Welcome to the Clusterf*ck

My Little Man

2011-11-04T12:00:00.000-07:00

If anyone ever needed proof that being an uncle can be one of the great joys of a man's life, they need only read the following conversation.

It took place over text messages between me and my 8 year-old nephew Jack, who had swiped his mother(my sister, Jennifer)'s cell phone out of her purse while they were watching my niece's basketball practice....

Hello this is captain Jack I am at Haleys basketball practice

Um, Jen? You can just let him call me, you know.

......(blank text)

NO! Uncle

Wait, this really IS my Jack? Hi Buddy! How are you? Did you buy a phone?

No Im a kid! Yes it is me guess who I get to be in our program?

Your program for school? I'm excited - who do you get to be?

Abroham Lincon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*yes, I counted out the exclamation points.

Abraham Lincoln?!! Are you going to grow a big beard?

......(blank text)

NO! Uncle. Mrs. Polsel has a costume for me but it is a bit stinky

You're stinky! Ok, that's good - you're too young for a beard. And they're itchy.

Your itchy

*(yes, my nephew is that cool)

Haha, yes I am. When is your program?

Mommy says Novumber 10 and that she needs her phone back

Well you tell her I'm not done talking to you yet!

I told her and she made a face

Yeah, I know that face. Well, I won't be home in time to go to your program, but make sure Mommy and Daddy take a lot of pictures for me?

Ok.Iwill make sure they do it.Now I have to go take a bath. By.

Bye Buddy, Love You!

Being an uncle has completely changed the concept of 'pride' for me. I used to care about people finding it in me. Instead, I am filled to the brim with it, every moment I spend with my Little Man.

Especially when I saw his Halloween costume.

He will be admired throughout his life, of that I have no doubt.

Anniversary

2011-11-01T09:00:00.000-07:00

One year ago today, I made great decision. A mature, responsible decision that could only improve my life in almost every way.

I smoked my last cigarette.

I previously posted about my quitting, and the troubles I had with it HERE. I quit cold-turkey, and have not had a single puff since Halloween night, 2010. It has been difficult, but I have a great support system, and I love the way that I feel.

Having said that, maturity and responsibility are somewhat of a rarity in my life. So yes, by posting this, I am totally fishing for compliments.

You may begin.

**Blogger's Note - To my lovely V, thank you for being so proud of me. You keep me strong.

iScared

2011-10-10T09:00:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I know. I should be drawn and quartered for that title. But Steve Jobs' passing last week really brought a sad truth to light.

The future of this country rests on the shoulders of morons.

Don't get me wrong - I think Steve was a rather incredible individual. Of course, I don't know anything about his personal life. For all I know he could have been a lousy husband. Or a closet racist. Or a Yankees fan. But I do know that he was a 'doer', the kind of cat who would get an idea in his head, and simply make it happen. For that, I both envied and admired him. And I was genuinely saddened at the news that he had passed.

Having said that, the legacy he left behind will, unfortunately and inevitably, be maimed by the very souls he bequeathed it to. Because for every clear-eyed, industrious individual who uses technological wonders such as the iPhone or iPad to make their own dreams a reality - 100,000 dumbshit slobs will use the same devices to detach themselves further and further from the reality of everyday life.

When I got home from work last Wednesday and turned on the news, I was treated to an image of a pretty, 20-something young woman. Standing in front of a building, crying. She knelt down, wiping the tears from her face, and gently laid her old iPhone down upon makeshift shrine that had been constructed on the steps of the Apple Store.

Take a minute - I'll wait - and ponder the utter goddamn ridiculousness of that last sentence.

It's enough to make my head hurt. Really? That's how we are going to honor the man? Old iPods and apples, huh? And what is that? Is that a fucking Smart Water???

That same girl was later interviewed. Through tears, she told the reporter that it "...is just so sad. Mr. Jobs, he just made everyone's lives easier. I mean, I couldn't live without my phone. Wouldn't want to."

I'll tell ya what I wanted to do. I wanted to grab her and shake her. Hard.

I would bet real money that girl, before Wednesday, couldn't have told you who the co-founder and former CEO of Apple was or be able to pick him out of a line up. I would also bet that if tomorrow, the chick who plays the lead in Grey's Anatomy got hit by a bus (fingers crossed!), those same eyes would be even more red and puffy from all the weeping.

I realize that I am a bit cynical. But I hope to hell I'm wrong about all this. I hope that girl is actually an artist, or an inventor, or getting her education degree. And if asked that annoying question, "If you could have lunch with anyone in the world, who would it be?" I sincerely hope that her answer would be, "Either my Grandpa who died years ago or Steve Jobs."

But I'll tell ya what - I wouldn't count on it. Thanks Steve, for spending your life making shit. I want to follow your example. From now on, I will try and stop lamenting that I have all these great ideas, but never the time or money to see them through.

Instead, I will try my best to just DO. And I'll do it without shedding a tear.

Best. Post. Ever.

2011-09-21T08:12:00.000-07:00

So I am off to Chicago tomorrow to see my Lady. Really excited about it, as I only see her once a month.

But while engaging her this past week in a little bit of blogger back-and-forth (HERE), I was informed that the chances of me getting laid this weekend would increase exponentially if I were to post before the weekend.

So I just wanted to say.......Howdy. See ya next week.

Reason # 472 That Life Was Better When I Was A Kid

2011-09-05T17:24:00.000-07:00

25 Years Ago at the Box Office:

Stand By Me was the number one movie. And River Phoenix was still alive.
Top Gun was #2. In its 17th week in release.
The Fly was #3. Geena Davis was still the largest woman in Hollywood.
Karate Kid 2 was #4. Peter Cetera was a man...who would fight....for your honor....
Oh, and at #5? Just a little flick called Aliens. "GET AWAY FROM HER YOU BITCH"

This past weekend, Shark Night 3D, Spy Kids 4, and The Smurfs were all in the Top Ten.

I fucking hate the present.

She Likes Her Tundra Frozen

2011-08-26T10:00:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed that I am not what you would call a pious man. I'm not gonna lie, I left the Catholic church in which I was raised a long time ago. And hell, I got out right before all that pervy priest man-boy-love that seemed to burst out in the late '90's. Go me.

But that doesn't mean that I no longer have faith. I do. And it doesn't mean that I don't pray anymore - I do that as well, matter of fact. I am a penitent man - to a deity who sees and knows all. He is good and just. And he performs miracles every Sunday - through the power of his enormous forehead.....

Must be fuckin' football season...

This is my religion. This is my belief-system. Don't you look down on my faith! You pray to someone you've never seen or heard (other than in your head). I pray to a man whose hand I've actually shook, and who sounds like....well, like a reject from Hee Haw. But the brother can sling a spiral.

Last year, I got the season off to a bad start. In fact, I may have brought a big old heaping pile of karma down on my team. I should be ashamed of myself.

So how could I right the ship this year? How does one bring balance to The Force that is the 2011 NFL regular season?

I'll tell ya how - you take it back to the source. If you are going to practice your particular brand of pigskin theology, why not do it in the most respected church there is?

As it just so happens, my Girl is a shareholder.

Now, keep in mind, I am a Colts/Giants fan. I am not a Packer fan. But when you are in another man's house, you need to show some respect. As soon as you get within ten blocks of the building above - you are reminded of college. When you walked to the stadium, half-in-the-bag. You joined complete strangers in singing fight songs and waving flags with pride. It didn't matter what a person looked like or where they came from - as long as they were flashing your colors, they were family. You get that feeling long before you even step foot in Vince's House, and you still feel it when you walk out.

So I have now been baptized. My football sins have been forgiven, and to answer Hank William, Jr's question - you bet your ass I'm ready for some football!

It doesn't hurt that she looks awesome in green and gold.

Have a good season. Fuck the Patriots.

To the Death....

2011-08-15T12:34:00.000-07:00

This post will make no sense without hearing the other side of the argument. Read this breakdown of the actual event first, then come back. Go ahead, I'll wait....

Got it? Good.

I know, I know - you don't have to say it. She's bat-shit crazy. I mean, yeah yeah, she's fiery hot. And she is typically rather open-minded and smart. Not to mention she has a great rack.

But in this particular matter, well....she's off her damn rocker. Even though the game took place over a week ago, the controversy continues to this day - neither party willing to back down. It's like the Hatfield's and the McCoy's. Coke and Pepsi. Tom Brady and Heterosexuality. An eternal battle between two powerful forces who will never give up the desire to vanquish one another.

It's very simple - you remember those standardized tests we took back in grade school? They had these True/False logic questions that kind of insulted your intelligence, even when you were 10? Well, they would go like this:

Bob is older than Sue. Sue is older than Mark. Therefore, Bob is older than Mark. True or False?

The answer is: True, obviously.

So, let's apply this logic to our scenario (V seems to have an unnatural obsession with pot-stickers, so we'll stick with that motif):

Pot-stickers are appetizers. Pot-Stickers are menu items. Therefore, appetizers are menu items.

True or False?

The answer is: V is a sore loser.

**Blogger's Note: The bigger issue here is that V, the defeated party in said game of Scattergories (yes, even if you take away the point for 'appetizer', I still won) absolutely welched on the payment of the bet.

Yes, even on our dates there are stakes, resulting in opportunities for embarrassment and emasculation. The loser of the game was to sing, "I'm A Little Teapot" on Skype for the other to view. And point. And laugh at.

Not only did she have the gall to claim she didn't know the lyrics (as if any such person exists, or at least doesn't have access to Google), she then had the audacity to REFUSE to do the teapot dance along with the song.

I know exactly what you're thinking, Dear Reader. And you're right, she is just like Hitler.

Mi Casa es....Whose Casa?

2011-08-02T12:00:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot lately about the meaning of the word, "Home." Simple word - one syllable, four letters. It has been the subject of poems, songs - I heard they even flip 'em on tv.

"Home is where the heart is." - Pliny the Elder

Well, my heart is with my family - always. So does that mean my 'home' is the house I grew up in? Back in Everytown, Indiana - my parent's house, where they still kick it in their retirement to this day?

That house is infested with memories. I swear Mellencamp's Pink Houses plays in my head every time I walk in the door. I can return after any length away, and immediately feel at peace. Smell my dad's cooking. Watch movies with my mom. Play croquet with my niece and nephews in the back yard. Perfection.

There is only one problem - it exists in the middle of Everytown, Indiana. One side of town smells like the paper mill (which itself smells like a dirty asshole). The hottest nightspot is the smoking section at the local Applebee's. And worst of all, the entire town is chock-a-block full of everyone who's ever been photographed on People of Wal-Mart.

I spent 24 years trying to get out of that particular 'burg. And I did, ten years ago, to sunny California. And I settled in another little (but altogether different) town.

"Where thou art - that - is Home." - Emily Dickinson.

Gee, thanks Emily! That really clears shit up.

I love the City of Dana Point. It's beautiful, it's mellow, and it moves at my pace. In truth, I don't know that I ever want to leave - because it is the kind of town I always saw myself retiring in. Buying a boat. Reading a paper while having brunch on the patio at Hennesey's. Come the afternoon, shuffling down to Turk's, where the youngest waitress had her first shift when Carter was in office - and where they pour the drinks strong enough to make you feel like an adult.

But the problem with Dana Point? The 589 square feet that make up my apartment. The one that I pay $1200 a month for. It's nice, don't get me wrong. But it is by no means a home. California is beautiful. It has mountains, valleys, beaches and forests. It also has a fucking outrageous average property value. I can't afford a house out here - which in turn, makes it feel less and less like a home.

So is it the city you live in? Is it the building you reside in? Maybe it's being closer to those who mean the most to you. Honestly? I don't know. Woodie Gutherie once sang, "I ain't got no home in this world anymore."

I'm feeling ya, Woodie. It may be time for me to start looking again.

HIDDEN GEMS II

2011-07-29T12:00:00.000-07:00

Remember these???

SMOKE (1995)

Starring: Harvey Keitel, William Hurt, and Harold Perrineau, Jr. (Michael from LOST!)

Directed By: Wayne Wang

Running Time: 112 minutes

Why?: Two Reasons

1.) It is made up of so many honest, personal moments. Harvey Keitel's Auggie explaining how he takes black & white pictures of 'his' little street corner in Brooklyn, every day. Forrest Whitaker explaining why God took his arm away for being a bad man. Cigar store patrons debating the finer points of why baseball was better back in the day, or the experience of smoking their first cigarette. Sound boring? WATCH IT.

