myblogisPoop

i'm not going to do it

I'm not going to write about Saved By The Bell. I'm not. I promised myself I wouldn't. About a year ago I decided "no more." No more watching it, no more talking about it, and no more thinking about it. I was done with Saved By The Bell, and with good reason too. I just couldn't take it anymore.

Saved By The Bell conversations have become the most run of the mill, cliche'd conversations on the planet. Everything that can be said about Saved By The Bell, has been said about Saved By The Bell, and every single quirky observation or take on it has been played to death. I mean, how many times have we heard, "Hey, senior year, whatever happened to Kelly and Jessie? And I mean, where did Tori come from?" Or "How many students went to Bayside? And how did they always end up in the same class?" We've heard it all. And that's just the beginning. That's not even including the Saved By The Bell trivia that still pops up to this day.

"Hey, what did AC stand for anyway?" Albert Clifford.
"In that one episode,what was the name of Slater's chamelion?" Artie.
"Yeah, but Mr. Belding's wife... what was her name?" Becky.
"Wasn't that also the name of the duck that died when Bayside struck oil?" Yes.
"What about that club that the gang snuck into? What was the name of that?" The Attic.
"Oh yeah, but where were Zack's parents when they snuck out?" The Peter, Paul, and Mary concert.
"Jessie's stepbrother?" Eric.
"Tori Spelling?" Violet.
"The movie star that smoked pot at Bayside while filming the anti-drug commercial?" Johnny Dakota. And remember, there's no hope with dope.

It's all been done. It pains me to take this cynical attitude towards SBTB, becuase I LOVED SBTB. I still do. I think it's kind of funny the path the show has taken over time. When it was on the air, nobody admitted to watching it. We were all embarrassed middle school kids, and if you ever admitted to watching a corny sitcom on Saturday mornings, you might as well just throw your Reebok Pumps out the window, because there was no coming back from that level of loser-dom. Then, I guess kinda around junior year of High School, you started hearing people talk about it a little. You still couldn't admit that you were a huge fan, but you could drop the occasional Saved By The Bell reference and get a positive reaction. Of course, you would have to pretend you didn't know what you were talking about first. "Oh yeah, you're like that guy on Saved By The Bell... what was his name again?... Screech!"

Once senior year, and then college, came along, the floodgates opened. Suddenly it was cool to talk about Saved By The Bell. It wasn't just cool, it was fucking hysterical! It was nostalgia plus cheesiness plus this amazing common bonding experience we all shared. Senior year of high school I wrote an article for our high school newspaper called "The Saved By The Bell Generation," proclaiming that growing up with Saved By The Bell was the one thing we all had in common. Of course, at the time there were some people that wouldn't fess up to it, but i'm sure they came out of the closet in college.

So like tons of other people, I was smack in the center of the Saved By The Bell storm. I loved it, discussed it, became known for it. Freshman year of college I even got a call at 2 o'clock in the morning from my ex-girlfriend's girl friend because she was playing Saved By The Bell trivia with her friends and they couldn't remember what kind of tickets Zack used to bribe Lisa to go out with Jessie's stepbrother Eric. Do you know? I do.

After years of hiding, it was finally okay to be a Saved By The Bell fan. And it was okay to have deep philosopical discussions on the Carosi family, ponder the debacle that was the College Years, and try to get to the bottom of the Miss Bliss era. Yes, it was a good time to be a Saved By The Bell fan in America. But then came 9/11...

No, what actually happened was the same thing that happened to the macarena, The Apprentice, and Ricky Martin circa 1998... you couldn't get away from it. Too many people latched onto it, and suddenly, it wasn't cool anymore. It wasn't as much fun to talk about because you knew everybody else was talking about it too. Instead of getting excited when you overheard a conversation about it, you'd roll your eyes. You ended up feeling almost obligated to talk about it, and for that reason, it wasn't as much fun. You know, like Ricky Martin circa 1998. It had to end.

And for me, it did. Do I miss it? Of course I do. When somebody at work this morning said something about "subliminal messages," was the first thing that popped into my head, "Zack Morris is a blonde Tom Cruise." Of course it was. But I'm getting by...

One day at a time.

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b at 4:46 PM

i sleep on the left side, leave the right side free

I couldn't fall asleep last night.

It was one of those terrible nights where no matter what position you're in, no matter how cool your pillow is, and no matter how quiet it gets, you just can't get comfortable. I could not get comfortable. I tried everything. One pillow. Two pillows. Two pillows and the blanket. Two pillows, no blanket. Two pillows, one midget, no blanket. Nothing worked.

And it all started out so promising too. I got home shortly before 1 a.m. having performed 2 shows at The Comedy Company. I checked ESPN News to see if I missed anything good, watched the first 15 minutes of The Daily Show, and then decided to call it a night. I was yawning. I was tired. I should've passed right out. I didn't.

I have no idea how long I was tossing and turning. I decided in college that as long as I didn't look at my clock after I laid down in bed, I could base how long I slept on what time I closed my eyes. Hey, in college sometimes lying to yourself is the only way not to be exhausted all the time. That trick used to work. It's not working today.

I broke out the heavy hitters last night, too. Two words: Sea Change. Beck's Sea Change is nearly impossible to stay awake through. I love the album, and the damn thing knocks me out every time. If I ever listened to it while driving it would be tragic. Well, last night, not even Sea Change could help. After the CD ended I didn't know what to do. At first I thought about cuing up the emergency backup, Travis, but ultimately decided it would be better to just keep things quiet. Bad idea.

For the next hour or so I was consumed with the notion that my air conditioner was going to fall out of the window. It was definitely going to happen. It was windy out, the AC was making some strange noises, and I'm not exactly convinced I installed it right in the first place. I was going to finally fall asleep, and then, out of nowhere, the pressure that the AC has been putting on the window frame was finally going to be too much to handle, the window was going to EXPLODE into a million pieces and the AC was going to fall one story and land on a stray cat. The explosion was going to nearly give me a heart attack, and I was going to be left sitting in my bed, listening to the cat howl as its life slipped away, and not even knowing where to begin. Right? Yeah. I could not stop thinking about that, so every time the AC creaked I jumped. I contemplated taking it out of the window and putting it on the floor just so I could relax. Nah. Instead, I got up and walked over to couch in the living room. And somehow, I fell asleep.

