Finally, ATLANTA PART 2 and some other things you can read while counting down the hours until you eat lots of stuffing and dinner rolls.
–Someday I will write an entry called ‘The Hockey Blog’ which could be one of the greatest stories of all time. Stay tuned. Let’s just say November has been a lonnnnnnnnnnnnnnng month.
–I’ve been asked to do up a Milleystock blog, a story about the greatest summer party of all time. Ok…next week, you’ll get it.
–During the week, I will sometimes write down some notes on what I want to write about. Last week, I jotted down the following three items:
1) Mase/50. Y’know, I just can’t get used to seeing Mase hang out with 50 Cent and the G-G-G-G G-Unit crew. Anyone else with me? I’m afraid we just won’t hear another era quite like the ‘No Way Out/Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems/Been Around The World’ years quite ever again. Ahhhh…drunken trips to Costigan’s in Edmonston, Canada.
2) thoughts about The Apprentice. I have held off a bit on writing about shows that I like (Apprentice, Prison Break, The Shield) in full because I honestly don’t know if my ‘audience’ watches them and would even care. But, then again, you might care since they’re pretty popular amongst the American population. So if you live in another country or don’t watch these shows, you can skip past this section or re-read the previous paragraph and daydream about dancing to Puffy and Mase. “Been Around The World and ay-yi-yi….”
“The Apprentice”: While I didn’t catch much of the first two seasons, I became obsessed after Season 3 where more sponsors got involved, thus making the ‘missions’ every week a lot better. Since part of my job involves coming up with creative ideas, seeing how the different groups jell and the ideas they come up with absolutely enthralls me. That right…enthralls! Of course, there are really only three candidates who truly could work for Trump and most of which are the same person: clean-cut, white and upper middle-class who ‘love’ real estate. Every time someone says this on the show, I wonder exactly how loving real estate is possible. Then again, I have a Spider-Man shower curtain, so to each, his own.
With this group though, there is a clear front-runner that’s a minority (Randall) that could get ousted by Felisha or Rebecca if the ‘fix’ is in. Overall, this season has weighed more heavily on shock-value with mass ‘firings’ and more annoying personalities (Clay leading the pack). The show hasn’t taken a year off since it began though and the rewards for the weekly challenges have started to lose their ‘Wow, that’s awesome’ appeal. In other words, I will end up losing in the show’s series finale in 2007 after failing to put together a successful Harmonica-A-Thon event.
Still, give the Donald credit for making a hit show that is worth money to advertisers for challenges (companies pay up to $3.5 million to be the company of choice), reviving a catchphrase (‘You’re Fired!’) and getting some new employees along the way. Do I believe that any of the winners are actually supervising these huge construction projects? Not really, but it’s good TV.
Prison Break: I don’t give the Page-triot much credit for being ahead of the curve, but he does know his TV shows. After turning me onto The Shield and Arrested Development (he also loves Will & Grace, but I can’t dig it), he suggested Prison Break on Mondays @ 9 pm on Fox. The only problem was that I had missed the first six episodes and didn’t want to get in late. But after a six-hour marathon on F/X (while nursing a jackhammer of a hangover…just painful sh*t), I was hooked. Well, as hooked as a guy bowing to the Porcelian God and having trouble standing up straight could be.
To summise, the show is about a guy (Michael) who breaks into prison to break his brother out, who was framed for the murder of the Vice-President’s brother and is about to be executed. I would call this a ‘high-rise apartment building’ type show: many levels and full of interesting characters. (Yes, I just coined that phrase. Use it with caution and with kickbacks.) Mike is a structural engineer whose company designed the prison, the blueprints of which he tattoos on his body in amazing code and images. I don’t think I could get across how great this show is and how you should check it out when you have the opportunity to catch it from the start. The season ends in two weeks, so replays should be coming soon.
And if you’re already watching it, read the following paragraph. If not, skip it…spoilers!!!
++++I belive the big break will happen in the final episode with T-Bag being the only left behind. While Fox isn’t above doing a complete swerve, like Michael being the guy left behind, I think Season 2 will have to rely on him being the guy leading the group through the next stage. This begs the question: what will will Season 2 follow with? The actual escape? Life after prison? The investigation into who framed Mike’s brother? If you take a step back, this season will be amazingly difficult to follow up and I can’t imagine it lasting more than two seasons tops. How can it ++++
(Ed. note: After I wrote the above paragraph, I watched this week’s show. Man, I was waayyyyy wrong.)
–Fav. BB: Honestly, I have no idea what this note means. Favorite basketball? Favorite barbeque? Favreau Bing-Boing? This is why I need to write things out.