2.) The movie centers around a cigar shop and it's patrons. And every one of them smokes in a different way. Love that little detail. And it's a love poem to Brooklyn. And the soundtrack rocks (Jerry Garcia Band, baby)

Check the trailer:

Top 5 Signs You're a Big, Fat Bachelor Cliche

2011-07-27T12:00:00.000-07:00

1.) Fridge - Meat on the right, bread on the left. Booze and mixer in the middle. There may be some cheese in there...

2.) Grill - by far the most utilized 'appliance' in the place.

3.) A perfectly made bed.

4.) Bathroom - toilet seat up, toilet paper roll on counter, just above the empty TP holder.

5.) Last movie watched in the Blue Ray player...

Fuck. Ok, maybe not your typical bachelor.....

Moving Too Fast

2011-07-25T12:00:00.000-07:00

Ferris Bueller said it best...HERE.

Two things happened since my last post that - had they happened 4 years ago - would have sent me right over the fuckin' edge.

Wait, I should take you all back a bit....

...back to when I turned 30. I, of course, handled this momentous occasion with all the dignity and maturity that those who know me personally have come to expect - meaning I locked myself in my room for a full week with several bottles of Jack Daniels and a collection of classic films and half-heartedly attempted to drink myself to death.

Not like a suicide attempt - that's cowardly. More like an experiment to see whether it was possible to call out Nicolas Cage's character in Leaving Las Vegas, and make him look like a pussy. Minus, of course, the shopping cart and the exceptionally hot hooker. Although now that I think about it - that would be a far better way to spend a birthday....

It was probably the most selfish and stupid week of my entire life, despite all of the great flicks. Cause there is no doubt in my mind - my 30's have been the best decade of my life. And I'm not even halfway through yet. Imagine the possibilities.

Last week, I turned 34. My girlfriend came and co-habitated with me for a week. My two best friends (and neighbors) moved away, leaving this Man Child to fend for himself like an adult.

And you know what? My woman staying with me? It fucking ROCKED! The only hitch was that my apartment is so small that there really isn't any place for her to go when I have to use the restroom violently.

And my best friends? I couldn't be more proud to be on hand to send them off into their newly married life; because they are soul mates who could do this whole marriage, family, and responsibility thing fucking blind-folded.

So what about me (he asked selfishly)? Well, back in the day, and after I turned 30, My Melancholy Self wrote the following line, "... it is on these occasions that my mind, my body, and my spirit feel aged. And I wonder if my best, most creative, most attractive, and most exhilarating days are no longer on the horizon in front of me, but rather in the rear-view mirror, growing smaller and smaller until they slip out of my view and drift from my memory."

Nope. I was wrong! As my hero Alfredo James Pacino once said, "I'm just gettin' warmed up....."

As Good As It Gets

2011-06-15T23:44:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the black out, people. I was on vacation.

You see, my mother likes to save up for two years, and then rent out a different house in this little community in Virginia Beach for a week. It's becoming a tradition.

This year? 19 of us, in a house that holds 22. Right on the sand - with two pools, two hottubs, and a tiki bar. My immediate family, my sister's in-laws, some aunts and uncles. Oh yeah - and one incredibly brave girlfriend.

Could've been a recipe for disaster. But honestly, I came away with only one question.

What is bliss?

Is it a pimped out summer house?

A big whiskey on the patio

Endless photo opportunities

Realizing what a polite young lady she's becoming

Or what a little gentleman he's always been

Or that he very well could be President some day...

Maybe bliss means realizing that I am the biggest kid of all?

Or remembering how much I miss thunderstorms

Or what it's like to get up early and take pictures of a sunrise

Or dance the hula while drinking out of a plastic pineapple

Or spend quality time with the two people who made me who I am today

Or cherish the minutes with the one who makes me want to be a better man tomorrow

Shit - that's a lot of ponderous answers to one simple question.

What does it mean to you guys? I would love to hear your thoughts.

My Porcine Prejudice

2011-05-13T20:18:00.000-07:00

I try not to use the word 'hate' too much. Especially about another being. I feel like it can come back to bite you in the end - Karma being that dirty bitch, and all. Besides, unless someone has truly - and intentionally - wronged me, what good does it do to keep that kind of rage in my heart?

But this one guy....dammit, I just can't help myself. I LOATHE him. I see him almost every day. He can send me into a rage, just with a chuckle. Goddamn it, I swear, that little laugh - it makes me want to rip his tongue out of his mouth. I'm not kidding.

But you want to know the worst part? Son of a bitch has never spoken a word to me.

So how can I be so petty? How can a semi-intelligent adult man allow such anger and fury rise in him just at the sight of one individual? Well, take a look.

Motherfucker. I am SO gonna sling a bird up your ass.....

It's Alive! ALIVE!!!!!

2011-04-23T23:58:00.000-07:00

Have you watched the Sci-Fi Channel lately? Or whatever they call it these days - Syfy? That's so stupid - it looks like it should be written in balloon letters...

Oh, looks like they're way ahead of me...

But I'm getting off topic. Despite their total lack of ingenuity when it comes to monikers, the 'Syfy' channel is currently putting out some of the greatest entertainment available to the public.

Check this out:

YES! From the people who brought you Mansquito and.....

...Piranhaconda!

It's genius, pure and simple. I have now discovered my new mission in life - to write the next great Syfy Cheese-Fest. I'm serious, it is taking over my life. I can't sleep. I mean, the possibilities are endless....

PLUS

GIRRAFFACUDA!

NO WAIT!

PLUS

OXTAPUS!!!!

Oh wait....no. These ideas are terrible. I have it - the one movie cheesefest to rule them all. I want it to star Dean Cain and Lisa Loeb (they always throw in some one-hit-wonder 'musician'). They are a pair of freshly divorced anthropologists who are called in to investigate a series of horrible mutilations along the southern coast of Virginia. The guy who played Cousin Larry on Perfect Strangers will be cast as the CEO of a large evil corporation who illegally disposed of toxic sludge off the coast of Virgina Beach. Because of his arrogance, the beach goers will be terrorized by none other than....

......ARACHNIPOTAMUS!!!!

**Artist's Rendering

Leave me alone, I've been drinking and I used a magic marker. This is going to be the next Tremors, you just wait and see....

Why I am....The Luckiest

2011-04-12T22:43:00.000-07:00

I had a bad day today. You know the type - something tiny, yet shitty, happens first thing in the morning (usually during your commute). Then you get to work, and that tiny, shitty little thing apparently called all his buddies, and gave them all your work address, cause they keep showing up all day, making your very presence on this earth feel difficult.

I've said it a million times. Throw a hostage situation, a school bus fire, or even the 2012 Mayan 'end of days' scenario at me, and I'm betting you won't even notice me break a sweat. However: ensure that my favorite flavor of Gatorade isn't in stock at the AM/PM on the way to work?

I just may Lose. My. Shit.

Today was that day - every single little thing that could go wrong, went wrong. The kind of day where you wonder if there is actually someone sitting on a cloud miles above your head, laughing his sick ass off and pulling your strings in every wrong direction.

I needed to leave the office. And I had one thing that was going to make me breathe easier - I was going to buy Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part One I on BluRay on my way home.

Here's the point where you should take the time to snicker all you want - cause I don't care. I am an unabashed HP fan. And when you have been looking forward to something for days, and have the kind of day I had today - it gives you something to barter with. A way of telling yourself that this day will get better, as long as you get what you want in the end.

SOLD OUT EVERYWHERE.

Now, it wasn't the lack of Potter that sent me over the edge. It was just the proverbial straw. And I was angry. So angry that I practically threw a tantrum when I got home. I texted my girlfriend to let her know that I was home, but angry - and proceeded to vent my frustration by going on the longest run that I have been on since my college soccer days. I got back to my apartment, covered in sweat, feeling about 100 years old.

And my girl emailed me, cause she was worried about me. And despite how creepy it may have been for her to make them - she sent me these pictures:

Because she is EPIC. And because she had a pretty good idea that they'd make me laugh.

They did. Out loud. And I feel better now.

That's why I'm The Luckiest.

Top 10 - Shitty Films I Can't Help But Watch Every Goddamn Time They Come on TV

2011-03-24T21:32:00.000-07:00

You know what I'm talking about. Sunday morning. You wake up in your bed, under the covers, still wearing shoes. The only way you can remember what you did last night is by reading the fading bar stamps on the back of your hand, like substance-abused version of the guy from Memento.

Making it to the couch is a monumental effort. You try the Jedi Mind Trick on the remote, but it barely moves. So you smash the 'Power' button and hope for the best. And one of two stations is on. TNT, or TBS. Ted Turner owes me so many hours of my life back, it's not even funny.

10.)

Cause a grown man watching movies about teenage gymnasts is completely normal. But hey, The Dude is in it.

9.)

Johnny 5 is alive! Plus Steve Guttenberg. ADMIT IT, you miss the son of a bitch. And his perm.

8.)

A movie about a goddamn huge crocodile. In Maine. And Betty White tells a guy to suck a dick. Back when such a thought was out-of-the-ordinary.

7.)

Flat out awful. Gene Hackman collecting a paycheck. The football footage from Point Break was better. But it makes me cheer.

6.)

Oh come on. Dalton. Greased up. Rippin' throats. 'Nuff said.

5.)

One of Jon Lithgow's most ridiculous performances. Which is really saying something. Makes you appreciate Stallone's 'subtlety'.

4.)

"Let off some steam, Bennett."

3.)

Nerdy guy hangs out with a department store mannequin who comes to life - and as it turns out, she's a slut. Only a guy could write that shit, right?

Wait let me check IMDb...oh, I stand corrected! It was two guys....

2.)

Are you kidding me? Without a doubt the best movie ever made about a talking monkey who helps a group of corporate-sponsored nitwits find lasers in Africa.

What up, V. Tell your sis I said hi.

Oh! Fun Fact: Take a closer look at the pilot of their plane into the Congo. Look familiar? I'll give ya a hint: he's a "Son of a Son of a Sailor"....

1.) And the winner is......

Where to begin?

Kevin Bacon's hair? Kevin Bacon's accent? Mr. Steven Keaton and Reba McEntire as married, gun-crazy hillbillies? That little Chinese guy from The Golden Child? And, oh yeah....gigantic, blind underground worms who eat white trash.

Make some popcorn, fool - we're stayin' in tonight.

What about you guys?

"They're coming to get you, Barbara!"

2011-03-10T21:35:00.000-08:00

Got my mail today, and inside the box was a my favorite kind of mail - a manila package envelope marked 'Amazon.com'. This week it was my Season One Blu-Ray of The Walking Dead. Yup, I got an instant geek-boner, not gonna lie.

Re-watched the first episode. I will tell you this - if there is ever a zombie-apocalypse, I am investing in two things, and two things only:

1.) An electric car.

2.) A sword.

Why? Think about it. Every goddamn zombie movie has that moment, where the hero's car is almost on 'E'. He pulls slowly up to the deserted gas station - you can always hear the tires coming to a stop on the pavement, cause they need to remind us just how quiet it is. TOO QUIET!

He tests the pump, just to be sure; always with this extreme look of disappointment on his face. Of course there's no gas in the pump, Fucknut. And I got more bad news for ya - chances are, there's a muthafuckin' zombie hanging out in the gas station bathroom. And he's probably one of those gnarly ones whose mouth has deteriorated to the point where he has no lips - just a very large smile and gums. So sad - the SOB attacks you where you're most vulnerable - on the shitter.

Apparently, most zombies, while no longer possessing higher brain functions, seem to retain their more white-trash sensibilities....

So an electric car - while you may not look cool, you will go farther in between fill-ups. For once, the little metrosexual guy driving the Prius is king.

And the broad sword? Think about it. A gun runs out of bullets. A bow and arrow can have an empty quill. Hell, even a sling shot is useless if you don't have a pebble.

But a broadsword? Doesn't run out of shit - and it always has the power to do this:

In the immortal words of Mr. Tallahassee, "Time to nut up or shut up."

What would you bring, dear readers?

The 1st Annual Clusterf*ck Awards for Cinematic Achievement!

2011-02-26T00:25:00.000-08:00

Ok, February 27th is the big night. Oscar night. Most of you don't give a shit. That's because you have lives.

I currently, do not.

But I get that many of you find them boring. They have become a shiny example of all that's wrong with the industry in the first place. If I want to see a room full of ridiculously rich, surgically altered pretty people have smoke blown up their ass for three hours, I'll go to 'Cougar Night' over at Beachfire in Ladera Ranch.

We need some awards that people give a shit about! Who better to do it than someone with waaaaay too much time on their hands?

So, dear readers, I give you, for the first time, THE CACA'S!

Ok, the title needs work....