So today's been a tough day. I'm tired. I'm yawning. I'm miserable. And I'm still not completely convinced that my air conditioner is going to be sitting on my windowsill when I get home. I need a nap.

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b at 2:48 PM

Happy Iraq Sovereignty Day!

Man oh man, is today a great day or what? I was at the gym watching The Wayne Brady Show this morning (not working out, just watching TV. They get better reception there) when all of a sudden there was an exciting "Newsflash" thingy on screen. Oh my! What could it be? I immediately figured it was going to involve the Britney-Kevin engagement, but to my surprise it involved this Iraq thing instead. It turns out, that our sneaky President Bush (and I mean sneaky in that good, fun way. Not the Michael Moore way) went ahead and handed power over to Iraq a full two days early! You crazy President you! While I think this is totally awesome, I have to be honest and say I'm a little upset. This totally ruins my Iraqi Provisional Government Welcoming Party I scheduled for Wednesday night. I sent Evites out and everything. And Carvel is going to be pissed when I call and tell them to just forget about that ice cream cake. Oh well.

So the day continued to get greater when I got to work at noon (summer mondays!) and discovered that The Boys Of Summer, my fantasy baseball team, crushed Waffle's Last Stand by a score of 12-2. Thanks to guys like Miguel Tejada, the speedy Carl Crawford, and the 1-testicled Mike Lowell, my team is sitting pretty in 3rd place, just 3 games out of first. For the record, Mike Lowell is my favorite guy to draft every year, solely because of the one testicle thing. Of course it gives someone the opportunity to say, "Well, we know which team has the least amount of balls," but it's still worth it. Ever since losing the thing Mike Lowell has been incredible-- I like to call that The John Kruk Effect. One testicle = more power. Of course, it also equals an awkward conversation with the girls you bring back to your hotel when you're on the road, but hey.

So anyway, just when I thought that the day couldn't get any better, I read this. Apparantly, my cell phone is going to cut my sperm count down 30%. Whew! What a relief. I haven't figured out how to do the math yet, but I'm thinking this could possibly mean having to use protection at least 15% less than usual! Either that, or I'll just have to start having sex wearing nothing but a belt and my cell phone clip on the side. You know, just to be safe.

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b at 12:35 PM

the scale

Well, My Blog Is Poop fans, the time has come.

When I first began working on this little blog of mine, I had a handful of ideas that I decided I would eventually write about. I wanted to talk about hipsters, delve into the world of the snakehead fish, and explain to you how the White Stripes are the new Smashing Pumpkins. I planned on talking about what's going on in the world of pop culture, what's going on with my ever-important fantasy baseball team, and what's going on here at VH1. For the most part, I've touched on the majority of topics I've wanted to talk about (except the White Stripes - Smashing Pumpkins thing, but that's coming). However, there's one thing I wanted to share with you that I just kept putting off... and in honor of my 100th post (2 posts ago), I've decided it was time.

It's time for The Scale.

When I was in college, I had 2 roommates, Alan and Eric. One day, I was walking around campus with Alan and telling him about this girl in my film class that was absolutely gorgeous. I described her to him, and then said, "She's a 9, at least." Alan's response surprised me. "Well, if you say she's a 9, then she's probably a 7 because you have weird taste." We got into an argument (because my taste is impeccable, obviously), and when cooler heads prevailed, we decided something had to be done about this discrepancy. With different people having different "types," we needed a system in which we could measure all girls equally. A uniform scale in which all people could go by. A scale that could change the world as we know it. After countless sleepless nights, and countless Bud Lights, we figured it out. And today I'm going to share it with the world. Now, before I go on, I don't want anybody thinking we're pigs. The whole "she's a 10" thing has been around long before Bob & Alan & Bud Lights. We just perfected it, that's all. Here's how it works... are you ready?

The Scale is based on the classic 10 point scale. Scores are given in half-point intervals (.5, 1, 1.5, etc.). The breakdown goes:

Rack - 2
Ass - 2
Stomach - 1
Legs - 1
Face - 4
(There are a couple of things to remember. First of all, when on the body, bigger doesn't always mean better. It's all about proportions. And with the face, a 4 is flawless and a 2 is pretty. Rate accordingly.)

Okay, now here's the thing. While this scale is purely physical, there are also 2 X-Factors that you can attach onto a score (but cannot factor INTO a score). The 2 X-Factors are "Sex Appeal" and "Personality." So you could say, "Yeah, she was a 6 with huuuge Sex Appeal." Or, "She's incredible. An 8 with Personality." Stuff like that. The amazing thing about The Scale is that it actually works! When you add up the numbers and arrive at a score, you'll realize, "yep. that's right."

Now, there are 2 rules regarding The Scale. #1, always give the girl the benefit of the doubt. If you and your friend are stuck on whether someone gets a 2 or a 2 1/2 for the face, give her the 2 1/2. It all works out. And rule #2, never, NEVER tell someone their score. Trust me on this one. Using this scale, a 7 is a great score. You can't tell a girl she's a 7 without getting slapped. Again, trust me.

I hope this post doesn't come off as sexist. We've shared The Scale with tons of girls, and for the most part they LOVE it. And girls are usually better at rating other girls anyway. When you're out at the bars this weekend, try it out. The more you practice, the better you get. And ladies, if you can come up with a system for rating guys, please share it. Many women have tried, but it doesn't seem to work out. If you figure it out, let me know. Just don't tell me my score. Trust me.

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b at 11:34 AM

the art of the mix

The time has come once again for my friends and I to plan our annual summer vacation. Every summer since we were 16, me, Dan, Mike, Greg, and Brian have gone away together for a week of boozing, fucking around, and most importantly, mini golf. Yes, I'm serious about the mini golf.

In high school, we would hop into my 1989 Buick LeSabre and drive down to Wildwood, NJ. We would all share one hotel room, and each night proceed to drink our brains out until we were ready to stumble to the boardwalk and talk to girls. Ahh, high school. In college we upped the ante, making the trip down to Ocean City, Maryland. I don't know how exactly that was 'upping the ante,' because it was basically the same thing with a longer car ride. College also included a trip to Nantucket, and of course the cliche'd trip to Cancun. Cancun deserves its own post someday. Remind me.

So the wheels have already been put in motion for this year's trip. And I'm scared. Because this year is going to blow the previous 7 years out of the water, no doubt. And I can pretty much explain why in just one word: Vegas. Do I need to say anything else? No, I don't think I do.

