Hooray for Hollywood

Quick thoughts from last night's hollywood circle jer.. I mean Academy Awards®:


• In the spirit of playing only weird looking characters in her most recent films, Charlize Theron came to the Oscars® in a dress made for a muppet

















• From now on, lets’s call the annual “In Memoriam” piece what it really is: “People who you forgot or didn’t know were dead”














• If Robert Altman really has the heart of a thirty year old woman (as he stated in his acceptance speech – I’m not making that up) then Lauren Bacall has the lungs of an asthmatic french street hustler.





• FYI: To anyone who plans on using “It’s hard out here for a pimp” in any attempt at humor this next week: it’s over. We’ve already killed it.















• Itzhak Perlman is super cute






• If the gay film can’t even win in Hollywood, what hope do they have in the rest of the country…























• No, Jack Nickholson didn’t open the envelope. He doesn’t have to. He’s Jack Nickholson












• Joan Rivers is still as relevant and with it as she ever was

The Resurrection: Johnny Damon, "The View," and other Tangible Signs of Evil

Every so often, I make ridiculous statements. Anyone who knows me will tell you as much. On November 19, 2004, I claimed that the NBA product was now so poor, that a 22-year-old friend of mine with no college basketball experience could play in the league.* Not one month before this, after the Red Sox were down 3-0 to the Yankees, I claimed the Sox would never win the World Series for as long as they played in Fenway Park.* And in February of 2004, I proclaimed that I’d jump off the balcony of my apartment onto our snow-covered lawn in nothing but shorts.*

So why am I telling you things you either (a) don’t care about or (b) don’t want to know (particularly if you’re my mom and you’re reading item number three listed above)? Because in my last posting, I made a ridiculous proclamation, saying I would have a new entry for each of the last 10 days the Red Sox and Yankees were, at the time, fighting out the American League Eastern Division title (At this point, you may be tempted to click the link to the left to check out that entry. If this is the case, please be warned, it sucks. For something more entertaining, read the one about my lease). Of course, this didn’t happen. Which, if you know me, isn’t really that surprising. I didn’t write one entry each day, or one entry every other day, or even one entry during the course of the 10 days. In fact, if you are a consistent reader of this site (to which I say two things – 1. Thanks. 2. Sorry you’re so bored) you know that I actually have not posted ANYTHING since September, marking the longest drought since both the inception of this site, and the old online journal this site was born from. The latter is at least somewhat surprising, seeing as how I broke even my own record on this one.

Rather than make up some paltry excuse at this point (which, believe me, I am perfectly capable of doing – it’s how I got through high school) I thought I’d make it more interactive. The following is a list of “possible excuses” I’ve come up with that could have (but probably weren’t) the reason for the absence of any new material over the past four months. Please review them, tell me which is your favorite, and if I get more than 10 responses (hell, if I get more than one response, let’s be realistic here) I’ll post the favorite in my next entry (whenever that may be… Four months from now, Six months from now, who knows!)* And now, I present to you those possible excuses, in no particular order:

• A bear ate my hands while I was chopping wood in southern Maine.
• I temporarily forgot how to type for four months, due to a strange voodoo curse involving Judge Rheinhold and a midget named Hugo.
• I was excommunicated from New York after insisting the Giants had no hope to do anything in the postseason.*
• Underwent long, painful recovery after suffering second degree burns during an attempt to burn my “what would Johnny Damon do?” t-shirt.*
• Attempted to help the victims of hurricane Katrina but upon arrival in the region, was attacked by a pack of sex-crazed ka-nines and was forced into submission.
• Became addicted to Madden 2006.
• Became addicted to Crack.
• Became addicted to The View.*

In any event, I’m back now, and will make yet another attempt at resurrecting this. Into what, I don’t know, but I’d hope it’s be something that updates a little more frequently than every four months. Only time will tell. Stay tuned…

Until Next Time,

Aaron

FOOTNOTES FOR THE UNINFORMED:
- This happened to be while watching the infamous Pacer/Pistons game, but was said BEFORE the fight
- Sox beat yanks and won world series
- I did jump
- Off-shore gambling sites are now taking bets on this. I think the smart money is on 4-6 weeks
- I was right
- Ironically, this is what I thought Johnny Damon would do.
- I assume becoming addicted to either crack or The View results in pretty much the same thing; huddling in a corner, rocking back and forth, shouting obscenities and talking to oneself.