BEST FIGHT:

Winner: Arthur (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) and the nameless henchman - Inception

BEST SCENE OF GETTIN' IT ON:

Winner: Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis - Black Swan

**A Special Honorary CACA to Mr. Darren Aronofsky for his amazing vision and foresight in coming up with this scene. The male gender thanks you.

BEST USE OF THE WORD 'FUCK':

Winner: 'Bertie'; King George VI (Colin Firth) - The King's Speech:

"Fuck Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, and fuck! Fuck, fuck, and Bugger! Bugger, bugger, buggerty, buggerty, buggerty, fuck, fuck, arse! Balls, balls, fuckity shit, shit, fuck, and willy! Willy, shit and fuck and.....tits."

BEST MOMENT OF GRATUITOUS VIOLENCE:

Winner: Robin Longstride - or falsely of Loxley - (Russell Crowe) - Robin Hood:

Fuck YouTube - apparently, there's no video - but he shoots the guy through the face from about 1,000 yards. Through the back of his neck and continuing on through his right cheek. So cool.

RUNNER UP:

The Predator; like only he can do:

BEST FACT I LEARNED FROM THE MOVIES THIS YEAR:

Winner: The Kids are Alright: Lesbians watch gay male porn. Who knew?

RUNNER UP: A tuna will destroy a lion, if not in a fresh water source (I'm assuming off the coast of South Africa). 9 times out of 10.

So there it is. I loved The King's Speech - but if it beats The Social Network for Best Picture - I'll punch a small child. Night everyone.

Top Ten Movie Quotes of 2010

2011-02-24T08:00:00.000-08:00

In honor of the Academy Awards this weekend, I am going to try and put up a movie post each day until Sunday. Ok, yeah, it probably won't happen. Fuck off, I'm trying!

Here are my favorite quotes from the various flicks of 2010. By all means, feel free to add your favorites in the comments.

10.) "Sunnyside is a place of ruin and despair, ruled by an evil bear who smells of stawberries." -- Mr. Pricklepants (Timothy Dalton), Toy Story 3

9.) "This guy did not just get off the fuckin' couch. If he did, I'm gonna get a couch like that." -- Mickey (Mark Wahlberg), The Fighter

8.) "This meal is terrible. It tastes like roasted dog asshole. I asked myself, 'Who would slow-roast a dog's asshole and feed it to me'? You would." --Allen (Will Ferrell), The Other Guys

7.) "You make your snide remarks from the darkness, because that is what the angry do these days." -- Erica (Rooney Mara), The Social Network

6.) Stacey: "Did you really see a future with this girl?"
   Scott: "Like...with jetpacks?" -- Stacey and Scott Pilgrim (Anna Kendrick and Michael Cera), Scott Pilgrim vs. the World

5.) "Oh my God! I'm gonna cum! Shia Lebeouf!" -- Lou (Rob Cordrey), Hot Tub Time Machine

4.) "I think that if your clients want to sit on my shoulders and call themselves tall, they have the right to give it a try - but there is no requirement that I enjoy sitting here, listening to people lie. You have part of my attention - you have the minimal amount. The rest of my attention is back at the offices of Facebook, where my colleagues and I are doing things that no one in this room, including and especially your clients, are intellectually or creatively capable of doing. [pauses] Did I accurately answer your condescending question?" -- Mark Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg), The Social Network

3.) "There are very few fiddle tunes I've not heard. Once heard, they are locked in my mind forever. It is a sadness to me that I have sausage fingers that cannot crowd onto a fretboard....little fat girls at cotillion." -- Rooster Cogburn (Jeff Bridges), True Grit

2.) "I'm 6'5", 220 lbs. and there are two of me!" -- Tyler Winklevoss (Armie Hammer), The Social Network

1.)  Kick Ass: "How do I get a hold of you?"
   Hit Girl: "You just contact the mayor's office. He has a special signal that he shines in the sky; it's in the shape of a giant cock." -- Hit Girl (Chloe Moretz), Kick-Ass

Look at This F*cking Clown.....

2011-02-18T15:48:00.000-08:00

I don't have much in the way of fears. Yeah, we've talked about my one true phobia before. But I don't mind spiders or snakes. Closed spaces don't make me break out in a cold sweat. And I'm pretty much the opposite of those people who would rather kill themselves than speak in public.

I actually like to challenge the things that make my skin prickle. Makes me feel like I'm in some semblance of control. When I found out as a young kid that I had a paralyzing fear of heights? I solved it by jumping out of a plane (it works, trust me).

Now, I'm not trying to convince all of you how tough I am. As a matter of fact, I should have actually begun this post by saying, "I don't have much in the way of rational fears".

Spiders, heights, water - those are BOR-RING. It's the irrational creepers that keep life spicy. What do I mean? Glad you asked.

My friend 'C' is reduced to jelly when she gets anywhere near a goose.

NOT THAT GOOSE!

Better.

One of my ex-girlfriends would lose-her-shit when, in traffic, I stopped under an overpass on the freeway. Because of possible earthquakes.

And the best one? My 'V'? Absolutely terrified of....Kevin Spacey. The toughest woman that I know is plum terrified of Hopper from A Bug's Life. Yup, back off fellas, she's all mine....

So what am I getting at? Well, for a guy who likes to attack his fears head on, and steam full ahead when in situations that some might balk at? There is one thing that reduces me to a puddle of goo:

JESUSCHRISTFUCKINGSHIT!!!

(Panting.....)

Whew. Sorry about that little outburst. Didn't mean to offend you religious folk. But dammit, he still gets to me. I would like to introduce all of you to Pennywise. He is the immaculately evil clown from Stephen King's IT. Holy hell in a hallway, I hate this sonofabitch.

Last night, like the sometimes self-loathing individual that I can be, I popped the movie in (although the book is far more terrifying), and settled in to finally get over this fear. I mean, he's a fictitious demon circus performer. I can beat this! I am a responsible-ish, 33 year old man!

Yeah....no. Made it through 23 minutes and 17 seconds. And I literally checked under my bed before climbing into it. That's the bullshit thing about fear - there's nothing rational about it.

Damn you, Pennywise, you win again. This time.......

Valentine's Day....

2011-02-14T21:10:00.000-08:00

....makes my balls itch.

Ok, have you ever looked into the history of this silly, Hallmark holiday? It's about St. Valentine, right, the Roman martyr? Look it up, you'll find a rather suspect story about how St. Val was persecuted as a Christian by the Roman Emperor Claudius II, who tried and failed to get him to convert to Roman paganism (which would've saved his life). He refused, and was executed - but not before apparently performing a miracle and healing a blind jailer's daughter. The letter he wrote to her in his final minutes, professing his love to her, is believed to be the first valentine.

Oh yeah, well guess what? There are no less than 14 martyred saints named Valentine in ancient Roman history. And there seems to be a conflicting report about that the letter that he wrote to the jailer's daughter just before his death - the one signed, "From Your Valentine"? He was begging for his frigging life, according to several historical accounts. Whiny little bitch.

Why such animosity, you may ask? How did I spend my Valentine's Day? I spent it saying goodbye to my girl, who I spent the entire week with, trapped in my little apartment. Enjoying each other on a very simple level. Two people who dig each other and can find fun in the simplest of acts. Like watching Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves for the 50th time (collectively) while drinking and eating leftovers. Or laughing hysterically at my impression of the penguin Topper from Santa Claus is Coming to Town.

So today, on February 14th, the so-called 'Most Romantic Day of the Year'? I had to put her on a plane and watch as she left Cali, headed back to Chi-Town. So in honor of how I feel about this faux-liday:

Screw V-Day. Miss you, Baby.

California Dreamin.....

2011-02-01T21:15:00.000-08:00

I moved here to sunny southern California 10 years ago from Indiana. Everyone in Indiana has questioned that decision - my parents, my sister, my friends, my doctor....let's see who's right.

1.) Let's see. My old home? It's right under that big red 'L' on the right.

--My new one? It's the one currently chilling in a nice shade of grey waaaaaaay over on the left. Grey is awesome when it comes to being on a weather map.

2.) My girl lives in Chicago. Tonight she saw two cross country skiers heading down Lawrence Avenue on the North side. That is, until they got taken out by the wind.

--When I came back from the store a little bit ago, I saw a couple heading back to the apartment across from mine after getting out of one of our complex's hot tubs. (To be fair, the girl did have a t-shirt on over her bikini top - it is a bit chilly).

3.) My sister's father-in-law (who is actually an awesome guy) took a bad spill on the ice in the driveway this morning, broke his head open, and needed stitches while nursing a concussion.

--While at the office today, I got lemon juice right in my hangnail. It smarted.

Ok, let me tally up the score....carry the two...

Yup, I've got it at: Drew/Southern Cali - 3, Midwest - 0.

Tell the Groundhog he can suck it.

Blogs are Cool

2011-01-28T22:17:00.000-08:00

Ok, I am shitty at this whole blogging thing, I admit it. Any of you who actually follow my blog are in some form, masochists - because I blog once every six months. That means that you like what you read, yet you're willing to wait until this moron whom you've never met either gets drunk enough to feel confident or self-indulgent enough to write something that he feels is acceptable to post into 'public'.

It's a weird form of arrogance, when you think about it. I want to post all the time, but I don't think most of my writing is good enough. So I don't. Which means when I actually do post, I think it's hot shit. But I post when I'm drunk, so it usually isn't the case. Grrr, if you're still following, you're either very loyal, or you have nothing better to do (I so respect both parties, so please don't leave me!).

My new goal is just to write when something strikes me - without reading over it a hundred times and freaking out every time my cursor hovers over the 'Publish Post' button.

So here's my first: tonight, I had a wild Skype conversation. It involved life, death, airplane etiquette, butt-fucking, and The Goonies. Man, I hope I didn't just get flagged by some government agency over that last sentence. Like in Conspiracy Theory when they tag everyone who reads Catcher in the Rye, cause they probably have three names and are a government assassin?

But the conversation brought to my attention how cool blogs are. The Skype-ness took place between three people: my amazing girl (who I met through my blog) and her dear friend (who she met through her blog). I would have never had this great conversation were it not for the 'blogosphere'. 'V' would not have this great friend, either. This fact is not lost on me.

So I will get better at this. If for no other reason than there are fucking cool people out there, if you're just willing to share.

Calgon, Take Me Away......

2011-01-20T22:26:00.000-08:00

va·ca·tion (vey-key-shuhn) -noun-

a period of suspension of work, study, or other activity,

usually used for rest, recreation, or travel

The above definition, while I suppose...technically accurate, doesn’t even begin to describe the state of mind and body that I achieved just 14 days ago. Complete peace. Perfect weather. A complete absence of responsibility.

I don't know that I had ever been on a real adult 'getaway' before. Sure, I make the trip home to Indiana every Christmas. And my folks took me to Disney World when I was a kid. And I once spent a week during Spring Break on a beach in South Padre, drinking 'Aftershock' (remember that shit?), and occasionally exposing myself to random women on a public beach. But none of this really constitutes R&R, you know what I mean?

So imagine how excited I was when this really cool chick I know invited me on a trip to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. Five nights, four days at the Westin Resort in Jalisco. Arrive on a Wednesday night. Attend a short rehearsal dinner on Friday evening. Hit the beach for a wedding on Saturday afternoon. Other than that, my schedule for those four days consisted entirely of a healthy combination of jack and shit.

I turned off my cell phone for five full days. I got out of bed at noon. My existence consisted of moving from the bed in our suite to the beach. Then from the beach to a chair that sat poolside. Then from the pool to the jacuzzi on our private balcony. And finally, getting up from the jacuzzi, taking a moment to put the cap back on the bottle of tequila, and heading back to bed.

It was a Zen-like experience; despite the fact that I had gotten myself completely engrossed in a book on the flight over, I sat on the beach, and found myself glazing over paragraphs in that same book without really reading them. I forgot the lyrics to some of my favorite songs as they trickled out of my iPod and into the now empty space between my ears. My brain chose to settle down for a nice little four day nap; and I was more than happy to tuck it in, kiss it on the cheek, and wish it sweet dreams before turning off the light and leaving the door open just a crack.

But even though my surroundings couldn't have been more tailored toward turning a grown man into a sun-soaked vegetable, I couldn't have reached this perfect state had I not been in the company of someone truly mellow, yet magnificient. In a sense, I took two vacations - one away from work and responsibility and January - and yet another from my often barbaric bachelor mentality.

It's a funny thing, when you realize what it feels like to be truly content at someone's side. It doesn't hit you over the head. But then again, it doesn't exactly creep up on you, either. As a matter of fact, you don't actually experience it happening at all. It just exists, as if it was there all the time. And if you're not careful, despite how euphoric it makes you, it can be taken for granted. And before you even get wise, it passes you by, leaving only a sad little state of longing.