–I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the passing of Eddy Guerrero, the WWE talent that was found dead in his hotel room last Sunday. It’s funny that I became the default guy for people to talk to about this as I got IM’s, text messages, emails and people stopping by my office at work to discuss Latino Heat. (Was I that obsessed or are more people watching WWE than actually let on?) While the first thoughts most everyone had were ‘steroid-related,’ my first thoughts were, “Uh oh.” Wrestling went through the big steroid boom in the 80s as guys like Hogan and Ultimate Warrior led a pack of big but lean musclemen that sold out arenas and paid for it with their health. After the feds cracked down in the 90’s, a new style of WWE-star – smaller and less-muscled guys like Bret Hart and Shawn Michaels – became the norm. But in the past five years, the trend is again swinging toward the giants which could end up being disasterous for the worldwide leader in rasslin’ entertainment.
Did Eddy take ‘roids? Well, if you looked at him when he first entered WWE a few years ago up to a few weeks ago, there was a marked difference in the guy that got in the ring every week. On the tribute shows last week, you could just see it. Guys like Guerrero, Curt “Mr. Perfect” Henning, Big Bossman and Rick Rude just don’t die in their 40’s for no reason. While they may have not been all muscle-bound Hogan-types, steroids are as much for recovering from injuries as building up biceps. Mix that with the horrible lifestyles most of the stars from the 80s/90s led and I would expect more than a few guys to pass on before the turn of the decade. Eventually, WWE will get the finger pointed at it for harboring such an abhorrent use of a illicit drug. But as fans who paid for tickets, PPV and merchandise, are we to blame for helping to create the problem?
–So, Cheaper By The Dozen 2 is coming out soon, as is Yours, Mine and Ours. Both are movies about couples having to deal with like 12 or more kids. Any reason why we need two movies of this genre, not to mention one being a sequel?????
–Yep, NOT READY FOR CHRISTMAS.
–How terrible is my ESPN fantasy football team? I am 1-7-1 and going into Monday, I had Samkon Gado for Green Bay going at running back against Donald Driver and the Minnesota kicker. I was down one point and considering Gado had three td’s last week, it’s pretty safe to assume I’ve got a shot, right? WRONG. Green Bay decides to abandon its running game (?!?!) while Driver grabs two TD’s after going most of the season with none. I mean, c’mon! I swear: I will never play another Green Bay running back EVER again. Between Gado and Ahman ‘I’ll screw whoever has me as a keeper’ Green, the green and gold makes me sick.
–www.supermanreturns.com has its first teaser trailer up. I’m not a big Superman fan, but I’ll probably see it. Some people are going nuts over this movie because they became fans after the initial Chris Reeve movie in the late 70s. It doesn’t look as cool as Batman Begins, but whatever.
–Speaking of cool, has anyone in the greater Boston area ever seen a school PSA in the 80s that featured a giant tiger with blue sweatpants jumping off a loading dock yelling ‘Pizza! Spaghetti! Burgers!’ while touting the fact that school’s cool and that everything’s cool? Seriously, someone I know says this existed and that it was an ad for school lunches. I must find this commercial.
And now, the finale to Nason’s Trip to Atlanta!
Sum-up of where we left off: We spent Friday night getting spanked by a waitress running a giant swing at a bar featuring mostly scantily clad women after which time we were going to a Waffle House but the trip got cut short thanks to us driving over a cement barrier with a BMW Sportster.
Got it? Ok!
Saturday, I woke up (again, in the apartment we were told we weren’t supposed to be in) with a Sahara-like dry mouth, next to Page and completely paranoid that someone was going to enter the apartment and start flipping out at people he didn’t know. I hate this feeling as I’ve been in it a few times (“Yeah, you can sleep there. Just don’t tell so-and-so.” I hate sleeping with such dire consequences over my head. There’s a joke in here somewhere, I know.) The rest of the group scattered around the apartment started waking up and coming to the realization of what had happened hours prior. The law firm guys said to keep the car wreck on the down low (for reasons that are still not clear to me) and that we should just leave the apartment as soon as possible. For a few minutes, I thought I was in a spy movie which got the alcohol-fueled blood pumping. I don’t know if Bond ever had rockin’ bed-head though.
We set out of the apartment and myself, Page-ro and The Otter set out to find some food, choosing a Chick-Fil-A, who claim they invented the chicken sandwich. I wasn’t about to debate and we inhaled some fried stuff and set off for a day at the pool to help our hangovers wear off. It was still ridiculously hot, as was Page-Ro’s Blazer – still lacking air conditioning and a functioning window. Remember this is setting the stage for THE WORST 40 MINUTES OF MY LIFE. Let’s fast-forward to the night time. I will add this in: some names and occurences have been changed to protect the innocent and guilty.
We pre-gamed it at the Crash Victim’s condo in town, who managed to make it home to Connecticut somehow that day and let us use his place in a very cool gesture. After grabbing some dinner at a pretty nice restaurant (which had forgot to put on its air-conditioning), our first location was targeted: Cheetah’s, one of the city’s top gentlemen’s clubs. We met up with another group of Page’s friends and simply enjoyed the sights and sounds of a place that was not subject to the same laws that oversee the same clubs in Maine and New Hampshire. Even better, we weren’t subject to harassment every few minutes from someone we didn’t want to talk to. How’s that for generalities for my female readers’ benefit?