Now, as we've learned over the years, one of the most important aspects of the trips we go on are the mix cd's we make. We began the process in High School, where we would pass around a mix tape, and each one of us would add songs onto it, one at a time. You weren't allowed to listen to the song that came on before, you just popped the tape in and hit record. The average mix tape would get passed around about 5 times. In the end, we had a complete, comprehensive mix. We were brilliant. Of course, over the past few years we've moved on to Mix CD's, and while the anonymity has been taken away, the quality has become much better. So now, I have to begin asking myself, "What am I going to put on the mix this year?"

I'm welcoming suggestions. Remember, these are the songs that we're going to listen to in the hotel room as we're pregaming/ getting ready to go out, and in the car. So we're looking for upbeat, lively songs. Help a brother out. Right now The Killers' "Somebody Told Me" is the only definite I got. Everything else is up to you.

Don't let me down.

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b at 12:59 PM

porn central

Okay, it's safe to say that the offices of Best Week Ever have become porn central as of late. It all began last week, when we purchased the Paris Hilton video, or as it is known on the streets, "One Night In Paris." Of course, once we bought it, we had no choice but to hold an informal viewing at my desk. Let me tell you, nothing makes co-workers feel closer to one another than watching hard core pornography together. Oh wait, I'm sorry. What I meant to say was, nothing is more awkward and uncomfortable than watching hardcore pornography with your co-workers. Yeah, that's more like it.

It wouldn't have been too bad watching the video together, because after all, it is completely ridiculous. But since we were at my desk, it was my job to man the controls. It was my call when to fast forward, when to skip scenes, and when to ummm... rewind. Lots and lots of pressure. It felt like the time in college when I was holding the remote and I landed on the HBO episode of Real Sex where two guys were doing their Puppetry of the Penis. Me and my roommates, Alan and Eric, kind of stopped talking. We just watched. Every couple of minutes I would pick up the remote and quickly scan through the other channels, and then land back on Real Sex, because I was worried if I didn't flip away from the intense close ups of man-junk they were gonna start making fun of me. After doing this a couple of times, Alan finally said, "Dude, just leave it on the dick thing. It's okay." Whew. Of course, after it was over, I spent the next half hour trying things out in the bathroom, only to come out yelling, "Guys, I got 'The Hamburger' DOWN!"

Anyway, back to the porn. So today, what arrives in the mail? Some porn starring Lil Jon. I haven't seen that much of the tape yet, but what I did see included Lil Jon yelling whatever it is he yells, while girls take their clothes off in his dressing room. "Yeah!" I'm sure the unintentional comedy in this thing is through the roof, so needless to say, I can't wait to check it out. And I'm going to come out right here and say it, before someone else does: Lil Jon is the new Snoop Dogg.

Mark my words, you'll see. White people are falling in love with him- we're loving his music, we're stealing his phrases, and we're not scared of him anymore. Very reminiscent of the beginning of America's love affair with Snoop in the mid-90's. I'm just saying, when Old School 2 comes out, Lil Jon is going to be in it. Guaranteed.

I keep getting sidetracked. Okay, so not only have we accumulated the Paris porn and the Lil Jon porn, but today, the fine folks at Trojan (who loved our piece last week on their new condoms that get hot when you use them) sent us a Trojan gift pack. So not only do we have all this porn floating around, but now we have 4 boxes of Trojan Warm Sensations Condoms, 2 boxes of Magnums, a Trojan board game (?) and a Trojan Magnum T-Shirt and Hat. I'm beginning to feel kind of dirty working here. I was thinking about stealing a box of Warm Sensations, and the Paris Hilton video, then coming in tomorrow with bandages wrapped around my hands... and my only explanation would be, "They work."

YEAH. WHAT? OKAY!

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b at 5:29 PM

the big news of the day

Did anybody else hear that Lollapalooza was cancelled because one of the Olsen twins was arrested for running some photographer over? Scandalicious!

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b at 6:00 PM

ouch

Last night, I participated in the first ever Best Week Ever dodgeball game on the Upper West Side. Today, I am very, very sore. That is very, very sad.

The game was action packed, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't look like a natural born dodgeball player. I was wearing a yellow headband, aviator sunglasses, and an amazing Salvation Army T-shirt with just two words on it: The Bobster. Unfortunately, I didn't play nearly as well as I looked. I had a couple of good games, but I overall I was disappointed in my play. I kept on breaking the cardinal rule in dodgeball: keep the ball down. Too many throws were high and errant, and were easily caught by the opposing team. I also accidentally nailed one of the PA's in the face. Whoops.

The two Best Week Ever panelists that participated in the game were Paul Scheer and Doug Benson. When Doug Benson, star of The Marijuana-logues, showed up, my Producer, Fred, said, "I'm glad we have Doug on our team. I have a feeling everything moves a lot slower for him. That could be an advantage." While Doug and Paul showing up was cool, I was still disappointed that Andrew W.K. couldn't make it. We invited him last week, but he was busy. Playing dodgeball with Andrew W.K. would easily be the coolest thing to ever happen in my life. And yes, I'm aware that that's very depressing.

So as I mentioned in the beginning of this post, today I am sore. I was actually sore before yesterday's dodgeball game, because I spent all day Sunday at Prospect Park playing baseball with a Hispanic family we befriended. After a thrilling 10-9 victory, where I hit a solo HR, but also allowed 6 runs in relief, my body was aching. That's when it dawned on me- I'm 24 years old. You know who else is 24 years old? Albert Pujols of the St. Louis Cardinals, last year's National League MVP. I don't think after a casual game of baseball, followed by a friendly game of dodgeball, Albert Pujols would creep around his apartment like a 97 year old man, moaning every time he had to bend down to pick something up. That's just not happening. And you know what else I guess is not happening. I guess I'm never going to win the National League MVP award. I mean, I guess if Pujols and I are this far apart now at 24, things are only going to get worse. So maybe it's time to give up the dream of playing major league baseball. A dream I originally gave up at the age of 13, when I couldn't hit a curve ball. *sigh*

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b at 12:07 PM

an open letter

Dear Hipsters,
Hi, my name is Bob, and there is something I would like to get off my chest. Before I begin, let me tell you a little bit about myself. I am a 24 year-old white male, and I currently reside in Brooklyn, NY. I enjoy listening to bands like The Strokes and The Killers, I own all 3 seasons of Family Guy on DVD, and I have an ironic "Just One Of The Guys" movie poster hanging up in my living room. I also consider myself to be a bit of a writer. Over the past few years, I have written (but not sold) a screenplay, and I also write comedy for a stand-up routine which I perform around the city. So, technically, I guess one could consider me an "artist." I also have a Jew-Fro. The point I'm trying to get at is, on the surface, I'm not that different from you.