For me, I couldn't put it into any frame of reference - until I woke up back in my apartment, the morning after arriving back in the States. In that moment, I realized that I couldn't just walk down to the pool. I realized that I wasn't going to pick up my board shorts off the floor, yank them over my hips without a shower, and head out to a late brunch. And worst of all, I realized, as I locked my apartment door from the outside and headed out to work in a really uncomfortable state of business-casual, that her hand wasn't in mine. And that just didn't feel right.

So while I figure out a way to get V and I back there (or somewhere very similar), take a minute and check out her blog over at *uncorked.

She can tell the rest of the story*.

*We went on a sunset cruise and walked the marina and attended an Indian-Italian wedding and rocked out to Bollywood music and hung out with amazing people and made friends with a frog and a monkey!

HIDDEN GEMS III

2010-11-29T22:14:00.000-08:00

GATTACA (1997)
Starring: Ethan Hawke, Uma Thurman (when they were boning), Jude Law, and for some odd reason, Ernest Borgnine
Written and Directed By: Andrew Niccol
Running time: 106 minutes

Why?: Because it has one of the best, most soothing soundtracks of all time. Seriously, click on that link, that's why it's in blue, dumbass. It fucking rocks.

It's smart science fiction, with almost zero special effects. It is tense, moody, and doesn't play dumb to the audience. It is grounded in reality - I can totally see all of it happening in the near future. And it has Jude Law back when he was badass. You know, back before The Holiday?

For those of you who think Science Fiction is only for the asthmatic fat kid sitting at home on a Saturday night wearing a Battlestar Galactica t-shirt and tugging his junk to a poster of Princess Leia in her gold bikini, go out and rent, nay BUY this movie. You will be surprised.

Check the trailer:

Where There's Smoke, There's....Me, Silently Weeping

2010-11-06T21:46:00.000-07:00

I went and did it. Fucking idiot, six days ago I went and gave up my third favorite thing in the whole wide world.

I first lit up a cigarette 17 years ago. Jesus, my first smoke is almost old enough to vote. Now, the first time I had one where I didn't cough up a lung? I felt so damned cool, like James Dean. Like I should have sunglasses on all the time, a leather jacket, and ride a motorcycle.

Ok, let's be real - I was 16, I really didn't understand who James Dean was. Who was the bad boy of the early Nineties?

I felt like....Corey Feldman. Like I should have on a huge wrist watch, a brightly colored shirt with the collar popped, and ride a moped.

Jesus, my generation fucking blew.

I ain't terribly happy about the quitting. It is hands down my favorite pastime. Honestly, there are times when I would rather smoke a cigarette than say, receive oral. It has that much of a hold on my life. For you Non-Smokers, that probably sounds ridiculous. But you don't know what it's like to not have it anymore, how hard it is to let go.

This habit, it frames my day. It is usually one of the first things I do in the morning, with a cup of coffee. Ask Otis, he'll tell you:

A smoke allows me to reward myself for hard work three times a day, with a little break.

It goes perfect with whiskey over ice.

There is no better dessert after a good meal.

After sex? It gives you that moment to step outside and (depending on your performance) do your happy dance. I prefer the Cabbage Patch. Maybe the Bus Driver if she said my name enough times.

So what the hell am I doing??? This is something that I love! Something that helps me think, write, create - fuck, just be who I am. Give me one good goddamn reason to quit, I dare ya.

Alright, fine, I'll give you that one.

Sigh. And that one....

Ok, yeah, him too....

Laying it on a little thick, aren't you?

OK! I get it, point taken! No need to be a jerk about it....

Dude...low blow.

Alright, I can be strong. This isn't only for me. This is for all of those whose company I want to be lucky enough to keep for years to come.

But why does it have to be so hard???

I Had to Go and See About a Girl....

2010-10-29T14:52:00.000-07:00

I just experienced the most un-Vegas-like trip to Vegas ever. Let me explain.

Vegas is a place to get dirty. It's a place for a man to enter feeling very full of himself, chest puffed out, with a wad of hundreds in his hand. A few hours later, that same man leaves feeling hollow and defeated, questioning whether he can make his next month's rent, and holding something entirely different in his hand (here's a hint: it's fleshy). It's a place to smoke cigarettes till your eyes water; drink until you wake up disappointed in yourself; and piss money away like your checking account has an enlarged prostate.

It is by no means a beacon for romance, despite the quaint messages displayed on the electronic billboard atop the 'Chapel 'O Love'. It is a shit-show, plain and simple.

So what does it say about me, that I arranged to meet up with the most amazing woman right there amidst the migraine-inducing neon lights and Midwestern mullets?

It says I am one lucky bastard....

If you don't know her already, I'd like you to meet V. For the story of how we got to know each other, head over to her blog at *Uncorked. I'm going to focus on this past weekend, and how it affected me. Needless to say, I arrived in Sin City feeling like a kid on Christmas morning, waiting for my Dad (who always played Santa and handed out presents) to quit dicking around with the little packages full of socks and books and get to that big fucker that's sitting behind the tree, mocking me. V and I, our first meeting in person was 5 months in the making - molded out of thousands of emails, text messages, and phone conversations. I was equal parts nervous and excited.

I already felt that she was like an old friend, albeit one that I was jonesing to see naked. She had floored me for months with her wit, her sincerity, and her wonderfully deft use of innuendo. Despite all that, after finally meeting this amazing woman in person, I caused the first day to be a bit awkward. All of a sudden, I went from this cocky, self-assured dude to a little fancy boy, worried about kissing a girl for the first time.

I want to fast-forwarded through that first night (Friday) even though it was my wonderful friend Laurnie's birthday and hijinx did ensue, because the second night was what this post is all about. Long story short, when I finally did kiss her late that first night, all of my apprehension floated away, and I was able to simply enjoy being with her. Thank you V, for being patient and not thinking I was a total pussy.

Saturday night was our 'Date Night', and after a morning spent doing the tourist thing through Vegas, we came back to the hotel for a quick nap, and to get ready to go out for a night on the town. I was done up in my fashionable, yet casual jacket, a button-down shirt, and some nice dark jeans. I felt like I was looking good, had some confidence going (the ka-dunka-dunk), and knocked on the door to her room with a bottle of her favorite vodka in one hand (she is Vodka V, after all) and her birthday present in the other (it was V's birthday as well the following day). I was ready to do everything in my power to make her night the best that I could make it.

And then she opened the door. I took one look at her, and like the confident, seasoned adult that I am....stood there in the doorway blinking, like an idiot. Man oh man, she was stunning - her hair down and curled over her shoulders; she was wearing a black leather dress that no one could have rocked better. And she gave me this little look, one that I will remember for a very long time.

Now, if you have read my blog in the past, you know that my attitude towards women and dating is fairly 'Cro-Magnon Man'. I grunt a lot, bash them over the head, and drag them by the hair back to my cave. Then I tend to lose interest pretty quickly. I am a pig, I know that, yet I have always been completely content in my trough, rolling around in the mud.

But in that moment, when she opened the door, stepped into the hall, and slid her arm into mine? Not sure I can describe it accurately in words. It felt a little something like this:

Now I know what you're thinking:

Drew, that's the single most feminine thing you have ever included in your blog.

You know what? You're absolutely right. And you know what else?

Tough shit.

She was - and continues to be - incredible, and she spent the rest of the weekend making me ridiculously happy just by being herself. From the vodka tasting inside the Ice Locker at Red Square (where we met Elizabeth Banks, sort of) to the amazing dinner (holy hell, Black Truffle Lobster Fettucini), to Sunday morning being lazy in our pajamas, watching NFL Football (heaven for us both) - the whole shebang was nothing short of epic.

Thank you, Pretty Girl, for not only living up to my ridiculous expectations, but far surpassing them. The smile that has been on my face ever since we got back is starting to make my damn face hurt. Now if only I could learn to smile naturally in a picture, we could have gotten a decent one to put up where I don't look like a pervert or a sociopath. It would probably put your mother's mind at ease.

The only negative part of this is that now I have to wait two months to see you again. I miss you already.

**Footnote: A special shout-out to my BFF, Laurnie Dubbs, who let me do my own thing on what was her birthday weekend in Vegas (the whole reason we set up the trip in the first place), so that I could selfishly make myself happy. I've said it before and I'll say it again - You're Rad.

HIDDEN GEMS II (Halloween Edition)

2010-10-28T11:13:00.000-07:00

This is a cop out post. I haven't written anything in awhile, although I do have some good ones coming up (my weekend in Vegas with one of the coolest chicks in the world just a few short days ago will be coming out shortly).

But it is Halloween week, so I felt the need to hit you up with something. So here is another Hidden Gem, scary movie-style.

THE MOTHMAN PROPHECIES (2002)
Starring: Richard Gere, Laura Linney, and the truly awesome Will Patton
Directed By: Mark Pellington
Running Time: 119 minutes

Why?: Because original, intelligent, and genuinely creepy thrillers are so hard to find these days. Especially ones that are this well done. Especially ones that are this well done starring Richard 'Gerbil Tube' Gere. And it's "Based on True Events".

But then again, so was Bloodsport. Enjoy.

Check the trailer:

Come on, that chap stick moment is fucking killer....

HIDDEN GEMS: What's the Matter With You People?

2010-10-02T17:33:00.000-07:00

If you hadn't noticed by now, I am kind of a film nut. Well, let me rephrase - I am more like a film psycho serial-killer. When it comes to movies, I am passionate, egotistical, selfish, and stubborn. I will completely and totally judge you as a person by what your answer to the question, "What is your favorite film of all time?".

How far does the madness go? Back in Indiana, I once went on a date with an incredibly hot brunette that had such an amazing body, I wanted to Scotch-Guard and save the imprint that her ass left on my shitty apartment couch. I asked her the above question concerning her favorite flick. Her response? "OH MY GOD, the movie The Hand That Rocked the Cradle changed my LIFE!"

Needless to say, I never called her again.

So when I see that movies like The Blind Side make $250 million at the box office - yet gems like The Hurt Locker or The Road barely make enough to pay for craft services - it makes me angry. It makes me feel like I should take to the streets, raving like a madman, and pelt people into submission with Sprees and Junior Mints until they leave the line for the latest Twilight turd and go see something intelligent, like Michael Douglas in Solitary Man. By the way, I'd like to thank the other people that went to see that movie in the theater. Both of you. You rock.

Don't get me wrong; I am not one of those film school fucks who think that big-budget Hollywood films are shallow and evil. Hell, I love watching the horrible Transformers movies on my pretty plasma, and will gladly accept the brain cells that Michael Bay has removed from my head over the years, as long as he keeps blowin' shit up good.

But I feel the need to make people aware of little films that the studios failed. The little ones that made me laugh, cry, or think; but only because I have no life and spend the majority of my time (when not sleeping, drinking, or touching myself inappropriately) in Best Buy rifling through the 'Marked Down' DVDs.

So here it is - the first (of I'm sure to be, many) HIDDEN GEM:

SAVING GRACE
Starring: Brenda Blethyn, and of all people, Craig Ferguson
Directed by: Nigel Cole
Running Time: 93 Little Minutes

Why?: Cause any British movie about a newly-widowed, sweet old woman (with an amazing green thumb) who gets out of the debt that her philandering husband left behind by selling top-of-the-line weed to gangsters is a motherfucking must see in my book.

Check the trailer:

My Open Letter to Friggin' Facebook

2010-09-29T22:41:00.000-07:00

Dear FaceBook:

This is hard for me to write. Things aren't good. Well, to be honest, they haven't been good for a long time now. Let's face facts. The shine has worn off. The polish is off the apple, as they say. We don't talk, and the passion has dwindled. I don't know how to say this....but I have been considering breaking up with you for a long time. It's not you, it's me. No, that's a blatant fucking lie. It is totally you. You're kind of a bitch. But you still have sex appeal, so....

I made up a Pro's and Con's list to help me make this decision. I am going to share it with you:

Pro - You give me an outlet to be perverted in a public forum (I thank you).

Con - You give others an outlet to post quotes about their faith in a public forum (makes my scrotum shrivel).

Pro - You allow me the opportunity to ogle over women that I have never met.

Con - You allow those that I have dated in the past to leave snide comments on seemingly innocent posts. Like when a certain someone, who has since been removed from my friends list, responded to my comment about my nephew's birthday with the eloquent phrase, "Drew totally had whiskey dick the last night I stayed with him."

Well DUH....

Pro - Ever since my amazing Godson moved to Colorado, you allow me to see him playing, laughing, or stuffing those little cheddar fish into his mouth via pictures.

