Posts Tagged ‘Pop Culture’

(*Author’s note: this is not an advice column.  If one more person offers me unsolicited parenting advice that is not directly related to me, I’m probably going to kiss my son on the head, apologize to my wife, and commit some kind of felonious crime in a misguided act of retaliation.  I don’t know what I’m doing any better than anyone else does.  However, the “you” I’m talking to here, is anyone that is a parent, has a strange sense of humor, and can identify with any of the skewed views that I have.  I last checked in with readers in this post at the One year mark.)

-  I’ve learned that you’re supposed to convert your baby’s age to months.  My son isn’t really “a little over a year old” or “one year and one month” old.  He’s 13 months.  That’s parent-speak and it’s still an adjustment for me.  I end up trying to adjust the time frame in my head, bungling over the conversion process like someone has suddenly asked me to swap over to the metric system, and scrunching up my face as I try to mentally carry the two to the tens place and divide by seven.  (*Author’s note: does anyone know if Pampers makes an abacus?)

-  I’ve learned that I would prefer my son to be as toothless as one of the featured cast members of Swamp People.  For the longest time, my son had a mere two teeth.  This was manageable.  They came in with little fanfare and only a day or two of 2-teeth-gnashing angst.  However, since he turned one at the end of last month he erupted with 6 more teeth.  Going from a cute couple of pearly whites to a gaping mouth-full of Shark Week teeth.  This sudden tooth-sprouting has caused fever, irritability, and trouble sleeping.  And my son’s having trouble, too.

-  I’ve learned that once your child starts walking, it isn’t long before they’re running.  And they’re reckless.  Like miniature, untrained Cirque du Soleil performers, 13-month-olds consistently walk along the razor’s edge of crashing and burning in spectacular fashion.  They slip.  They stumble.  They swerve like a drunk heading to the back of the boat on a booze cruise that’s just hit some choppy water.

-  I’ve learned that, while they’re staggering about, it’s hard for me to reign in my clingy-hovering-Daditis.  This well documented affliction has no fast-acting cure and the only way to beat it is by re-honing your mental fortitude (*Author’s note: in layman’s terms: stop being a pansy) so that you can watch as your child caroms off furniture, walls, and floor like an adorable human pinball game.

-  I’ve learned that my son may have already begun developing an insane sense of humor like his father.  He delights at saying, “mama” when I ask him to say “dada”, smiling a six-toothed grin as he does it and watching my reaction with what can only be described as glee.

-  There are few things that send a downward-barreling avalanche of joy cascading to your heart as when your son comes running towards you, holding his hands high in the air, grinning wildly and firing off high-pitched squeals of delight when you first come in the door.

-  I’ve learned that my son likes to read.  A lot.  He reads more than the loveable-slacker-that-has-to-finally-hit-the-books-so-he-can-pass-one-final-exam-in-every-college-movie-ever montage.  He reads more than the alien-that’s-new-to-our-world-and-wants-to-try-to-assimilate/figure out-what-we’re-all-about-before-inevitably-being-repulsed-by-how-selfish-human-beings-are montages in every science fiction movie ever.

-  I’ve learned that when my son wants to read. . .that means that I “want” to read, too.  I get it.  It’s a really good problem to have.  I understand that a lot of parents these days are already attempting to utilize core-driven curriculum to begin SAT Prep for their 13 month olds.  Mainly, I just want him to pick out something that he enjoys.  He does.  A lot.  Have I mentioned that he likes to read?

-  By the 778th time I read him Peekaboo Kisses I have the book completely memorized, right down to the animal noises, and I can expertly turn the page while balancing him on my leg, soaking my narrator-pipes in Diet Mountain Dew and watching the Track and Field World Championships on TV.

-  I’ve learned that ignoring certain behavior, as directed by our doctor, is one of the hardest parental adjustments I’ve had to make.  I’m certainly no task-master, but when my son does something naughty my instinct is to intervene.  To leap in and over-try to make it a teachable moment.  Which is exactly what he wants.  Essentially, I struggle not to be the parenting version of the bad guys in Home Alone.  I sit there, muscles locked up, mind already lurching out of my skull and heading towards my mouth with un-spoken “No!”s and try to fight down the urge.  (*Author’s note: do they have a patch for that?)