Or so I thought.

Friday night, I attended the Franz Ferdinand concert at Volume. I could not wait for this show. The Franz Ferdinand album is absolutely brilliant, and every single review of their live show emphasizes how much fun they are. "Franz Ferdinand is the band that gets the hipsters dancing." That's what I was promised. Well, apparantly the caliber of hipster that attends a midnight show in a Williamsburg warehouse is a whole new breed. Like Super-Hipsters, immune to letting themselves go and have a good time. It's such a shame.

I tried not to let you bring me down. Even when one of you turned to my friend, and brushed your eyebrow-level bangs aside, and said, "Excuse me, could you save your yelling for the encore? Thanks," I didn't let it stop me. (For the record, I believe Dan's response was, "No, this is a fucking concert.") I still danced. I still jumped around, and shook my sweaty Jew-Fro every which way I could. Sure, the surly hipsters around me brought themselves to unfold thier arms just long enough to push me when I got too close, but at least they did it with a little bit of rhythm.

Franz Ferdinand were great. They were confident, they were having a good time, and they played a kick ass set. I was drunk, I was dancing, and I had fun. And looking around Volume, there were other people like me who were having a good time. But you people that were standing there, arms folded, looking around, wondering if anybody was looking at you... sorry. You missed out.

If you want to look cool, go to a Radiohead show or something. Stop taking up space on the dance floor.

Sincerely,
A Concerned Parent

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b at 3:06 PM

come and dance with me

Franz tonight. So excited. I'm going to dance, dance, dance the night away.

Sorry for the lack of updates this week. But watch Best Week Ever: tonight at 11, or for the drinkers out there, tomorrow morning at 11. Good stuff going on this week, trust me.

Seacrest, Out!

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b at 5:23 PM

michael moore is fat

So everybody is making a big stink about Michael Moore's new movie, Fahrenheit 9/11. Well, what people don't realize, is that the entire film is just a retread of Moore's straight to video, 2003 release, Fahrenheit 311. See, I bet most of you have never even heard of Fahrenheit 311. It was a very low budget film that focused on the problems surrounding New York's 311 Non-Emergency Response System. And let me tell you this: it was fucking scandalous.

In Fahrenheit 311, Michael Moore takes no prisoners. From bogus noise complaints to broken traffic lights, Moore is there. He gets to the bottom of alternate side parking like no man before him ever has. Below is an excerpt from the scene in the movie where Moore confronts New York's Alternate Side Parking Commissioner, Mark Benson, outside City Hall.

MOORE: Excuse me. Excuse me. Are you Mark Benson?
BENSON: Yes, I am. Who are you?
MOORE: I'm Michael Moore, I'm making a documentary.
BENSON: Oh. Well, I'm in a bit of rush.
MOORE: Mr. Benson, this will just take a second. So, you're in charge of Alternate Side Parking, are you not?
BENSON: (hesitant) Yes...
MOORE: So, Mr. Benson, why is it that according to the 2003 Alternate Side Parking Rules Suspension Calendar, parking is only suspended on the first and second days of Passover this year?
BENSON: Well, I think by...
MOORE: (interrupting) Do you hate Jews?
BENSON: I don't hate Jews!
MOORE: What's wrong with the other 6 days of Passover? Not good enough?
BENSON: No! They are. But you know the Jews, with their long holidays, we can't afford...
MOORE: (to camera) Did you get that?? The Jews. Their holidays.
BENSON: I didn't mean it like that.
MOORE: Okay, moving on. Also, according to this schedule, alternate side parking is suspended on October 7th for something called "Idul-Adha."
BENSON: Yes.
MOORE: So you admit it!
BENSON: Um... yes. Yes I do. Idul-Adha is a Muslim holiday.
MOORE: Oh. Um. Okay. Well. Hmm. How do you explain parking being suspended on June 3rd for "Spring Day?"
BENSON: It's not.
MOORE: I didn't think so! Why not??
BENSON: Because there's no such thing as Spring Day.
MOORE: What about Buranzi Day in August?
BENSON: What?
MOORE: Geianalzo Day? Varuoidua Day?
BENSON: Now you're just making up words.
MOORE: Boozabooza.

And that's just a taste of Moore's brilliance in Fahrenheit 311. Go pick it up today. The part about garbage collection alone will bring a tear to your eye.

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b at 2:36 PM

snap judgements on today's CD purchases

To The 5 Boroughs: Unremarkable
Hot Fuss: Pretty great. Do I think we'll be listening to The Killers 3 years from now? Probably not. But it's going to take a long time for me to get sick of this CD. So good.

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b at 5:07 PM

take me out

Big news, New Yorkers. You may have noticed on the little "where i'm going" section in the sidebar that I have tickets to attend both Franz Ferdinand shows this week. Well, I've decided that I'm only going to go to Friday's show at Volume, meaning that I have 2 tickets for Thursday's show at Webster Hall up for grabs.

Funniest comment gets them at cost.

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b at 11:12 AM

fightin round the world

I'm a pacifist. My entire life I've only been in one fight, and that was with a kid named Dave in the 9th grade. And what was it over? You guessed it, a girl named Stefanie. Stefanie was kind of my girlfriend at the time. Well, not officially, however we did go to the Homecoming Dance together, and we made plans way in advance to go to the Christmas dance. Dave was one of the guys in our group of friends, but we never really got along. Anyway, the story goes: One night Dave and Stefanie went to a movie together. Stefanie was tired, and began yawning. At some point, Dave says something along the lines of, "If you keep yawning, I'm going to do something about it." Stefanie yawns, Dave kisses her, Stefanie tells Bob, Bob and Dave arrange a Saturday afternoon fight at an elementary school playground.