Con - Ever since I moved here from the Midwest, people seem to find pictures of me in sleeveless T-shirts with an oh-so-sexy farmer's tan, and post them as if it's funny. California girls aren't in on the joke. Quit destroying the tiny bit of game that I posses.

Pro - You are a source of entertainment! I get to check out funny videos of fat people falling down and live look-ins of bands/artists that I will like for the next 15 minutes and then totally forget about.

Con's - You are a source of entertainment to stupid people! You know the the ones I'm talking about, those who post videos of their dog barking - and insist that it sounds like he's saying, "Mommy" or "I love you." Friggin' idiots.

Alright, fine. I'm a nice guy, and I forgive. Against my better judgement, I'm gonna go ahead and give you one more chance. Because I'm shallow. Because I'm arrogant. And because, well, let's face it, you are the only action I get these days. Just don't fuck it up, ok? And for Bob's sake (why should Pete get all the love?), I have never, and will never, own a farm. Nor will the idea of owning a virtual version of one ever appeal to me. I'm from the Midwest - they smell like shit.

So stop embarrassing yourself, and make sure to remind me when it's one of my friend's birthdays. Text me when you're tipsy. Peace out.

Tis the Season

2010-09-03T21:37:00.000-07:00

So last year, the Saints of New Orleans completed what might be one of the greatest comebacks for a franchise in the history of sports. A city, ravaged by natural disaster. A people, many of whom just years earlier, lost their homes and all of their possessions, only to return to the scene of their despair, the home that they couldn't live without, full of pride.

Up stepped a hero, one Andrew Christopher 'Drew' Brees, to take the city on a season-long ride that ended with the MVP hoisting the Lombardi Trophy in honor of the resilient city and it's fans. A feel-good story for the ages, right?

I will answer my own question with three simple words:

FUCK. THAT. NOISE.

God, that game still makes me cringe like Mel Gibson's Baby Momma hitting the 'Check Messages' button on her answering machine. That, dear readers, is how my football season ended last year. My team, the Indianapolis Colts, losing the Superbowl because my Lord and Savior, Peyton Manning, let one get away.

Left a bitter taste in my mouth, not gonna lie. Kind of like those so-called 'lollipops' that the dentist gave you for being a good boy in the chair. Wanna know a secret about those suckers? Made out of Robitussin. I heard that somewhere.

But this is the madness that is instilled in men come September of every year. It's fuckin' football season, baby! It is a time of year that exists for one reason, and one reason only. To turn grown men into fucking children for 22 weeks. Honestly, if we put 1/100th of the passion that we put into our Fantasy Football leagues into...I don't know - our jobs, voting, community service - we would live in a Utopian society.

How far does my madness reach? I am angry at the fucking city of New Orleans. Don't yell, "Too soon!" to me. Common sense and rationale thought have no place in grand temple that is the National Football League. I am so happy that Drew Brees is on the cover of Madden '10. COME ON MADDEN CURSE! Don't get me wrong, I like the guy, he's a class act, loves his family, and is a pillar of his community. He is an inspiration to a lot of people, and is the kind of sportsman that a man who has any pride in the game of football should respect, admire, and try and emulate.

And I hope he breaks his goddamn leg in Week Two. Welcome to Football Season, people. The gloves are off.

I'd Be the Worst Father....

2010-08-02T20:20:00.000-07:00

My Most Important

I love kids, man. I love everything about them. The way they laugh at things that may not even be funny, simply because they like to wake up the room and remind everyone that they are still there. The way they tell a joke; it doesn't even have a beginning or an end - it's like listening to a pothead try and give you directions. Overall, I just love the way they look at life without the burden of having lived too much of it.

Now, before you get a creepy vibe, I am not a pederast. I don't subscribe to 'hottoddler.com' or anything (please, please, please, don't let that be a real site). I am talking about the way you can't help but smile when you see a baby with a faux-hawk being pushed in a stroller down the street. Or they way my niece blushes when I call her 'my girl'. I am talking about the kind of joy that only an uncle or godfather can find in dealing with children.

I put it that way, because I am not a father. And I don't think I will ever truly want to be. The joy that a father finds in his children? That is an emotion that I am certain is truly indescribable and euphoric - and that I don't know that I ever want to experience. Does that sound like a contradiction? Well, it is, and I have struggled with it for 10 years now.

The feeling that came over me when I first held my newborn niece? No way I can put it into words. It was like my entire body became warm in a way that I had never known. Have you ever been to a hypnotist? Or at least seen a movie about one? I have been to one. They tell you to close your eyes, and to imagine your body becoming totally relaxed, starting with your toes, up your legs, etc. That's exactly how it felt, minus the bullshit that is the entire concept of hypnotism.

But here's the thing: I don't have the patience for it. I don't even want a dog. I am now 33 years old (Just like Jesus! Oh wait, what age did he die again?), and I keep expecting this attitude to change, like everyone always told me it would. But it never does. It doesn't matter that all of my friends are getting married and having kids. It doesn't scare me that I will be the only one without. I do have the desire to pass on what I have learned; to watch in awe as my son gets his first single in Little League, or gets all excited and nervous to go on his first date. I want the pride, but not the responsibility.

My parents were the most incredible ever. Don't fucking argue with me, this ain't your blog, you have no say. So why don't I want a child? I have the best role models on earth. Who have, in turn, become amazing grandparents. Is it selfishness? Is it immaturity? Is it wisdom?

I leave it up to you. A bottle of JD to anyone who gives me an answer that truly helps me figure this shit out.

Fuck Writer's Block!

2010-07-09T00:09:00.000-07:00

I have been dealing with it for a decade. And I am sick and tired of it. I have a secret to share people. I am terrified of writing. A few people who know me will be shocked by that revelation - a few who truly know me will not. I have been struggling to post something, anything, for days now. But I can't, because I am so terrified of putting my shit out there, that I second-guess everything. In my head, I yell at myself for being a terrible writer, I scold myself for being less of a man, and lament the fact that even jailbird Lindsay Lohan can at least update her Twitter 17 times a day. And she does it without panties, while I am sitting here restricted by boxer briefs. It's time to break out!

So I am taking the advice of an pretty cool chick, one who is new to my circle of friends but has made an impact on my life nonetheless. She basically told me to just post something. So I am going to take that one step farther - just to challenge myself - and post something truly uncomfortable. I am going to post a poem that I wrote in college. And I fucking hate poetry. And I by no means am proud of the shit that I had to write for my poetry classes. But here is one of them - something that means absolutely nothing to anyone else on earth but me - and maybe my Pops, for whom I wrote it for. This poem was about becoming just one tiny bit more like him - something that I always strive for, and will continue to throughout my life.

Old Blue

Standing in the line at Shea
holding my father's hand
five sizes bigger than mine
my eyes like a pair of cue balls
the greasy cat behind the counter
smells like old cigars
but he places it in my hand

My breath catches, it is so blue

like the sky over my head

my Pops winks at me

as if I have just been let in on

a lifelong secret

My First Mets Cap

At first, it simply showed allegiance

my testament, to the boys of summer

when passers-by saw Old Blue

a nod came my way

or a thumb, raised in the air

with him, I was an adult

and I felt as if I belonged in that town

my home a Big Apple

Soon, Blue showed his age

covered in sweat stains

and traumatized by a loose seam

like an open wound, intimidating

More loyal than any friend

I went, he followed

and when the rain poured, he gave shelter

lookin' out for his boy

I aged, and Blue with me

his face cracked, and lined

he began to shrink, as old men often do

yet he still screamed out my fashion statement

and in part, helped to shape

the man, the fan, that I am today

But I will always remember

the way I felt with him low on my brow

walking down the ramp at Shea

with my old man

My Humble Little Abode. Like, really little.

2010-06-29T22:06:00.000-07:00

Yup, finally out of the house, the Hotel Pequito. Moving from a large house by the beach to a small apartment further inland has some drawbacks. One, I miss the view terribly. I miss having my own driveway. I miss having the counter space to cook a large meal. I miss having a bathroom that is more than four feet away from the head of my bed (no more Taco Night at Drew's place). And I do actually, to a point, miss having the space and the freedom to entertain.

But my little apartment has some perks. One in particular - it is MINE. When I wake up, I can walk around in my boxers and not worry about blinding another human being with my pastiness. I can scratch myself on any spot on my body, at any point in the day, let out a long sigh - and I won't have to deal with judging eyes. And when I come home after a long day (of which I have many) I can pour myself a whiskey, and do...well, whatever the fuck my little heart desires.

So here it is, my little nook. I don't know why anyone but me would care, but it makes me happy. And sometimes, you just have to share that shit with people.

My building, from the outside. I'm on top, natch.

No garage, but covered parking works for me.

Not a spectacular view, but the sunsets are pretty killer.

The view coming in the door - cozy, ain't it?

Any idea what to put on the shelves? Pictures, candles, etc? And that TV stand is very temporary.

My present to myself, for getting through the move. My 42" Panasonic Plasma, 1080p.

The wittle kitchen. Not hosting Thanksgiving dinner here, that's for sure.

The 'breakfast nook' needed a purpose. It is now home to the much discussed DVD collection. There are about 1,000 more in my closet, no joke.

Derby's Tavern (A Christmas present from Laurnie - I finally put it up!).

**The quote at the bottom reads:

"Let's drink to California
way out by the sea
where a woman's ass
and a whiskey glass
made a horse'e ass of me."

Thanks BFF.

My favorite picture, Picasso's The Old Guitarist. There is just something incredibly melancholy and peaceful about it. And a little sad.

Gotta have a spot for the booze. In case you are wondering where the Jack is - I am living on the cheap at the moment, so it is Seagram's 7. And Red Cups - classy all the way.

This is where the magic....doesn't happen nearly enough.

Anyway, that is it. The place is so small (yet expensive - fucking Southern California) that I can't even get in good position to take a picture of the bathroom. Which sucks, because I am proud of the job I did on the color scheme (Oh shit, did I really just say that?). And the lack of pics from the bedroom and patio are due to the fact that they aren't finished yet.

Ok, now go away. I gotta play a little Wii Punchout, and you people are getting in the way. This joint ain't big enough for the both of us.

Sigh....

2010-06-26T15:26:00.000-07:00

Pretty devastated right now. That goal in extra time, not much you could do about it. Lightening will strike, you just hope it happens in your favor. This time it didn't. But as a lot of American soccer fans know, you wonder if the US isn't overdue for it's turn. I am proud of you boys - can't say you didn't fight hard. My hat's off to you, Team USA - I just wish I didn't have four years to wait for your next chance.

The Cup goes on, of course, but now there will be a little something missing. I will route for Ghana, and the people of South Africa.

But DAMN, it was a hell of a lot of fun while it lasted....

My Personal Plea to the People of the United States of America

2010-06-25T16:26:00.000-07:00

This is me on me knees begging, people. Watch the video above. I need your help. Team USA needs your help!

I know all the arguments:

"Soccer is too slow..."
"There's not enough action...."
"Why would I watch something that will just end in a tie?"
"They fall too much and fake being hurt. I hate that..."

I don't want to hear it anymore. I. Don't. Care. Whether you like it or not, this is the biggest sporting event in the world. It is the biggest fucking SPORT in the world. Football, baseball, basketball, MMA - nothing even comes close to comparing to it's global popularity. You think LeBron is a big star? Google Cristiano Ronaldo. Michael Jordan? On his best day, doesn't even come close to matching the worldwide phenomenon of David Beckham. I know that we, as Americans, have chosen to deal with the game of futbol in a mature and adult manner - we basically close our eyes, put our fingers in our ears and yell, "LALALALALALALALALALALA!"

But not all of us, as you may have noticed in the video above. Some of us eat, drink, and breathe the sport. Some of us have played it since we were too little to even kick. Some of us worked our asses off to become the best we could at it - bled for it, cried for it, sacrificed our bodies for it.

To those people, this tournament means more than the World Series, more than the Olympics, even more than the friggin' Superbowl (calm down, I'm not a communist - it is a close number two). To us, this is the end-all-be-all of athletic competition.

But here is the thing - I don't expect you to be like that. Hell, I don't even care if you watch another soccer match for the next four years! 90% of the people in that video? I am betting that they can't tell you the difference between a corner kick and a goal kick. I'm betting that they can't name one player on the team other than Landon Donovan (a name they only learned in the 91st minute of the Algeria game). But they are out there, cheering like mad - not for their soccer team, but for THEIR COUNTRY.