(side note: for anyone that wants to know, there was an amazing feat performed by a lady named Tabitha that forever changed me. If you want to hear the story, drop me a line at email@example.com. Trust me – it’s good.)
We took off, shaking our heads at exactly how much time we spent at Cheetah’s, and headed to one of the various clubs in Hotlanta. Not surprisingily, it was still 90-some-odd degrees even at 11 pm. I have no idea how people survive, but then again, we live in a region that goes from 60 and sunny to 30 and snowing within 12 hours. ANYWAY, I’ve always been told that Southern girls are the best because they are friendly and don’t have an attitude, further broken down into the Hot By Comparitive Company Theory:
“One ‘hot’ girl among lesser attractive females will immediately develop an attitude because they are the center of attention. One ‘hot’ girl, among other ‘hot’ girls, will act like a regular person because they are part of the overall scene and do not stand out. If Jennifer Aniston, Angelina Jolie or Jenna Jamison is in the room, all theories are null and void.”
I didn’t believe it though until I actually saw the HCC Theory practiced in person at this club. We had been there maybe about five minutes, when I spotted a group of girls. I mentioned (like always) how we should go talk to them, which was followed by the usual neanderthal stares at each other while downing more high-octane drinks. Someday, we will be confident and simply say wild and crazy things like, “Hey, I’m Josh and I’d like to meet you.” Until that day happens, bartenders benefit. However, Neptune and Mars came into alignment and the girls actually came and talked to us. After I looked around for a hidden camera or Bam Margera, we went out and danced, talked and drank the night away with some very attractive women. Sadly, the girl I was talking to became interested in someone else and I followed this up with multiple shots and the like to make the usual self-loathing go away. Sadly, this didn’t work either.
Fast forward again to later on. We all decided to go back to the afore-mentioned condo and hang out. There wasn’t as much hanging out as passing out, especially as the Otter re-arranged his spine by sleeping in the most uncomfortable chair of all time. He later was found on the floor, curled up in an comforter with hair flying all over the place. One of the girls ended up staying over with another one of the group we met up with, but might have been taken aback by the antique gun and hunting knife that was in the bedroom with her. You just can’t put a price on this type of comedy…you just can’t.
The next morning was even worse than the one before and food/beverage/new brain was the mission. We said our goodbyes and proceeded to stagger around the greater Atlanta area, finding some random fast food place on the way back to Page’s. The only problem? No air-conditioning, the worst thing possible for three extremely hungover fellers. We stared at the menu, looked at each other and bolted for the next fast-food place which was much better and filled with add-ons like ‘chili’ and ‘cheese.’ Tremendous. I was immediately taken again with how nice people were, even at a fast-food place. I’m not sure why normal politeneess seems to disappear at some point around the Mason-Dixon line, but it really makes a difference when people are actually glad to see you. It was around this time when the Otter announced that his plane was leaving in a few hours and that he should probably get going. (To fully grasp how worse off we were, it should be noted that while driving along, the Otter saw what he claimed was ‘a dead horse’ in the middle of Decateur, a pretty big commercial area. That horse turned out to be two bags of garbage.)
The airport was about 30 minutes away and with the temperature rising, a ride in the a/c less Blazer would be hell. But with Page’s roommate gone and the clock ticking, we had no choice but to do it to it. With all of us dehydrated, we got Otter to the airport with plenty of time despite the long stream of traffic trying to leave. Thus began THE WORST 40 MINUTES OF MY LIFE:
We were trapped in bumper-to-bumper traffic leaving the airport with people just stopping at random times to let people out, all along four lanes or more of cars. It was amazingly frustrating. This took us a good 10-15 minutes alone to drive about 1/2 a mile. Atlanta is a city that has about four major highways that bi-sect with each other. While Page-ro was there for about a month, he was still trying to figure out exactly which went where. I really wish he had figured this out before we were trying to escape as we drove around for a good 20 minutes just trying to find the right route home.
The car was heating faster than a late-night burrito at 7-11 and we were both losing whatever fluid we had left. I cannot get over how torturous this was: we had no idea where to go and were basing our decisions on logic like “Follow the planes…they’re going in the direction of home, right?” If The God of the Red Nut Squirrel had appeared and said to give him our lives for the right route home, I would have signed us up. I swear I heard Mugatu saying, “Kill the Prime Minster! Obey my evil dog!!” Somehow, some way, we found the right path and sped toward the closest convenience store for some Gatorade. Luckily, we found the one in the ghetto and were probably the only white people the store had seen in years. We finally made it back and spent the duration of the day watching the Red Sox/White Sox game, eating terrible chinese food and going to see ‘Wedding Crashers.’ Being lazy has never felt so good.
Monday was spent heading home, complete with more rapping on the MARTA train (I was down this time, laughing at the other skerred white folks…honkies!) and multiple delays in the airports. In general, it was an experience like no other with hot temperatures, hot women and a hot car that damn near almost killed me. The only question that’s left is when am I going back?
have a great holiday,