It's pretty hilarious. All of my friends were invited, and so were all of Dave's, because at the time we had the same friends. Amazingly, our friends didn't take sides- they just wanted to see us beat the shit out of each other. Good friends, right? Of course, I had trouble taking the fight seriously. I mean, it was a very serious fight, fought for very serious reasons, and I knew Dave was taking it very seriously. So obviously, when we arrived at the park I was wearing Brett "The Hitman" Hart sunglasses, my friend Dan was holding a wad of dollar bills and acting as my manager, and my friend Kevin was wearing all black and pretending to be my bodyguard. We were such assholes.

The fight lasted two rounds. He got the first punch in as I taunted him by yawning to the crowd. We rassled around and I got him on the ground, where I proceeded to throw punch after punch. Since I lack that killer instinct, I got up and we squared back off. His nose was bleeding... but my lip was busted. Shit. On Monday, his nose would be all better, but I'd have a fat lip and look like the big loser. So instead of ending the fight there, I continued to talk shit until he attempted to kick (?) me. I picked him up and dropped him on the ground, where the two of us locked each other up. My bodyguard came over and separated us, and Dave took off.

I left the park semi-defeated. The fight was pretty much a draw, but the fact that I was going to have a fat lip was terrible. I was kind of bummed, until I got the phone call that Dave was in the hospital because his wrist was broken. Yes! Of course, he told people that he broke it punching me, and I told people that he broke it when I threw him to the ground... and I guess we'll never know the truth. Of course, over the course of the next couple of months, I stopped hanging out with Stefanie and Dave and I became better friends. Go figure.

So why bring this up? Well, Saturday night I came dangerously close to my second ever fight, in good ol' Belmar, NJ!

Now, let me start by saying that I may be a pacifist, but I also happen to be a big fucking smart ass. It's true. And, when drinking, I happen to be a little crazier and little more fearless than most. Not obnoxious and annoying, just a little more... fun. Okay.

So Saturday my friends and I were in Belmar. We bbq'd, played some whiffle ball, drank some Coronas, played some Asshole, and then drank some more Coronas. Unfortunately, I couldn't work my way out of the Asshole position all night, so by the time we were ready to head out for the night, I was pretty drunk. We headed to a place called DJ's near the beach. Now, I don't know if anybody's ever been to DJ's before... but Jesus Christ. Last week, I made some sweeping generalizations about Jersey girls in Hoboken. Well, I take back everything I said about Hoboken, and I'd like to officially declare Belmar the strangest place on the planet. A girl walked into the club wearing some lingerie... and that's it. Just some lingerie. Amazing. Like, when she was getting dressed, did she just decide, "Well, actually, this is enough. I'm good to go."

After a couple of drinks and a couple of shots, we decided to move on to another bar. Surprisingly, we decided that a bar that admits women wearing nothing but underwear just wasn't our scene. Shocking, I know. So as we're heading out, we're kind of trying to push our way through the crowd. I was leading the way, and it wasn't easy because the place was absolutely packed. So as I'm maneuvering, out of nowhere, I hear it...

GUY: Nice hair.

Okay, wow. That's right, a big Jersey meathead, wearing the same exact buttoned down shirt, the same exact black pants, and the same exact haircut as everybody else in the club, actually let out a sarcastic, almost angry "Nice hair" as I walked by. Now, should I have ignored it? Probably. But, as we've already learned, despite being a pacifist I am (a) a smart ass, (b) drunk, (c) fearless, and (d) stupid. So here's what happens:

GUY: Nice hair.
ME: (turning around) Oh my God, you think so? Thanks so much. You know, it's all natural too. Yep, it took me about a year to grow it this long, but I'm really glad I did.
GUY: (silence, blank stare)
ME: So thanks so much for noticing tonight. You know, a lot of people ask me if I use product, but I actually don't. This is all natural, the curls and everything. To be honest, I was surprised when it started getting curly, because I've never grown my hair this long before.
GUY: (silence, blank stare)
ME: But seriously, I've been thinking about cutting it because it is kind of hot, and it makes me sweat a little, but I don't know. What do you think? I think I'm going to keep it.
GUY: (silence, blank stare)
ME: So anyway, I appreciate your compliment, but I'm not gonna lie... It's kind of a gay thing to say. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I mean, I'm completely comfortable with it, but just so you know, it is a little bit gay. But seriously, thank you.
GUY: (silence, nostrils flaring)
ME: Anyway, thanks.
GUY: (to his friend) Hold my drink.

Realize, the entire time I was talking I had my hand extended to shake his. Surprisingly, he never shook it. I wonder what I did wrong. Anyway, when he said "hold my drink" I knew I had three options.

1. Stand there, get punched in the face
2. Stand there, get a beer bottle smashed on my face
3. Leave

Well, bitches, guess what. I picked #1. CAUSE I'M A MAN!!!!!!!!!! Okay, I'm lying. I totally turned around and walked away, not even giving him a chance to say anything back. My friend Mike, who was behind me when this was happening, heard his friend try to calm him down by saying, "Dude, it's not worth it. Let it slide." Ha.

So I left DJ's with my dignity, and more importantly, my jaw intact. Did I learn anything from this encounter? Yes, yes I did. I have really nice fucking hair.

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b at 6:23 PM

how i know i'm getting old

When I was in college, I would joke around and say that I bragged more about taking naps than I did about hooking up. Anybody can hook up in college, it's easy. There are only two ingredients necessary: Alcohol + Location = Hookups. That's it. But to take a nap, the planets have to align. You need a location, you need the time, you need atmosphere, you need a clear schedule, you need alcohol... well, I need alcohol. Is that bad?

I've always been a sleeper. In high school I remember waking up at 3 or 4 o'clock in the afternoon on Saturdays. And for the most part, those weren't drunken out-until-6 a.m.-wake-up-at-4 type things-- That was asleep by 1 or 2. Freshman year of college, with the assistance of alcohol, I actually woke up as the sun was going down on more than one occasion. For some reason, I can't sleep late like I used to anymore. Even if I'm out drinking until 5, I'm up by 11. I hate it. Where did it all go wrong?

Well, I'm not alone in my love for sleep. The Japanese have one-upped us once again with this. If you have the time, read it. I honestly started salivating. I can't explain how thinking about this thing made me feel. It was a similar feeling to being 13 and reading about how Virtual Reality was going to take over and everybody in the world was going to be having virtual-sex, like in Demoliton Man.