So help me people! Go out to a bar, wear some red white and blue, and for two hours of your life, allow yourself to feel the passion that is out there for this game. The United States has a chance to accomplish something they never have before. The semifinals are not impossible. If this sport is ever to grow out of the shadow of American apathy, it needs you to start paying attention! I will be there, in my jersey, chanting for Jose, Landon, Clint, Tim, Carlos, and the rest of the boys.

Sing it with me now:
OLE, OLE, OLE, OLE! OLE....OLE!

Keriophobia's a Bitch

2010-06-21T20:01:00.000-07:00

Keriophobia - The Fear of Candles.

Yup, no joke, it is my phobia. Don’t get me wrong, I love candle light, I dig the smell, and I still think a bedroom lit by them is sexy, in an old fashioned kind of way. But the candles in my apartment are under my control – I choose when to light them, when to put them out.

But when I am in someone else’s place, their domicile, and under the control of their odd habits and peccadilloes, I fear candles and candle wax, and their ability to do me physical harm. I am not crazy, there is a very good reason for my deep-rooted fear. For those of you who are freaked out by 'TMI' - might as well take this opportunity to go and visit one of those blogs that tell you what their Yorkie does on a daily basis. For everyone else, read on.

Her name was….let’s call her Meredith. Why Meredith, you ask? Cause her name was fucking Meredith, and I don’t care if she ever sees this. She was an odd, vengeful little trollop. I would love to throw her last name up here too, but I can’t, cause I don’t remember it (don’t you judge me, I can feel your eyes). And despite the fact that her name made me think of Grey’s Anatomy, a show that I truly believe was secretly invented to set the Women’s Rights Movement back 35 years or so, I went out with her after a friend from work introduced us.

Meredith….shit, I don’t want to keep typing that, let’s call her ‘T’ (for Trollop), was extremely hot. She was short, about 5’ 2”. She was a former college gymnast. She was one of those girls that had a tiny ass (I am definitely an ass man), but it still worked for me, cause you could cup it in both hands and imagine that you were testing the ‘ripeness’ of two grapefruit at the grocery store. I met her at a bar, which of course, for any of you single guys out there, is just the perfect place to meet normal, well-adjusted women. Oh wait, you can't actually hear my voice while reading this. That was said in my head with an overtly sarcastic tone.

Here’s the rub – good ole 'T'? She was not particularly interesting. Not a great conversationalist, and certainly didn’t stimulate my mind or my soul. But she was hot, and interested, and at that particular time, I had recently lost my fuck buddy to a relationship. So obviously, I was being guided not by my mind or my heart, but by another organ altogether. One who I have a love/hate relationship with, depending on his judgment. I am often, because of whiskey, at his mercy. And he, to this point in my life, has gotten me through 32 years without disease or procreation – so I take my hat off to him. (I love ya buddy, so don’t get mad at me for this story, ok?)

‘T’ and I began to have a ‘relationship'. And by relationship, I mean I would go over to her house after work, get my pickle tickled, and leave before dinner. I will completely admit, I was a acting like a complete and utter douche during this two month-long period. I love and respect all women (except Katherine Heigl, that ungrateful harpie), and my father raised me to treat each and every one of you like a princess. That you are a gift to us, and we don’t really deserve you, deep down. But this woman, she brought out the worst in me. She convinced me that she was cool with our situation – and I have learned over the years that it takes a very particular type of women to completely accept this type of arrangement. ‘T’ did not fall into that category, and I was well aware – but I played the part of the ostrich, burying my head in the sand.

One night, I made the short drive from work to her apartment after receiving a very eloquent text – “COME OVER. I’M NAKED.” I should have known that something was wrong the minute I walked in the door. There were candles everywhere. On the coffee table, on the TV, on the end tables, on the kitchen counter. In my diseased mind, I heard that creepy Latin chant that you hear in every movie where the villain is about to sacrifice a virgin.

She opened the door in a negligee (BITCH!) and took me by the hand to the bedroom. While I used my peripheral vision for signs of chicken blood or human hair, I realized that I was experiencing a very new emotion. I was simultaneously turned on and creeped out. To be honest, it was a rather powerful combination.

So while trying my damnedest to not freak you all out with details, the ‘act’ began, and I was on bottom. I ain’t gonna lie, I was digging it, and at some point closed my eyes and turned my head to the side. ‘T’ chose that exact moment to grab the nearest candle - next to the bed – and without permission or hesitation, turned it over and allowed burning hot candle wax to drip ever so abruptly onto my bare chest. Now once again, don’t get me wrong – I’ll try anything twice. But give me a friggin’ heads up. Tease me with it, let me steel myself for the oncoming pain, and decide whether or not the current sensations are worth a little risk, or whether I am going to scream and run like a little girl who just saw a large spider.

So what, pray tell, happened in that instant that the wax touched my chest? I did what any red-blooded American man would do. I squealed like a little bitch and bucked my hips in shock. Not a good thing, mind you, as she was kind of launched into the air. Which, her being a gymnast, I have to admit to being disappointed. That was the most awkward dismount I had ever seen. Keri Strug did that shit on one foot and won an Olympic medal, for Christ's sake.

She managed, in her surprise, to drop the candle, wick facing down. Three guesses where that candle landed - and the first two don’t count. I remember sitting in the emergency room a short while later, my fly completely open because the feel of denim on my wounded member made my eyes water. I filled out the paperwork, 'T' sitting beside me with her chin so deeply buried in her own chest that she probably bruised, trying desperately to figure out how to describe my current state of being without the doctor looking at me like some ball gag-in-the-mouth sexual deviant (BRING OUT THE GIMP!).

So what's the moral of the story? There are only three instances when using a candle outside of your own place is acceptable:

1.) When the power is out.
2.) When you are christening a child.
3.) When you are holding a candlelight vigil because a meteor is about to strike the earth while a band of deep sea oil drillers try to blow it up with a nuclear bomb in the 11th hour (thank you Michael Bay)

Everything else? Don't risk it. I still have a scar.

I Hate Goodbyes

2010-06-03T10:38:00.000-07:00

I have moved around so much in my life, from town to town, state to state. And despite some of the great situations I found myself in, I have always struggled to find somewhere that felt like home. A place that matched my personality, made me feel safe, and jazzed with my way of life and my perspective at that particular age. That is, until five years ago.

I would like to introduce you to the Hotel Pequito. This is the house that I am moving out of for good this weekend. For those of you who speak Spanish, that moniker is not a personal reflection. I actually live on a street called 'Pequito Drive'. And the house is known in my social circle (and even outside my circle) as a hotel because, well, we have not locked our doors in over five years. It has served as a beacon in a drunken haze - where people of all shapes, sizes, and maturity levels stumble through its open doors at any time of night or day, pick a spot on the floor or in a bed next to one of the residents, and pass the fuck out. People don't knock when they arrive. They barge in with a bottle in hand and scream, "Where you at, bitches?" There's not a lot of personal privacy, no chance of walking around in your undies.

But it was also the house where most of the parties/cookouts/football Sundays took place. Now don't get me wrong, I love to entertain - but I have decided that I have reached that point in my life where I have earned the right to pick and choose when I go out and what parties to hit; instead of always being expected to provide the festivities. Hence my move to my new, solo apartment.

And oh yeah, the Hotel had one other perk:

The view from the balcony. This is my happy place, where I can sit, chill, and find my power animal (he's a platypus, by the way. His name is Ernie. He likes Triscuits). I am going to miss this most of all. This is where I would write. This is where I would chill to my iPod and enjoy a quiet cigarette and a whiskey. Where I would get into fantastic debates with my friends over politics, religion, sports, etc. And where finally, after years of searching, I felt at home.

So many of my adult life memories took place at the Hotel: Lifelong friendships were forged - and broken. Art was inspired. Babies were conceived. A communal family made up of vastly different ethnic backgrounds, personalities, and values grew out of a never ending barrage of booze, music and spirit. I will truly cherish each and every one of you as I continue to head down my personal path in life. You all know who you are.

But many of you reading do not - so I will let a series of images introduce you to the joint, and to my Hotel family. To all of you who have made the last half decade such a wonderful Clusterfuck, I thank you.

Christmas Time at the Hotel

Just a block or two from the house....

My beautiful Moni

Nater-Tot, the amazing Laurnie Dubs, and Yours Truly

Halloween - always the biggest party of the year

How I spent most Sunday mornings

Flip Cup, a Hotel favorite

Brian and Katie

THE Bud Sant, Jr., L. Brock, and Pounder

Chris Cooke, a.k.a Cookie, a.k.a. Muffin

My best friend and brother Jason, Laurnie Red Riding Hood, and Steve Irwin, back from the dead....

Rissa, my BTHA (Big-Tittied Half Asian)

Dr. Wright, Unlicensed Gyno

Chris, Tatum, and T.J., fondling each other

Just letting you know you are Number One in my eyes

Sheila, Shannon, and Feather

Winos

My two favorite ladies...hands off boys, they are spoken for.

Kim Chuckles, Jonathan, and Hot Morgan

Cookie, PEANUT!, and Joe

The future Mrs. Nater-Tot, Brittany, being fabulous as always

Toga, bitches

Greg the Giant, Mr. Laurnie Dubs, Gay Pat, and Tiffany

The Obama-toga

Two of the greatest people I have ever met. See, look how happy I am!

Big Mike

Crys, and her wonderful tush...

My Bubbas - my godson Connor - at his first party, the Luau.

Uncle Nate

I pay my respects to the late Patrick Swayze, with my little monkey

Goodbye, Hotel Pequito. I will miss the life you allowed me to live.

For another perspective of the Hotel Pequito, go over to Laurnie Dubs (my BFF and former roommate) at Some Whine with Cheese

My Favorite Movies of the '00's

2010-05-27T11:46:00.000-07:00

I know, I know. This is pretentious. Who gives a hairy shit what I think were the best movies of the last decade? Of course, I do, but then again, I am a shallow, shell of a man.

Well, my hope is that one person who reads this checks out one of these flicks that they haven't seen. Enjoy.

1.) Into the Wild - Pure poetry on film. A soundtrack by my idol, Eddie Vedder, doesn't hurt.

Favorite Quote:
Christopher: "It should not be denied that being footloose has always exhilarated us. It is associated in our minds with escape from history and oppression and law and irksome obligations. Absolute freedom. And the road has always led west."

Trailer

2.) 25th Hour - I think that Spike Lee is one of the most racist people on the planet, but he is still a talented filmmaker. And he hit it out of the park with this one.

Favorite Quote:
Monty: "I need you to make me ugly."

Trailer

3.) Almost Famous - Never have music and film melded so perfectly. Bravo, Mr. Crowe, now where the fuck are you? We have forgiven you for Elizabethtown. Mostly.

Favorite Quote:
Lester Bangs: "The only true currency in this bankrupt world... is what you share with someone else when you're uncool. "

Trailer

4.) Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang - Robert Downey Jr. and Val Kilmer are a match made in heaven. This is what good screen writing is all about.

Favorite Quote:
Harry: "Wow, I feel sore. I mean physically, not like a guy who's angry in a movie in the 1950's."

Trailer

5.) Finding Nemo - Does not, for one minute, pander to kids and forget about the adults.

Favorite Quote:
Crush: 'Cause we were like, "woaaaah.", and I was like, "woaaaah." and you were like, "woaaahh..."

Trailer

6.) The Dark Knight - RIP Heath Ledger. You were simply brilliant, mate. You will always be The Joker, but your performances in both Brokeback Mountain and Monster's Ball will not be forgotten.

Favorite Quote:
Alfred: "Because some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn."

Trailer

7.) High Fidelity - One of my all-time favorite books, and despite the transfer from London to Chicago, an unbelievable book-to-film adaptation. And just maybe the story of my life.

Favorite Quote:
Rob: "I get by because of the people who make a special effort to shop here - mostly young men - who spend all their time looking for deleted Smith singles and original, not re-released - underlined - Frank Zappa albums. Fetish properties are not unlike porn. I'd feel guilty taking their money, if I wasn't... well... kinda one of them".

Trailer

8.) Wonderboys - For any of you bloggers or writers out there - this should be our bible. It is the very notion of what writing is all about (to me anyway). And Michael Douglas ROCKS in it. And smokes a lot of weed.

Favorite Quote:
Grady: "Furthermore, it might surprise you to know that one book I wrote, as you say, "under the influence," just happened to win a little something called the Pen Award. Which, by the way, I accepted under the influence."

Trailer

9.) Layer Cake - because I have an enormous man-crush on Daniel Craig. And British gangsters are cool.

Favorite Quote:
Nameless: "Everyone wants to walk through a door marked "private." Therefore, have a good reason to be affluent."