Photos appear courtesy of Hilary Siegel and ABC.com

Wake Me Up, When September Ends...

Remember that scene in "Fight Club," where Tyler (Brad Pitt) pours lye on Jack's (Ed Norton's) hand, holding it while it burnt, and all the while, with Jack flinching, convulsing and writhing, Tyler preaches, "Stay with the pain..."? That's how I feel while following the Red Sox right now.

I figured we were past this. Winning the World Series last year was supposed to be that huge cleansing event that relinquished us from continued pain and misery. Vindicated! After 86 years of heartbreak and let down, with one great moment, it could all be flushed out. And it was. It was the single greatest day of my life the day the Red Sox won the World Series. But time doesn't stop. Here we are, back in the midst of the possibility of another September collapse. And though it's not the same as it was before, as the weight of years past doesn't seem to be placed squarely on our collective shoulders, simply put, it's still a kick to the nuts.

I for one am more optimistic, and think the Sox will put it out, aided by the seven home games that remain on the schedule vs. the mere three away from the Fens. BUT, this is not about what I think the Sox WILL do. This is about what I am GOING TO DO. For the next 10 days, I will (attempt to) chronicle the events, and my subsequent thoughts and feelings that go along with them, as the Red Sox attempt to do something they have never done before: Beat out the Yankees head-to-head for the AL East title... And you know that is what it's coming down to.

One game, 1 measly little game, separates these two, with only 10 games left to play, the LAST THREE being against each other in Boston. We know that's what will decide it. It always does. A seven game ALCS in 2003, followed by an improbable 7 game ALCS AGAIN last year. It always goes down to the final game when it's the Sox and Yanks. THAT is why it's so excrutiating! But that's also why it's so fun.

Since the start of the 2002 season, the Red Sox have played the Yankees 87 times. The Red Sox have won 43 of those, the Yankees, 44. One game. ONE GAME. ONE F*$%ING GAME. It's ALWAYS 1 GAME. You would think, with a full certainty that it will inevitably be decided on that final day, game # 162 at Fenway, that I'd be able to get through these prior nine leading up to it without incident. But no. Instead, that one game mentality manifests itself into every game... Most of which I can't even see (thanks a lot Time Warner Cable, NY).

So with every day, and every game, I pledge to you, fair (probably bored) reader, that I will have a new post, filled with the joy of victory, or the agony of defeat... as well as possibly one or more of the following:

crying
whining
anger
happiness
chaos
mutiny ($$ extra)
bloodshed
sex
drugs
rock (and/or roll)
bitch slapping

*editor's note: most, if not all, of the previous items will not actually be present in the following entries... with the exception of bitch slapping*

And with that, I bid you adieu. BUT, I leave you with the following, once again from "Fight Club."

TYLER:
This is your pain. This is your burning hand. It's right here! Look at it."

Go Sox.

Hasta La Proxima,

Aaron

Actual Language Contained in my Lease

In case you were wondering (and I'm sure you were because, let's face it, why else would you be here), I recently had the pleasure of both reading and signing my lease. Let's stop here so I can answer your questions. Yes, I have been living in the apartment in Queens since April. No, I did not sign a lease when I moved in. Yes, there was an existing lease. No, it ran out at the end of March. I don't know, I guess we were squatting. Yes, I did pay rent. No, I have no idea who that money actually went to. No, I was not homeless at any point, but, Yes, I did pee in a cup for a while.

In any event, the lease has officially been signed, and I can only assume been sent in by my roommate. And if it hasn't, well, clearly living in this place with no lease does not seem to bother the landlord.