(Note: Quick side note on Virtual Reality. What a bust! The only thing Virtual Reality has contributed to society was it gave those cheesy Skinemax movies a way to include random sex scenes into the plot. Every other movie on Cinemax after 1am is about Virtual Reality sex. "Doctor, I want to try it out... just don't tell my husband." I mean, I think that's what they're about. So I've been told.)

So, say what you will, but I'd much rather have this Japanese Sleep Machine than ANYTHING ELSE in the world. I mean, just check this out:

--Gentle guitar and piano music plays against a backdrop of trickling water and birdsong.
--After a few minutes relaxing like that, the sleep machine takes over: the lights slowly dim, the TV screen goes blank, the music dies down - but the stream still babbles - and the bed lowers into sleeping position.
--Hold onto the sheets for what comes next: a mechanical massage. The mattress vibrates and bulges strategically under your upper and lower back, stretching your spine to its limits.
--Eventually, the lights turn off completely, the massage peters out and air is released from the mattress, allowing your body to settle gently into place - and into the first dream of the night.

That's all I want. That's all I ask for. Somebody, please, buy me a Japanese Sleep Machine. It's only $30,000- the same price as a car. This sounds way, way more enjoyable, and you don't even have to gas it up. I'm so down.

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b at 4:07 PM

Reagan's Body Dies

Hey, did you guys hear that Ronald Reagan died? Yeah, Ronald Reagan. Dead. I bet you didn't know that. For some reason the media hasn't really been paying any attention to it. You turn on the TV, you pick up a newspaper, you surf through the internet... nothing. Hell, Jonathan Brandis hanging himself last November got more press than this, and even though Reagan never starred in a movie as big as Ladybugs, the guy was still PRESIDENT OF THE USA. I mean, c'mon, a little coverage would be nice.

Okay, I'm done being sarcastic. So honestly, are we done yet? I almost didn't buy my usual NY Post this morning because I am soooo sick of reading about it. Just because the media has been stockpiling footage and stories for the past ten years waiting for this dude to kick the bucket, doesn't mean we should be forced to sit through all of it. And do we really need everybody to weigh in on this? I mean everybody. Like fucking Jelly Belly???

Jelly Belly released an official statement because Reagan loved Jelly Beans. Was anybody sitting at home thinking, "Wow, this is such a great loss to our beloved nation... I wonder how the jelly bean folks are taking it." Jesus, I hope not.

And let's talk about that "it's a great loss" thing. Honestly, is it? Hasn't he been lost for years? Was Reagan toiling away in the basement of the White House working on homeland security or planning our next move in the Middle East? Actually, with the way things have been going, maybe he was. But I don't think so. If it was 1986, yes, losing Ronnie would be a great loss. In 2004, it's kind of losing Alan King. Yeah, it's sad he's dead because he's been a part of our culture... but it's not exactly a surprise.

Back to the coverage, though. Do we need these hourly updates on CNN and DrudgeReport tracking how many people have lined up to see the casket, and detailing its trip from California to DC? We're treating it like the goddamn Stanley Cup. People are lining up to check it out, everybody wants to touch it, yesterday I saw a few guys with beards drinking out of it. I mean, c'mon people.

I don't know why people feel the need to check out the coffin. We've been blessed with so, so many fortunate memories of the man, why do we need another? We'll always have the Genesis "Land Of Confusion" video. We'll always have that weird diner scene in Back To The Future 2. And we'll always have Phil Hartman doing that great Reagan impression. Well, in reruns, at least.

Maybe my annoyance stems from jealousy. When my time comes, chances are the newspapers aren't going to cover it for a week. I'm probably not going to have my own day of remembrance, and Jelly Belly probably won't have an official statement prepared. Now Quiznos on the other hand... that'd be nice.

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b at 1:28 PM

i love scotch

Do yourself a favor and watch This. It's a music video for Anchorman, a movie that will no doubt be the funniest thing to hit this post-Reagan world we live in. Will Ferrell is funny. Paul Rudd is funny. Moustaches are funny. From what I hear, the 70's are funny. And last but not least, Will Ferrell is funny. This movie can't miss.

I'm doing my best not to get my hopes up too high for Anchorman like I did with Old School. When I left the theater for Old School, I was a little disappointed. I enjoyed the movie, but I wanted more. Of course, after it came out on DVD it quickly became one of my favorite comedies ever, but there was no way it could've ever lived up to my expectations the first time I saw it. It's always so much better to be surprised by a movie. That's why I will forever love Wet Hot American Summer - because it surprised the shit out of me. If you've never seen it, do yourself a favor and go buy the DVD right now. Don't waste your time with Comedy Central. The only reason to watch the Comedy Central version is to see what they change David Hyde Pierce's line "Oh, fuck my cock" to. Suck my rock? Duck my sock? Whatever.

So anyway, this day is just dragging by. So. Slow. I just watched last night's episode of The Real World: San Diego, and I'm going to go on record and say that this cast will never be topped. Never. Sure Hawaii got naked all the time, and Vegas had everybody fucking each other, but somehow the San Diego cast comes along as much, much bigger alcoholics and partiers. And this cast is the ONLY cast that hasn't suffered from the weak link syndrome. Every cast has that one person that is completely forgettable the second the show is done. Like that blonde gay guy in Hawaii. Or that other guy in New Orleans. Remember them? Exactly. Everyone on San Diego is memorable, right down to freaky Frankie. She was the early favorite to be the person that just disappeared from entire episodes, but it turns out that she was so fucking nuts she couldn't even disappear without making it interesting. With only 3 episodes left, I'm going to take the easy way out of this (sorry, boring) post and list my Top 3 Favorite Moments this season.

3) Frankie revealing she was scared of "large boats" - Because you know, she just wasn't "quirky" enough.

2) Brad & Robin simultaneously getting arrested - More specifically, if you're looking for one "moment," Jacquese coming out of his bedroom with a sign on his shirt that said "Free Brad." The whole episode, though was bar-none the best. Randy's drunken explanation of what happened. Robin crying in the police car. Brad's message from prison. BRAD'S MESSAGE FROM PRISON! I forgot about that! Okay, I take back the Jacquese moment. The best moment was hearing "I'm in jail bitch! Pick me up. I'm in jail bitch" and watching Jaquese lose his shit. First time the Real World has ever genuinely made me laugh out loud.