Trailer

10.) In Bruges - Behold, the truly great actor that is Colin Farrell. See a movie where he delivers his lines in his native accent, and you will change your opinion of him.

Favorite Quote:
Ray: "My date involved two instances of extreme violence, one instance of her hand on my cock and my finger up her thing which lasted all too briefly - and then I was away - , one instance of me stealing five grams of very high-quality cocaine and one instance of me blinding a poofy little skinhead: so all in all... my evening pretty much balanced out, fine."

Trailer

Honorable Mentions: Cinderella Man, There Will Be Blood, Wall-E, Moulin Rouge, A History of Violence, United 93, Zodiac, the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, Memento, Michael Clayton, and many others. Feel free to add yours. I will watch anything, hit me with suggestions.

To My Mommy

2010-05-21T17:31:00.000-07:00

In case I haven't gotten the point across in old posts - I have two true heroes in my life. Two of the best friends that a man could ask for. The fact that I am a direct result of them getting naked and playing a little game of Pickle Tickle does give me pause, but I try and push that thought out of my head. My folks, James and Elaine Derby, are everything to me, even though I am quite sure that I haven't said it enough.

On May 26th, my darling mother, retires. A pediatric nurse of over 40 years, she embodies exactly what is right with that profession. Forget the arguements over PPO's vs. HMO's - it is people like her that make you feel safe at a time when you are the most concerned, and have a smile even while delivering the worst of news. I can't be there in Indiana for her party, so I wrote a little something that my father will read to her and their guests. I hope it gets the point across to her.

"I remember a time, years ago back in Indianapolis, when I worked a 14 hour shift at the restaurant. I had left the building the night before – no wait, make it that same morning – at about 6 AM. I went home, made some eggs, took about a four hour nap, and jumped in the shower so I could be back by noon. The restaurant was at capacity from the moment I walked in the door, to the instant I locked it back up. My bartender walked up to me with a bewildered look on her face after, and asked one question; “How the hell do you do it?”.

The answer was easy – whatever the restaurant needed me for, I found a way to do it. When it came to work, no matter the job, I was lucky, and always excelled in whatever I was doing.
And there is a reason for that – I was raised by two people who personified the term ‘work ethic’. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if you looked up the term in the dictionary, you would find a picture of Elaine Derby right under the definition, hiding her face like she does in almost every picture. Or one of James Derby, raising one finger toward the camera….

But my darling mother – she was an inspiration to me my entire life. To this day, I have never met anyone who put their heart and soul into their profession more than her. It never mattered what happened during the course of any work day – she came home with extra energy, a special reserve that she kept for her loved ones. In a day and age when professional athletes will sit out a game because they have a hangnail, and Beverly Hills debutantes create empires with nothing more than a Chihuahua in their purse and a complete lack of underwear beneath their skirt – my mother dealt with pure hell and came home with a smile, so that her children never saw her defeated.

So on this day Mom, I want you to look back. Look back at all of the years of parents screaming at you, patients throwing up on you, and – pardon me – dumb shit ‘Head Nurses’ barking orders to you in front of other people, only to take you aside when no one was looking so they could ask your advice on how to do their jobs properly. Remember that you did it the right way. Ironically, you put the kids first, and always had to deal with the babies after – them being most of the adults you worked with on a given day.

When you look back on your career, remember how after 20 years those children you took care of, now adults, would come back to the hospital and thank you. Remember the smiles on those kid’s faces when they came to after surgery, only to see that familiar face that gave them the courage to go in to that room in the first place. And remember the effect you had on your own flesh and blood, molding them by example into the (mostly) responsible people that they are today. If I am to ever be a parent (a long shot, I know), I have one goal, to adhere to the values that you set and do my best to raise the bar even higher. I have said this before, but you have never heard it - everything I was; everything that I am; everything that I will strive to be in my own life – it is because of you and your role as ‘caregiver’. Not just as a nurse and mother, but as a friend and role model. I love you so much, and can’t wait to meet the woman you will be in your retirement.

So for the first time in your adult life, lady, relax. Watch a movie, smell the flowers, and enjoy your grandchildren. And do your best not to kill Dad in the first two weeks. Go have another glass of wine – and remember, in those times when you feel lazy and worthless (yes, I know you and how you think), that every single day that your son and daughter exist, your life’s work is still putting in a full day. I would give anything to be there with you today.

I love you, Mom."

God I Hate You People

2010-05-20T12:17:00.000-07:00

NOT YOU GUYS! You guys are cool, you read my bloggy thing.

I'm talking about pet peeves here. And you despicable people who bring them into the world. Have you ever read that book, "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff"? I haven't.

Let me tell you about my demeanor. Put me in a crisis situation, and I am cool as ice. Seriously, I was born without the panic gene, I get it from my mother, a nurse of 40-plus years.

But if I am trying to check MLB.com real quick for the Mets score before heading into a meeting, and my internet freezes, sitting there motionless except for that jerk off hour glass rotating round and round, laughing at me? Makes me want to kick a puppy. Seriously, put Marley in front of me in that particular instant - Jennifer Aniston is going to be in fucking tears.

In other words, when it comes to stupid people doing stupid things - patience is not a virtue that I possess. There are two types of you people in particular, you know who you are. And I am watching you. No, no - look here (two fingers pointed at my eyes). Watching you.

Couples who sit on the same side of the booth in restaurants.

You are not in high school anymore. Knock it the fuck off. I'm not talking about when you're with another couple, or when you specifically went out to have a drink and watch the game and it's the only way you can both see the TV. There are exceptions. But don't you want to actually, I don't know...look at the person you came out with? Pay attention to them, engage them?

There are only two real reasons that couples sit on the same side. One - you have heard every single story this person has had to tell, the sex is as cold as Corey Haim, and you have secretly fantasized about pushing them down a flight of stairs. And the only way that you can hang out in public is to make sure that you have as little eye contact as possible, to keep you from snapping and going at them like Rhianna after she just checked your text messages. What? Still "too soon" for that shit?

Two - you are under the table either receiving a hand job or strumming your girl's sticky banjo. Either way, grow up, zip your fly, and go wash your hands you dirty bastard. Your chicken strips are getting cold.

People Who Have Personalized Liscence Plates

Yeah, I know. At least a couple of you just winced out of guilt. I have only seen one good personalized liscence plate:

At least that guy has a sense of humor.

But that asshole doing 95 mph in the far right lane on the 405 last week with the plate that read, "TODS BMR"? I loathe you. And no, I am not jealous of your ride, even though I drive a '98 Saturn that's missing the passenger side mirror. I have no use for a sportscar - I am perfectly satisfied with the size of my penis.

But you 'Todd'? I know who you are. You are the kid in high school who lied about losing your virginity. You know, when you supposedly slept with that chick that no one knew, cause she went to a different high school in the next town?

In reality, while everyone else was at parties dry humping on basement couches, you were alone in your room, listening to Bobby McPherin's "Don't Worry, Be Happy", furiously pleasuring yourself until you blew your load all over that picture of Lisa Turtle from Saved By the Bell. No one cares about your Beamer, Todd! Now go drink your 6th Red Bull of the day, get a running start, and take a flying leap off the roof of your favorite 24 Hour Fitness you pathetic, self absorbed frat boy!
.........

Whoo, what happened? I blacked out there for a minute. And....oh God, whose blood is this??? Shit, I gotta go....

My Favorite 10....no, shit....15 Songs of the '00's

2010-05-15T14:37:00.000-07:00

I am no music expert. In fact, besides the Recorder I used to rock in 4th Grade (I played a mean 'Hot Cross Buns'), I have never picked up an instrument. But I am constantly moved by music. All types, Hard Rock, Soft Rock, Hip-hop, Classical, Punk, etc. Well, except Country. Nope, I take that back, I dig Lyle Lovett for some odd reason.

I don't know why certain songs hit me. It's just a feeling I get; an instant sort of reaction. Like when I'm at a party and the plain girl talking to me isn't really my type, or particularly interesting for that matter. But for some reason, my Spidey Sense tells me that she's crazy in the sack. I mean like Cybil Shephard-crazy.

Anyway, I'm getting off track. If I get any one of you to add one of these to a playlist, then we both win. My Top 15 songs from 2000 to 2009:

1.) Mark Broussard - "Home"
2.) Mos Def - "Quiet Dog"
3.) Ray LaMontagne - "Trouble"
4.) Kanye West - "Jesus Walks"
5.) Fink - "Sort of Revolution"
6.) John Legend - "Alright"
7.) Jump Little Children - "Close Your Eyes"
8.) Rise Against - "Swing Life Away"
9.) David Gray - "Sail Away"
10.) Damien Rice - "Delicate"
11.) Glen Haarsgard & Marketa Irglova - "Falling Slowly"
12.) Griffin House - "Waste Another Day"
13.) Rival Sons - "Tell Me Something"
14.) Pearl Jam - "Army Reserve"
15.) Kings of Leon - "Closer"

And please, hit me with your faves. My iTunes always needs feeding.

A Mother's Honesty

2010-05-15T14:11:00.000-07:00

A little girl walks up to her mother and says, "Mommy, where do babies come from?"

The mom is initially speechless. But she is a hip, modern mother, and thinks to herself, "Why not, she needs to learn some time."

"Well honey, when Mommy and Daddy love each other, Daddy puts his penis in Mommy's vagina. And that's were babies come from."

Relieved that the conversation is over, she looks down, only to see a confused look on her daughter's face. "What's wrong honey?"

Her daughter replies, "But Mommy, last night I had a bad dream, and came into your room. But you had Daddy's penis in your mouth."

The mom chuckles sweetly. "Oh honey, don't be silly. That's where jewelry comes from."

An Attempt

2010-05-14T19:13:00.000-07:00

Ok, so if you have read any of my blogs, you can tell that I am kind of....verbose. A bit long-winded, one might say. The only way that I am going to keep this thing going is to get over my 'issue' - where I have to have a completed thought, from beginning to end, and read said thought 17 times before posting to be sure that I like what I wrote. I need to let it spill out, to be more spontaneous in my writing. Fellow bloggers, please give me tips on how you all accomplish this, I am so fucking jealous. How do you do this every day, or every week?

So here I go, an attempt at a short, quick entry:

I am moving out of my house of 6 years in just 13 days. There are a ton of memories here, most of them good. Then again, there are a few that I would love to purge from my mental rolodex. One of them is embodied in a letter, written by a young woman that I hurt emotionally. I constantly try to tell myself that I by no means intended to hurt her, that she unfortunately was a victim of Clusterfuck circumstance. But I know myself (somewhat), and am very aware of how my view on relationships/love can draw women in, while at the same time set them up for what will inevitably be, heartbreak. I am by no means trying to be arrogant about this - on the contrary, I am trying to be more honest with myself than I usually allow (it is much easier to lie to myself than it is to other people). But my romantic proclivities are for another post. The important thing is that I have always kept this letter as a reminder that, no matter what your intentions are, you can still hurt someone just by being you.

So today, I made a run to the dump, looking to rid myself of the mountains of shit that I have hoarded over the years - carrying them from place to place like some sort of demented sherpa. In one of the boxes was the letter; and I knew exactly what box it was in. I got to the dump, and tossed that box into the pile of rubbish with a head-swelling sense of accomplishment. Go me!

As I turned to get back in the truck and take off, I noticed the man parked beside me, gazing down at the last item in his load (God, that sounded wrong) - it appeared to be a picture frame. Before I realized that I was uncomfortably staring at him, he looked up at me. And I shit you not, a single tear was streaming down his face. He freaked a bit, clutched the frame to his chest, and got back in his truck. I sat there in silence as he tore the hell off, feeling like I had just infringed on a very important moment in his life. One where he made a decision between letting go and holding on.

On the way home, I held a slow and steady 45 mph down the Ortega, singing Van Morrison's 'Baby Please Don't Go' (one of the single greatest rock songs ever written) along with the radio. On the seat next to me: that letter. I know, I know....Trash Picker! So, what do you guys think? Was it a serendipity type kinda moment? Or narcissistic, boderline OCD behavior? You tell me, let me have it.

My Cop Out

2010-05-12T13:38:00.000-07:00

Ok, so this is kind of cheating. I promise, as of June 1st, I will throw myself at this blog again. Until then, however, I am going to put up old shit that people may have seen before, but you newbies haven't. At least its something, cause I need to keep this going - putting my thoughts on paper allows me to control when and where I let them escape the hole in my face. So this is my 2007 End of Year Rant, written in early '08 (hence why it's a little dated). Hope you enjoy...
_________________________________________________________________________________
2007 is about to end. I remember thinking a month or so ago that this year had been kinda dull. That I didn't have a lot of memorable experiences - no crazy stories to tell. But the more I think about it, ole '07 was a bit of a life changing year.
Mainly because I turned 30. Very ungracefully, I might add. I have been alive for 3 decades. 10,950 days. 262,800 hours. 15,768,000 minutes. 946,080,000 seconds. Here are some of the things that happened AFTER I was born:

1.) MS-DOS was invented

2.) Cabbage Patch Kids

3.) Pope John Paul II! Seriously, before 1978 he was known as Karol Józef Wojty.