Before I signed the lease, I read through it very carefully (because you should always read the fine print. Otherwise you might end up dancing on a stage in Lebanon with goat, but that's a whole other story). Thankfully, there was nothing particularly disturbing or goat-related in it which would have discouraged me from signing said document. However, there was one section that caused me to pause and think for a moment. As luck with have it, I just so happen to have a copy of the lease with me. So join me now in reviewing the following segment, ACTUAL LANGUAGE CONTAINED IN MY LEASE:

RIDER

27. RULES
(6) Dogs, cats or other animals or pets are not allowed in the Apartment or Building, with the exception of a small Pomeranian to be brought in upon moving in. In the event that this specific Pomeranian is removed permanently from the residence or passes on, no other pet will be permitted to replace it. In addition, this is the only pet that will be permitted, no other pets or substitute pets will be permitted at all.



First things first. If you are like me, and were not certain exactly what a Pomeranian was, please explore the following website: http://www.akc.org/breeds/Pomeranian/index.cfm. It is very comprehensive and should be able to answer all of your questions.

I'm new to New York, so I'm not quite sure what the standard New York lease tends to consist of. This being my first experience of renting an apartment here, I can only assume that it is standard issue for all apartments here to have a clause permitting a small Pomeranian. And assuming that is the case, I think is delightful, and should somehow be incorporated into all apartment leases everywhere. I think if we all had small Pomeranians in our apartments, the world would be a happier, be it smellier, place.

As always, if you have any questions or comments about Pomeranians, NY apartment leases, or Lebanese goats, you can email me at niceprice5@yahoo.com, or simply post a comment on this site. Who knows, I might even post it with a response! And then you'll be like, "oh shit, Aaron responded to my comment on his website! That is awesome! He must really like me! I wonder if I should ask him out for a drink later this week? I mean he's not hot, but he's kinda cute in like a Zach Braff, unassuming way*." And then maybe I'll be like "sure, I'll get a drink," 'cause like maybe you're not hot, but you're cute in like an Anna Paquin sorta way. Or I could say something like, "thanks, but I have a lot of work this week and I can't. Maybe another time," 'cause I might just have a lot of work that week. Or maybe I'm just not into you. Or then again, I could say something like, "thanks, that's really nice of you, but I'm just not into dudes." 'Cause I'm just not into dudes, sorry.

But who knows, try it and see.

Until Next Time,

Aaron

FOOTNOTES FOR THE UNINFORMED (that's right, they're back)

- The proprietors of this site do not actually advocate the purchase by any Pomeranian by anyone, nor do they have any affiliation with any Pomeranian related programs or the American Kennel Club.

- Urination of any kind into a cup has not occurred at any time while in the apartment.

- Zach Braff is the writer/director/star of the critically acclaimed 2004 film, "Garden State," and currently stars on NBC's hit comedy, "Scrubs." Check your local listings for availability in your area.

- Anna Paquin, star of stage and screen, has appeared in such box office hits as "The Piano," "25th Hour," as well as both "X-men" and "X-2", and, the of course the most widely regarded, 1999's most celebrated triumph, "She's All That."

- No goats were harmed in the making of this post.

*This line contains material inspired by Adi Helfer.

An Open Letter to Destiny’s Child

Dear Destiny’s Child,

Please stop jerking me around. You claim to no longer be together, yet just tonight I saw you performing on the ESPY’s. I can’t take this constant on again, off again relationship. Sometimes you’re putting out chart topping, timeless hits like “Bills Bills Bills” and “Survivor”, but then other times you’re bickering worse than Paris and Nicole. So before I invest any more in this relationship than I already have (time, money, concert tickets, not to mention hours upon hours of dancing around to “Independent Woman” in my pj's), I need to know where this is going. After all this time together, I think you owe me that much.

Sincerely,

Aaron

PS - bug-a-boo.

The (Not So) Real World…

I’m not such a big fan of so-called “reality television.” The main reasons for this are threefold:

1. Most people on reality television are ugly.
a. The innate brilliance of TV is that we can filter out the unattractive that we are forced to confront in our everyday lives, instead viewing a higher standard of beauty than we otherwise are unable to attain… Reality TV corrupts this outlet for escapism and beauty by slamming me with more ugly, instead of constraining it to its proper TV conduits, such as CBS News.

2. Most people on reality television are dumb.
a. Dictionary.com defines dumb as the following: adj 1: slow to learn or understand; lacking intellectual acuity; Conspicuously unintelligent; stupid.
i. In other words, anyone who appears on reality TV.