1) Arguing with the ex-GF over whether Robin's breasts are real - Okay, I'm sorry. I guess it was just wishful thinking. I was wayyyyyyyy off with that one. My bad.

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b at 2:42 PM

please make this happen

Not because I'm a Republican, and not because I care about Ronald Reagan's presidency...

But wouldn't this be the most amazing unit of currency ever???

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b at 12:41 PM

real quick

I would just like to thank the programming department over at MTV, who obviously read my blog, for airing True Life: I Have A Summer Share last night, and proving that I was not lying about Jersey. Tommy and Bobby and Cousin Vinnie and Melissa H. paint a picture worth thousands and thousands of words. Thanks guys.

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b at 10:28 AM

oh, you're from Jersey? what exit?

I don't want to exaggerate, or mislead you in any way. However, this past weekend, I believe I drank approximately 249 beers. Give or take 1 or 2.

Friday night, I ventured into Hoboken, NJ to visit my friends who just moved there. First off, I've come to the realization that I will never understand the PATH train. "Okay, there are only 6 stops on this thing. Hoboken is a straight line from 34th Street. I can't screw this up." Wrong. I don't get it. I can figure out in my head how to get from the M to the 6 to the R to the F without going above ground, yet I can't get from Midtown to Hoboken without ending up in the middle of New Jersey and still having no idea what track I'm supposed to be waiting in front of.

When I finally got to Hoboken, I recalled a conversation I had with my friend Greg a couple of years earlier. Before I moved to Brooklyn, Greg and I actually checked out an apartment there. Greg works in "finance" for Morgan Stanley, but remains famous for saying really, really dumb things on occasion. When Greg and I arrived in Hoboken to check out the place, we had the following conversation:

ME: Greg, you know who's from Hoboken, right?
GREG: Who?
ME: Old Blue Eyes.
GREG: Who's that?
ME: C'mon Greg. Old Blue Eyes... The Chairman of The Board.
GREG: What company?
ME: (Pause) Nevermind.

So anyway, going out in Hoboken on Friday night, I came to the conclusion: New Jersey is the strangest place on the planet.

Hoboken is its own little strange universe. I called my friend Sarah just to tell her that I passed by a place named Bahama Mammas. I guarantee you that Bahama Mammas holds a "Hot Thong" contest AT LEAST once a week. I'm willing to put money on that. But walking down the street, you just keep on passing by the same people over and over again. In the Hoboken Universe, there are two types of males and one type of females.

Male Type 1 - Tall, Muscular Frat Boy: spiked black hair, Abercrombie T-shirt, great smile, Date-Rapist.

Male Type 2 - Short, Muscular Guido: No hair, waxed back, tribal tattoo around bicep, confused look

Female Type 1 - Jersey Girl: tight top, short shorts, perfectly tanned breasts, doctorate in bio-medical engineering. (i know, that last one surprised me too)

Needless to say, with those types of people, I don't really fit in too well in Jersey. I don't have a bicep tattoo, my hair is long and curly, and I'm not a (convicted) date-rapist. My hitting on women in Hoboken was restricted to me grinning like an idiot and saying "Ladies..." every time a couple of girls walked by. Luckily, the girls didn't realize I was kidding around with that line, so I got some great eye rolls.

Anyway, my friends and I had a great time hitting the bars on Friday night. We got really drunk, and we all passed out at their new apartment. In the morning, I stopped at a place called The Bagely Smashery for something to eat on my way to the PATH. I got a bagel and an iced coffee. And who served me my bagel and iced coffee on this beautiful, Saturday morning? A short brunette lady with long fingernails, short shorts, and her perfectly tanned breasts popping out of her shirt.

Only in Jersey.

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b at 3:36 PM

TRANSCRIPT FROM OJ SIMPSON'S "JUICED"

In case you haven't heard, O.J. Simpson is planning to produce his own Punk'd-style prank show. Luckily, the folks here at My Blog Is Poop were able to come across a transcript from the very first episode.

"JUICED" - PILOT
Setup:
O.J. and his wacky group of sidekicks "punk" er, "juice" Newleyweds Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson. After picking them up from the airport, the cast of JUICED will make Nick and Jessica think that their driver hit a pedestrian, because Punk'd hasn't played that scenario out yet by doing it over and over and over again. Hilarity ensues. PJ will be playing "the driver." Sarah will be "the pedestrian" and OJ will be playing the part of Sarah's boyfriend, who witnessed the "accident."

Scene:
PJ: Good afternoon.
JessicaSimpson: Hello.
NickLachey: How you doin'?
PJ: Can't complain, can't complain. You all buckled up back there?
NL: Yep, all buckled in.
PJ: All right, off we go. (Pause) Hey, I know you two, don't I? Aren't you both actors?
JS: Actually, we're singers.
PJ: No, no... I think you're both actors. Right?
NL: Well, we actually do both. We act and we sing.
PJ: I thought so. I knew you looked familiar. So what movies have I seen you in?
NL: We're on television. We have a show called Newleyweds on M...

(PJ "hits" Sarah)

JS: Oh my gosh, what was that?
PJ: I think I just hit somebody! (winks to camera)
NL: S***, then stop the car!
PJ: I don't think they're hurt. I'm sure we can keep on going.
JS: Stop the car!
PJ: Okay, okay, I'll stop. But I don't know what good it's going to do.

PJ pulls the car over and Nick & Jessica get out. OJ and Sarah approach the car. Sarah is limping.

Sarah: Oh my God, you hit me!
JS: We didn't do it, our driver did.
NL: Yeah, we told him to pull over. He was ready to just leave you there.
Sarah: I can't believe you hit me with your car!
JS: It's not our car. We're just coming back from the airport!
OJ: Oh, coming back from the airport? A likely story. You hit my girlfriend!
NL: Sir, we're sorry. But we didn't do it, our driver did. I'm really sorry about your girlfriend. We'll help out in any way we can. Honestly, we're just as upset as you are.
OJ: Oh, you're just as upset as I am? You think you're just as upset as I am?? You hit my girlfriend!!! I'll show you F****** UPSET!

OJ removes a concealed 6-inch Hunting Knife from belt buckle. Lunges at Nick Lachey.