-  I’ve learned that my son could be an untapped gold-mine in the duck calling business.  He can do a dynamite quacking duck impression.  Whether it’s from his rubber duckies during bath night, his innumerable ducklings in his books, or just the fact that he’s a big fan of terrible tweenage hockey movies from the mid-90s, it’s one of the funniest, most fascinating things I’ve seen.  The only thing that’s missing is one of those enormous beards, and a creole-mumbling drawl and he could be the newest comic relief on Duck Dynasty.

Emmett

-  I’ve learned that our little baby is becoming a little boy and that with each ricocheting step, and with each joyful duck call into the bath-tub-steamed air, and with each hand-holding walk down the block in our tiny little socks, and with each sloppy kiss delivered when you least expect it, and with every drum solo on upside down kitchenware, we grow too.

-  I’ve learned that with every tummy-tickle-so-he-doesn’t-get-mad diaper change and every cup-stacking tower that he Godzillas over, and with each gurgling, cooing, infectious laugh, we love deeper.  I’ve learned too much for words and felt too happy for metaphors.  I’ve learned that 13 months is both a snapshot and an ongoing film and that we’re way off script in a kind of sublime improvisation.  And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Emmett

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On Monday, TNT debuted their 785th buddy-cop/buddy lawyer/buddy businessmen show of the past 5 years, King and Maxwell.  (*Author’s note: don’t fact-check those statistics, please.)  I DVR’d it in the hopes that it would be one of their better opposites-attract-and-make-for-dynamic-crime-fighting-duos-that-might-bang-each-other-or-betray-each-other-or-both shows.

Also assailing our senses at every turn are the promotions for the God-awful movie The Heat starring Sandra Bullock and Photoshoppedmelissa McCarthy.

The main reason I haven’t had time to check out King and Maxwell, or go on an obnoxious twitter complaint-rampage about how awful The Heat looks, is that I’ve been watching the non-italicized Heat and the man who would be King (*Author’s note: Bron-Bron).  I’ve just been too engrossed with the NBA finals and the ensuing media mayhem that has occurred as everyone rushes to break it all down to stop and catch up on my fix of Buddy-cops and mismatched partners in crime.

We all know the current formula well enough: two very different people are forced to work together by circumstances that are out of their control.  They hilariously struggle to adapt to one another, stylistically, but eventually learn how to utilize their two halves to form one unstoppable whole.  There are enough of these types of shows out there that there should be a buddy-cop network (*Author’s note: if TNT doesn’t already have that idea in the works, frankly, they’re slipping).  People can’t seem to get enough.

This is the dawning of the age of the Buddy-Cop golden era.

If they were to make a spinoff of the NBA finals that turned into a buddy cop/buddy lawyer/buddy-whatever show (*Author’s note: like what they have every 2 weeks debuting on TNT this summer), what would the best shows be?  What terrible photoshop botch-jobs could occur?  Who would star with who?

Let’s find out. . .

Bonner & T-Mac

Bonner & T-Mac

Tracy McGrady, known as “T-Mac” to his friends, used to be one of the greatest lawyers on the planet.  He was an All-Star.  He had his own brand of legal pads and had just received a fat contract at Orlando, Orlando, & Magic law firm back in the mid-2000s before his body betrayed him.  Left washed up, looking for work, and desperate to prove that he’s once again capable of being one of the best lawyers in the game he takes a reckless gamble: riding the pine at a small-time Texas law firm.

Matt Bonner, known as “Matt Bonner” to his friends, just kind of does one thing really well.  He usually finds his way over to the corner of the office and just waits for a wide open case to hit him in the hands so he can launch it towards a judge.  He’s pasty.  And looks like a grown-up, athletic version of Ron Weasley.  But, damn, can he find the corner and wait for the perfect time to shoot.

When these two lawyers, one a slick-talking former star and the other a one-trick pony looking to show that he’s a Swiss Army knife of lawyer-ing, get stuck in the same office you can be sure that they just might find the winning combination.  Will the head of the firm ever let them off the bench?  Will T-Mac finally show that he’s not a choke artist and that he’s got a little law-firming left in the tank?  Can Bonner ever leave his corner?  Watch Bonner & T-Mac on TNT this summer to find out.

