seen. If a girl did that for me in person, I might have to marry them.
That being said, I’d like to offer a little prayer to God that I never hear that, or any Norah Jones song, after 9 pm while driving in my car, in that I might instantly fall asleep and die in a fiery pit of destruction after swerving into a tree.
My favorite part of “Cribs” is always when they go into the bedroom and say, “This is where the magic happens.” For once, I’d like to see someone say that when they’re like, in the garage. Just for a change of pace. That, or have them be in the bedroom and say, “Here’s where the ‘three minutes of awkward foreplay followed by 83 seconds of meaningless humping following immediately by his lazy ass falling asleep’ happens.”
Well, if you need proof on this Valentine’s Day Eve that love can’t last, just go here.
President Bush has been seeking to quell rumors that he may not have fulfilled his military service obligations. As proof, the White House has provided pay records, dental records, and a handwritten note from his mother saying that he beat her once in “Risk”.
According to AP reports, “Courtney Love took to the airwaves on the nationally syndicated "Howard Stern Show" this morning Thursday to defend her spate of erratic behavior”. She said, and I quote, “Look, I’m freaking nuts. There’s not much to explain. Also, your head looks tasty. Let me eat it.”
Alright, so lemmee get this straight---the FCC is up in arms over the Nipplegate controversy, but they are doing nothing about the fact that “Yes, Dear” is still on the air?
Bands I should have added to the “Artists Who Consistently Put Out The Same Song While Hoping No One Notices” Hall of Fame: Rage Against the Machine, Nickelback, and Chubby Checker. C'mon, the guy sang 400 songs, all of them with the word "twist" in the title. If he covered Nickleback, he'd probably sing, "This is how/You remind me/Of how I used to twist"...
Best Case Against Reality Television: Oh Jesus. I just saw Andy Dick and Trischelle from “The Real World” making out on “The Surreal Life”. Yea. Um, that’s great. Thanks, WB. I wasn’t needing my libido for the rest of my life anyways, thanks for scaring it to death. I need a hug.
OK, that kiss has fried my brain. Gotta stop. Do a little regression therapy. Seee you all soon.
Posted by Ryan McGee at February 13, 2004 08:28 AM