OJ: I'll show you upset MotherF*****!!! (OJ proceeds to violently stab Nick in chest and stomach area)
JS: (horrified) Nick!
OJ: Oh, you want some of this too, Bitch??? Huh? Do you??? (OJ quickly swings around and slices Jessica's throat open. She falls to the ground a bloody mess.)
NL: Baby... (gasping for air)
OJ: (standing over the two) That'll teach you to hit somebody's girlfriend! (Pause) And it will also teach you... (smiles) that OJ Simpson is one crazy prankster! You got Juiced!!! (winks at Camera) Got you two! Ha!

The camera crew reveal themselves. Everybody is laughing and clapping and patting OJ and Sarah on the back. Jessica is already dead, and Nick is hanging on for dear life. Before he loses consciousness, OJ picks Nick up, puts his arm around him, and poses for a picture. OJ & Sarah laugh and hug as the Camera pulls back. Break for commercial.

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b at 2:53 PM

this is it for today

I'm sorry, but I'm not feeling too creative today... In fact, it's been a rough week. I can't really explain it, there's no reason for it, but I feel like shit. Here at work it's been a really easy week for us, I haven't done stand-up all too much, and as far as I can tell I'm healthy. Maybe my body is just giving up. Maybe it's the fact that I've reached the dreaded age of 24 1/2 and this is how it's going to be for the rest of my life. I'll never feel better than this. Every day will be just a little bit worse than the day before. Every night I'll cry myself to sleep, and every morning I'll dread getting out of bed and facing the day ahead of me. I'll become a hermit, and only communicate with people through IM's and this blog. My cell phone will be shut off, and credit card companies will fruitlessly travel to my apartment and pound away at my door in hopes that I might answer and pay up my mounting credit card debts that I've accumulated through doing all of my shopping on-line. I'll spend my days curled up in the fetal position in my bed, and at night I'll pace around my apartment as I peck away at my first novel. It will be called "A Chef's Diary" but have nothing to do with the culinary arts. Instead it will be a social satire of the socio-economic importance of African American coal miners in a post-Industrial Revolution world. It will take me three and a half years to write, and be 11 pages long.

As the years pass, my friends and family will forget about me, and I will go down as nothing but a footnote in Castrone family history. My tombstone will bear the following:

Here Lies Bob
Things Went Downhill at 24 1/2
He Tasted Like A Burger, I Don't Like Him Anymore

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b at 3:04 PM

cicadas are scary

Keeping up with the Maryland-themed posts as of late, I realized that I had to talk about the cicadas. Now, if you're like me- which I really hope you're not because that'd be scary- but if you are, then you could care less about cicadas. "Why should I care about some stupid fucking bug down in Maryland that everybody's making a big deal about when I live in Brooklyn and am extremely good looking?" That's what you'd be thinking.

When the cicadas first reared their ugly little heads a few weeks ago, my friend Andy from D.C. told me I should do a post about it. I refused, stating that the only interesting animal in Maryland is the Snakefish, and I honestly didn't see the big deal about these things. Okay, so you guys have some bugs down there... bfd, right?

Wrong.

Driving down to Baltimore on Saturday, I had forgotten about these things. I was cruising along I-95, right down the NJ Turnpike, over the Delaware Memorial Bridge, through the worthless state of Delaware, and right into Maryland. No sweat. Well, once I got to Maryland I noticed a strange bug fly past my car.

An ugly, big, strange bug. I didn't think much of it, I just kept on my way. Then I saw another one. And another one. And another one. Luckily I'm really smart, so I was able to put 2 and 2 together and realize that these were the famous cicadas. They were everywhere, and they were loud. I had to roll my windows back up, because they were crashing into my car one after the other, splattering on my windshield, guts flying everywhere. Welcome to Maryland!

When I got to Baltimore, I stopped by my friend, Monica's, place. I jumped out of my car and quickly made my way to the front door of her apartment building. She opened the door, and as she leaned in to hug me hello she screamed. I had a huge, scary ass cicada just chillin on my shoulder. What a great way to say hello.

That night, I was brought up to speed on the history of these little monsters. I knew that they only came out for 6 weeks every 17 years, because I remember walking through my backyard and seeing them all over the place when I was 7 years-old. What I didn't know, was why. Basically, what happens is these creatures have 6 weeks to party, mate, then bury the eggs in the ground. There, it takes 17 years for them to grow and then return to the surface. So all these gross fuckers that are harrassing people in Maryland right now are actually 17 years-old. And they only get to live for 6 weeks. It's kind of like their own little Fleet Week. They get to go out, get drunk, bang chicks, and then die.

Once I realized that, I stopped hating them so much. I mean, just think about how annoying you were when you were 17. Stupid, horny, no direction in life. In a way, we all have a little cicada inside each and every one of us...

It's almost kinda sweet in a way. Right?

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b at 2:30 PM

lax

I'm a sports guy. I love sports. I love playing sports, I love watching sports, I love fantasy sports. Baseball has always, and will always be my favorite, however I did go through a huge hockey phase in the mid-90's. I enjoy watching football and basketball and tennis and hell, even golf sometimes. I'd say that I enjoy almost every sport, and the ones I don't enjoy, I can at least appreciate.

Except for Lacrosse.

Here's why.

Take a sport like hockey. Okay, now when you watch hockey, goals are exciting. Goals make you jump out of your seat and high five the people sitting around you, because they're scarce. In an average game, what, maybe you'll see four or five of them. Total. Hell, sometimes you don't see any. So in hockey, when a single goal is scored, it could make or break the game.

Now lets move on to basketball. In basketball, when someone hits a shot... well, they're supposed to. Sure there are "big shots," but during the course of a typical game, you see dozens and dozens and dozens of shots being made. The big ones make you jump out of your seat, but the rest of them... well, they're supposed to make them. Right? Right.

So that brings us to Lacrosse, or LAX. First of all, it took me about 8 years to figure out the meaning of the "LAX" abbreviation (The x represents a cross, get it?). But more importantly, in Lacrosse, when someone scores a goal, I don't know what to do.

It's awkward. Lacrosse games end in scores like 18-14, or 25-20. So it's not like hockey where every goal is life or death, and it's not like basketball where they're expected to make these shots. It falls right in between. And that's why Lacrosse is the Taint of Sports.

If Basketball is the Balls, and Hockey is the Ass... well, then Lacrosse falls right in between with the Taint.

And I don't do taint. Sorry.

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b at 4:50 PM