Ethel and Flo

Ethel & Flo

(*Author’s note: I know, I know.  This picture is from the Eastern Conference Finals.  Has anyone been able to verify if this lady was forced to sit next to Flo-Rida again during the finals?  It’s definitely in my top-5 of NBA Finals subplots, even in a series with a million  good subplots.  They’re officially my favorite NBA power couple from now on.  Sorry, Delonte and Gloria James, you’ve been dethroned.)

Coming this fall:  Ethel Janicek is the oldest cop on the force.  She’s tired.  Worn down.  And she only has 2 months until she can retire and head to the Caribbean with her two cats and her collection of romance novels.  But when the inevitably-way-too-angry Chief pairs her with the newest cop on the force, Flo-Rida, things start going wrong immediately.

He’s too flashy, demanding that they sit courtside at the Miami Heat games so they can “stake out” a potential drug smuggling ring run by Chris Andersen.  He’s too reckless, wearing a gigantic, gold tiki-head that is actually hollow and holds a revolver.  Plus?  He doesn’t like that Ethel prefers to crochet during stake-outs instead of waiting for the perps while holed up in a strip club.

Will Ethel realize that Flo is offering her a sip from the fountain of youth?  Will Flo ever realize that he’s squandering his potential and follow the respected vet’s lead?  How often will they be forced to sit side-by-side and endure nearly 30-point beatings?  Watch Ethel and Flo to find out.  Fridays on TNT.

The King & Mario

The King and Rio

The King, deemed “The Chosen One” since his early days training at the FBI headquarters in Quantico had everything going for him.  Looks, power, prestige.  He was a rising star.  But then, one fateful summer day he announced at an unsanctioned press conference at FBI headquarters that he was “taking his talents to the Secret Service.”  Shunned by the law enforcement community for this bold move he finds himself placed on the lowest tier of Secret Service duty, guarding the Secretary of Agriculture’s wife’s mother.

His partner?  None other than the bumbling, lazy, Mario.  The two immediately clash, both in style of protection and in personal appearance and The King makes sure that Mario knows who is in charge.  Tongue-lashings abound as The King repeatedly verbally flogs his lesser-known counterpart, establishing decibel dominance like a silverback gorilla in the deep forests of the Congo.

Unbeknownst to our two diametrically opposed heroes, however, there is a large-scale, diabolical terrorist conspiracy centered on kidnapping all the Mother’s of the Wives of the Presidents’ cabinet members.  Confused yet?  Will these two agents figure out who is behind this kidnapping plot?  Will The King shout himself hoarse or rupture a vein in his receding-hairlined-forehead?  Is Mario actually an Italian plumber with a savage hatred for turtles?  Tune in to The King and Mario on Mondays this summer on TNT.

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-  In case you haven’t noticed the media blitzkrieg that is White House Down‘s imminent release date, it’s a movie coming out very soon that stars Channing Tatum and Jamie Foxx.  Utilizing the tactics that got me a C- in my college Gen-Ed math class, I have developed a revolutionary equation that breaks down the very essence of this film.

Math.

 

Mather

 

Mathest

-  By contacting some of my super-secret Hollywood contacts in the movie industry I was able to obtain a rough cut of the first White House Down poster that was created.  It was initially intended to shed a little more light on the subject matter of the movie but was eventually canned, for obvious reasons.

BJDown

(*Author’s note: All dumb jokes aside?  I will probably still shell out my money and go see it.  How could I resist a movie where everything blows up and Magic Mike and Django end up having to ride or die on the terrorist at the White House?)

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When one tatted up dreamboat decides to eject the wrong guy from a baseball game due to too much Pine Tar on his bat, world’s collide, lives crumble, and Ryan Gosling moodily smokes a bunch of cigarettes.

Gosling V. Brett

 

And if you don’t know what I’m talking about, check out this little gem.

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You might just fade there. . .

Anyone else think this would be a much better movie?  Don’t know what I’m talking about?  Check out this gem.

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Today Adidas announced they would be issuing some special new uniforms for a select few teams starting with their conference tournament play.  Here’s what they look like:

738233573

 

Here’s what I think of them:

 

- I knew that Four Loko was getting re-released to the public, but this. . .this is a brilliant promotional move.

- Adidas is probably just trying to make it a little more safe for these young players to go hunting with Bob Knight.