3. Most reality shows today reward the contestants for a profession they would otherwise not be able to achieve…
a. …There is a reason for this. See #2…

That being said, I love “The Real World.”

For the latest installment of the series, “Real World MCMXLXVI,” MTV has chosen such an international city, it’s hard to believe they never thought of it before. That’s right: Austin, Texas. Home of… Well, you get the idea.

But enough with the smarmy. In reality (get it? Reality… Reality TV?? Ok, sorry, I’ll stop) MTV could not have picked a better place to host Fantasy Island.

And that’s what this show has become. Somewhere along the way, maybe it was in between the amazing Hawaiian pad, or the pimped out Louisiana Mansion (who can say for sure), this show stopped being “The Real World” and started being Fantasy Land. Which got me thinking…

“This is the true story of Seven Strangers, picked to live in a house, work together and have their lives taped to find out what happens when people stop being polite and start getting real.”

There are several problems with this slug line, so I went ahead and revamped it. After careful consideration, this is what I came up with:

“This is the formulaic edited footage of four to six very attractive kids, along with one to three less attractive kids, selected from a vat of thousands of submission tapes and interviews who were lucky enough to be given the opportunity to live in an out-of-this-world house (only with no bedroom doors), rent free for five months, be given jobs that they can then complain about together while having it all recorded for a television audience who they will inevitably play up to the camera for by getting in seemingly arbitrary fights and engaging in multiple hook-ups and possible orgies… to see what happens when people start being polite and start being real (hot).”

Yes, granted, it’s not quite as snappy, but certainly way more descriptive and meaningful, and most importantly, accurate. And from what could be taken from the first episode, it looks like this cast will definitely provide tons of that.

For starters, this cast of seven includes one of the hottest girls ever to grace the cameras of “The Real World,” who also, as luck would have it (I’m sure MTV had no idea) is a self-proclaimed nymph, who enjoys prancing around the house in her underwear (what are the chances?!?)

In addition to hot-nymph, there is hot-in-a-mysterious-way-foreign-girl (a character that has been marginalized by the show in recent years, and I for one and happy to see back). She provides a nice, more seemingly attainable to the masses (though actually not) hotness to the show, while also adding the girl-who-will-get-in-inane-fights-when-drunk component. She’s truly dynamic in this way.

If that wasn’t enough, there’s also sane-black-dude-whose-patients-will-constantly-be-tried-by-his-crazy-mostly-white-roomates. It took all of one episode for this to occur. He was asked by hot-mysterious-foreign-girl to watch our for her when she drinks, which he did, then got physically attacked by her alto ego, girl-who-will-get-in-fights-when-drunk, at which point he tried to diffuse the situation by leaving the bar, which resulted in two of his smashed roommates making a vain attempt to find him, only to get in a fight with about 10 locals outside the bar, which concluded in them blaming him for the beating they received (this also gave us one of the top 10 all time greatest faces in real world history, where you could almost read sane-black-guy’s thoughts: I can’t even believe they are blaming this on me. Maybe I’m misunderstanding… Nope, they’re really blaming it on me. And I can’t get mad at them, because if I do, I’ll be perpetuated as a counter-productive stereotype. Damn.)

But girls, don’t fret. You also have eye-candy, in the Abercrombie-model-frat-boy-with-the-heart-of-gold-construction-worker-whose-as-easy-on-the-eyes-as-he-is-on-your-heart. (And he’s from Boston! The accent melted my heart…)

Most of this drama between characters, meanwhile, will take place in the most ridiculously amazing house the show has ever been set it (which is saying a lot). I’m not going to go into details. Let’s just say there is 25 foot illuminated cowboy that welcomes them into the home; and a hot tub, AND a pool, and I think I saw a vomitorium…

At this point, you might be asking, “Aaron, why is it you love this show then?” To which I say, wow, you’re still reading this? I stopped writing it after paragraph two and let my helper monkey type the rest… Luckily, I’ve instructed Mr. Chips to tell you why I love “The Real World.”