-  If one good things comes from these terrible outfits, it’s definitely that I somehow found this picture of Dan Marino on the internet.  Turns out, the whole “laces out” incident may not have been the most embarrassing moment of Marino’s career.

-  Kansas’ shorts are definitely going to be reminding old timers of “The Great Crotch Blizzard of ’53” that swept through the midwest, decimating dignity and cropland alike.

-  Adidas seem hell-bent on re-sleeving basketball jerseys.  I’m guessing the key reason behind this change is in an effort to stop basketball players from displaying tattoos that look like this:

(*Author’s note: that would be NBA player Richard Jefferson.  Although you have to be 18 to get a tattoo in most places, this tattoo confirms that you can, in fact, get a tattoo from an 11-year-old aspiring cartoon writer.)

-  Notre Dame student section: I will be fully expecting you to crank out a Harlem Shake video sporting your team’s new colors called, “The Shamrock Shake.”  This psuedo-dance craze will sweep through your school with unhaltable momentum.  Until Manti Te’o is drafted by the Cleveland Browns, the skidmark on the undies of the NFL.

-  While sporting Zubaz shorts hasn’t tested well in the market place, they have still outsold the failed Nike product the “Air Hammerpants.”

Hammertime!

-  A quick skit about the most plausible reasoning behind these uniforms:

Designer 1: “Quick, the deadline’s almost here for those Conference Tourney uniforms!  What’re we gonna do?  What’re we gonna do!?!?”

Designer 2: “I know just the guys to solve this problem.”

-  Did I mention that these shorts look exactly like a bunch of cans of Four F-ing Loko?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Conspiracy theorists unite!

Conspiracy theorists unite!

Sure, the Super Bowl was fun and all. But what was the highlight of the night? What breathlessly beautiful, majestic display of sport will forever live on in the collective hearts and minds of the American public? Will it be our deer friend Ray Lewis playing for his legacy until the final horn of the game? Will it be Joseph Vincent Elite Dragon Flacco finally stepping out from the shadow of his almost-same-named counterpart of the silver screen, Shane Falco?

Well, those were nice, too. But how about a washed-up former hot dog eating champion renting himself out to what appears to be a frat keggar and then crushing an entire pizza in under a minute? Enjoy.

This footage started making the internet rounds shortly after the big game. The actual details behind the incident are a little fuzzy. But, yes, that is former competitive eating sensation Takeru Kobayashi. It appears he was rented out for the evening for some $3,250.

What does $3,250 get you?

- A new unofficial world record.
– A chance to tauntingly call Kobayashi “Bro” from the wings.
– A brief moment of internet stardom that immediately goes haywire as people start realizing that there is one girl at your entire party and that you had the cash for a $3,250 guest of honor but that you charged $5 a cup at your keg?

I love how, in the beginning of the video, everyone’s hyper-crunk to watch Kobayashi smash the whole pizza. But, as he gets going the crowd falls mostly silent. (*Author’s note: except for the negative Bro-caller from off camera. I bet that the one girl I saw wasn’t there with him. Just call it a hunch.)

So why did the aforementioned crunkness vanish so quickly to whence it came? Here are my best guesses:

1. It’s probably pretty nasty watching a dude smash a full pizza in 60 seconds. I’ve watched many an eating contest in my day and they’re somehow less glamorous than you’d think. And no one thinks they’re glamorous. Don’t believe me? Pause-face Joey Chestnut at next year’s 4th of July hot dog eating contest. He looks like he’s in almost as much pain as our deerly beloved Ray Lewis was when he was trying to sing along to Alicia Keys’ National Anthem.

2. They were silently hopeful that he was going to turn into Michelangelo, the Ninja Turtle, midway through eating.

3. “Dude, that was totally the last pepperoni pizza, bro. So not cool!”

4. They realized, with a burgeoning terror, ringing in the depths of their tremulous souls like a vile gong-blast, that they may have just opened the Pandora’s box of competitive eating, giving Kobayashi the confidence to rise from the ashes of obscurity like a miniature Japanese Phoenix and once again challenge American eaters with relentless fervor. What have you done, bros? What have you done, all-dude-party? Nooooooooooooooo!

5. They were all too busy getting their Screen Actor’s Guild cards for the ensuing Domino’s Pizza commercial spinoff that will inevitably happen.

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