It may seem from the above statements that I would have to love the show in spite of the previous notes. But in fact, it’s the opposite. (And besides, we all know you can’t love something in spite of something. You can only love things for what they are! Jeez, did we not learn ANYTHING from “The Wedding Singer”???) I love it BECAUSE of all those things. I love that it’s theater. I love that it’s staged. I love that drama is played up to ridiculous levels. I love that the cast inevitably becomes the same character set that we see every season on the show. They’re not there to get a job. They’re not for some contest. They’re not there to learn how to be something. They are there for one sole purpose: to entertain us. And THAT, truly, is keeping it real… (hot).

Everybody's Working for the Weekend

Well kids, we've made it through another work week… Unless you're reading this late, like, say on Monday or Tuesday, or you're a college student who's home for the summer eating potato chips in your underwear while lying on the coach in your parents house. To the former, a big sorry, you're fucked, and to the later, a big fuck you.

But enough gratuitous profanity. For this entry, we review my week that was:

CELEBRITY CITING OF THE WEEK: Eric Nies

This doesn't really count as a full-fledged celebrity citing, as Nies is not a real celebrity, but rather a pseudo d-list celebrity manufactured by MTV (but Pseudo-d-list-manufactured-celebrity citing of the week is too long a title). In any event, I did happen to see Eric at the Whole Foods in Union Square this past week. He was wearing a bandana and sweatshirt, but was missing his trademark jump-rope. So, I went over to Eric and said, “Dude, where's your jump-rope?” To which Eric replied, “That's not funny, man. I don't know. I think Coral stole it.” To which I then said, “well what if I told you I had it right here?”
At which point I reached into my pants and pulled a jump-rope out of my boxers. Apparently, Eric was not as amused by this as I would have thought, and proceeded to strangle me with the jump-rope for the next 10 minutes, until I finally got him to stop when I offered to try and help him jumpstart his “recording career.” (*Editor's note - some of the above stated events my in fact be exaggerated and/or falsified. By some, we mean everything after the word “bandana.”)

MUSIC NEWS:

I was reading the Daily Californian Online, as I do everyday (because, come on, what Boston-transplant-who-lives-in-New York doesn't?) when I came across an interesting article on a recent Bruce Springsteen concert from last week in Oakland:

When Bruce Springsteen descended on the Oakland
Paramount Theatre last Thursday, to the howls and
cheers of his apostles, he issued his first
commandment of the night: “Turn the cell phones off,
'cause I don't want to charge through the crowd with a
chainsaw; and try not to clap, or you'll throw off my
already tenuous sense of time.” With that, Springsteen
began a night of incredible intimacy with the fans who
have come to see him as the Messiah of a reborn rock.

And what a night of intimacy it must have been. I mean, what's more intimate than The Boss cutting off your hands with a chain saw while you try to shut off your cell phone that accidentally was set on “clap” instead of “silent.” (Clap feature only availably on Nokia 7503.5 version phones; offer not good in Alaska or Hawaii; no purchase necessary; void where prohibited; Nokia employees not allowed to participate; product may not actually exist.)

OBSCURE DISCOVERED LAW OF THE WEEK:

The City of Boston apparently has a law on the books from 1675 that requires the arrest of Native Americans who enter the city. Though the law is technically still is on the books, it has not been enforced for some time, much like Boston's law that Priests can't have sex with little boys… wait…. Hmmmm…

HAIKU OF THE WEEK:

Double H Parkway
Retaining wall collapses
Tom Delay blames Gays

DOS AND DON'TS FOR GRADUATING SENIORS:

o Do run naked.
o Don't run naked until you actually have your diploma in hand. Some schools frown upon this.
o Do bring a lighter to graduation.
o Don't light your diploma on fire. They won't give you another one.
o Do shake hands with the Chancellor.
o Don't urinate on the Chancellor… at least not until after you have received your diploma.
o Do wave your cap in the air.
o Don't wave your penis. No one wants to see this. Not even the girls, or gay dudes.
o Do decorate your cap and gown.
o Don't decorate your cap and gown with asbestos.
o Do celebrate with alcohol.
o Don't celebrate with Milwaukee's Best Light (unless you're at UMass, then do what you gotta do).

CONGRATS GRADS!

Until next time,

- Aaron