4.) PacMan

5.) Pink Floyd's 'The Wall'

Needless to say, I struggled with it. Never more so than when I unexpectedly woke up on my couch with a 19 year old girl (I promise, she looked and acted much older). Although nothing happened, I thought to myself, "When did I become a creepy old guy?" I have a back problem, an emerging bald spot, a 401K, and a bedtime during the week. And, God/Buddha/Allah/Peyton Manning help me, there are even times (THOUGH RARE, DAMMIT) when I have reason to be fully erect, but Mr. Pointy only feels like putting in half the effort. It's thoughts like these that caused me to spend two weeks holed up in my room, watching old movies with a whiskey and water, and wondering if that birthmark on my arm really had changed color, or if I was just being paranoid.

But then I took a look at my friends, the people who I enjoy spending time with, the people who really matter to me. And I realized that they all fall into two categories. Those who were younger than me, but act older than their years. And those who were as old (or older) than me, who were just big kids at heart. And I realized that the old adage was true - you are only as old as you feel.

What they don't tell you, however, is that every day is different. Some days, when I wake up in bed still wearing my coat and shoes, or relish in the fact that I just said something completely inappropriate at a corporate function, or get in the shower in the morning and wince with delight as the hot water reminds me of the claw marks on my back - I feel like that big kid. The one that still yells at people if they try and talk to me while I am reading Harry Potter for the 7th time. The one that still reacts to my Colts losing a football game by striking an inanimate object. And the sorry sap who still giggles like a school girl anytime someone uses any one of the seemingly endless variations of the word "poo".

On the other hand, there are also those days when I bend over to tie my shoes and my back goes out. Or I yell "Fucking teenagers!" when one of them cuts me off on the freeway. Or when I notice a really hot girl walking down the street, only to realize that she is coming from the direction of Dana Hills High School - it is on these occasions that my mind, my body, and my spirit feel aged. And I wonder if my best, most creative, most attractive, and most exhilarating days are no longer on the horizon in front of me, but rather in the rearview mirror, growing smaller and smaller until they slip out of view and drift from my memory.

When I realize that I am having one of those days, one word always comes to mind. A great word - a word that expresses anger, joy, and surprise. A word that can be used as a noun, verb, or even a greeting. A word used by poets, politicians, and streetwalkers alike. And that word is.....Fuck.

So yes, it is true, you are only as old as you feel. But regardless of how optimistic you are, there are going to be days when life is going to do its very best to remind you that most of the "firsts" in your life have already happened; and that each year brings on more responsibility, more reasons to be cautious. So it isn't whether or not you say that wonderful four letter word; it is what you do after saying it. Are you going to immediately go lie on the couch, watch an old Saved By the Bell episode, and let the highlight of your day be when you finally allow yourself to scratch that itch that is hovering dangerously close to your butt-hole when no one is looking? Or are you going to go run on the beach, call an old friend, and then go out to a bar and hit on the first girl/guy you see that looks like they got in with a fake ID.....just cause you can?

So before I end with a list of the things I learned in '07, I will raise a glass to '08, and hope that it allows me to spend part of it with each of you. Cause all of us big kids, or young adults, we need to stick together. Experiences are what your life is made up of. But honestly, think back to all of your most memorable experiences....go ahead, I will wait. Now count how many of them happened while you were alone. Probably precious few.

2007 proved to me that:
1.) Men and women will never, ever be on the same page. Kudos to those of you who are still making your relationships work, and to those who were smart enough to get out cause it just wasn't working. My advice? Grab onto the nearest guy or girl who makes you smile, and just go along for the ride. And give them a nice, hard slap on the ass while you're at it.

2.) The days of looking up to professional athletes are all but over. So quit your bitching, enjoy the game, and if you need a role model, hang out with an elementary school teacher or volunteer firefighter.

3.) My niece and two nephews may just be the most incredible human beings that ever lived.

4.) Celebrities are so much more boring than they used to be. Remember when a celeb scandal meant Kurt Cobain putting a bullet in his temple, or OJ very slowly fleeing in a Bronco after cutting two people's heads off? And I am supposed to freak over bald - ass Brittney Spears flashing her cooch for the 37th time? At least she did answer the age old question of whether or not the carpet matches the drapes. And for those of you who truly think Jennifer Love Hewitt is fat, I have three little words: Go. Fuck. Yourself.

5.) MySpace, the New England Patriots, Grey's Anatomy, and dog-fighting are all things that Satan came up with while he was touching himself.

6.) If you haven't seen it already, run - don't walk - to the nearest independent theater to see the film "Into the Wild".

7.) When the SoCal wild fires hit, my friend and I contacted three agencies trying to volunteer some form of help. We were denied and told that, to be honest, they had so many volunteers that they were running into each other. Think about that and remember that humanity still has a chance, even if it is a small one.

8.) The difference between a friend and and someone you dislike usually boils down to a misunderstanding or a mistake someone made that could probably be forgiven. Take another look at it, and be the bigger person. You can never have enough friends.

But then again, some people are just cock-suckers. Happy New Year.

Guest Blogger - Laurnie

2010-05-10T09:30:00.000-07:00

AN ODE TO MY BFF

Hello my fellow followers, and welcome to Andrew's space. If you are a follower from waaay back, then this little post is a repeat. But if not, then please sit back and enjoy...

Ahh my BFF Andrew. Today I blog about you. Because I think the world (or anyone who happens to read this) should know just how awesome you are. I mean, how many people can say their BFF kicks them when they're down (with love, of course)? Gets to hear about how a good BM made his morning? Never gets to be right in a conversation? And if you are right, and have proven it by googling and showing that you ARE right, he still believes that the internet is wrong.

But really. I am very lucky in the sense that I have a male BFF who would rather eat his own puke than sleep with me, and vice versa. Who will sit and laugh like a child until he cries when I show him the fart application on my phone. Who will still, after 3.5 years, look at me with disgust when I say I haven't seen a specific movie. Who will in one sentence insult me, and then follow it up with a great compliment. Who will tell the world all the reasons why he HATES being called a BFF, but how he is ok with the fact that I do it, because Im special :) And who will read my blog, find some sort of mistake, criticize it, then maybe finally decide he needs to light that fire under his ass write his own blog. Because my BFF is one of the smartest, wittiest, cynical, hilarious, greatest writers Ive ever known, and he is wasting it away. I mean this out of love. But his end of the year rants are all I get, and this year 2008 came out in May 2009. He needs to get on it.

So today I waste 20 minutes blogging about Andrew, for no reason at all except the fact that Im bored. Andrew, please blog more so people have something more interesting to read. Love you!

My New Years Revolution

2010-01-30T14:35:00.000-08:00

Hola, Aloha, Salut, Mambo, and Howdy! It has been exactly 50 days since my last post. I am one shitty blogger.

Before I bore the living shit out of each and every one of you with my series of 'Best Of' lists for the last decade (movies, tv, songs, etc.), I figured that I would write about - not my resolutions for 2010 - but my New Year's REVOLUTION. Seriously, my life is going to take a big turn this coming year, and I am ready and excited for it. I will be moving into my own place for the first time in 10 years, sans roommates. I will be putting down the cigarettes....so stay the hell away from me. I will be getting a new car. I will see some of my best friends marry, have children, and start their adult lives. It is a new decade, and for many, a fresh start.

But there are also many small changes that I plan to make, and I feel they are just as substantial. So here we go....

I, Andrew James Derby, being of sound yet substance-abused mind and body, do solemnly swear the following:

1.) I will never, ever again turn my television to MTV when 'Jersey Shore' is on. I caught five minutes to see what the hype was about. I turned it off feeling like someone had kick my intelligence in the taint. The only thing "The Situation" has going for him is that he bears a striking resemblance to Beeker from the Muppet Show.

2.) I will learn to use my new Droid phone, if only to stop accidentally sending inappropriate texts to the wrong people. I am quite certain that my 50-something friend Greg did not need to hear about the unfortunate 'period-sex' incident that I experienced a couple of weeks ago. Sorry Greg, but just in case you were wondering, yes, I did finish.

3.) I will start spending those rare nights when I have the house to myself by writing - which, other than my ability to pee sideways (yet still into the dead center of the bowl, with a little strategic manuvering), may be my only talent. Which means I have to stop spending said nights by getting blitzed, watching 'Rent', and singing show tunes at the top of my lungs. Not only does it piss off my neighbors, but questioning my own sexuality in the morning makes my hangovers that much worse.

4.) My diet. Whoo boy, this is one of those occasions when I pull back the curtain just a smidge too far. My diet consists of the five basic food groups: Bacon, chicken, pepperoni pizza, pasta, and Chinese food. It's a goddamn miracle that any woman has ever swallowed me a second time. Must be my sparkling personality. Anyhoo, let's just say that if I had to describe myself in 10 words or less, the word "regular" would not be an integer in the personal equation. I vow to introduce some veggies, some fruit, and maybe even toss a little fiber into the mix. Of course, I will continue to wash it down with a tall glass of Jack Danies and water. Fuck off, the way I see it, I am hydrating myself while drinking. Life is too short to worry about how I am going to feel tomorrow morning.

5.) Finally, I am making this promise to any woman who may have the truly poor judgement to hook up with me this year. I swear, on Peyton Manning's throwing arm, that I will not EXPECT you to turn crazy, desperate, clingy, or slutty for slutty's sake, despite the fact that I have not dated a woman who doesn't possess one of those qualities in 32 long years. My mother tells me, ad nauseum, that there is a woman out there who will knock me off my feet. Who will turn my head in the direction opposite that of the Latin chick walking down PCH with her thong peeking out of her pants. Opposite that of the redhead at the party who is still keeping my attention, despite the fact that she just called me 'Doug'....again.... and droned on for 20 minutes about how Jacob is better for Bella because he's more 'human' than Edward. I really do believe you are out there, dear lady. Preferrably with an English accent, an imagination, and a total lack of gag reflex. But enough with my soft side....

So here's to all of our resolutions/revolutions - may each of you have the strength to improve your lives, and take that next step toward true contentment. It's a hell of a lot easier than you think.

Guess I should've done this earlier

2009-12-04T13:45:00.000-08:00

In order to find inspiration for my writing (I know, these posts have been few and far between so far) I started checking out the blogs of other folks (*uncorked, keep it up lady, you're hot, smart, and witty). And I realized that most people wrote an initial blog describing themselves - an 'About Me' kinda deal. So.....

"About Drew."

I am a 32 year old man-child. I was raised by two incredible parents in Southern Indiana, in a town of about 35,000 people, where the opening of a Chili's or Texas Roadhouse counted as a media event.

Went to Catholic school for 8 years, and was even an altar boy. And before you ask, the priests did not touch me inappropriately. They insulted my intelligence on a daily basis, but that was as far as the abuse went. After 8 years of kneeling under a truly creepy statue of a grown man nailed through the palms of his hands to a giant plus sign, I learned the following three things:

1.) There was once a homeless, unemployed hippie, who could cure the blind with his touch and turn water into wine. And people followed him all over the world, despite the fact that he didn't even have a Twitter account.

2.) Forgoing material possessions and dedicating my life to poverty and humility will get me a one way ticket to the pearly gates and an eternity of bliss. But moving my hand back and forth on my own cock will get me thrown into a firey abyss, even if I do it in the shower for easy clean up.

3.) The answer to any difficult question about faith or the church can be summed up with one phrase, "The Lord works in mysterious ways." Which is a Catholic priest's way of saying, "Fuck kid, I don't know. I got into this for the free room and board."

Needless to say, I have distanced myself from from the church. I have moved on from putting my faith in J.C.; instead I deal with the demons in my head with a bottle of J.D. Hey, at least I know where my money is going now.

Getting back on topic, I am single, and have never been in love. Contrary to popular belief, I am not a commitment-phobe. I am just a fan of experiencing new people. A fan of that initial flutter in your belly when you kiss a new pair of lips. A fan of finding out what your date's naked body looks like for the first time. A fan of finding out surprise things about her, like she once spent a year exploring Spain on foot, or went through the police academy after college, or that she's a squirter.

After almost a decade spent as a restaurant/bar manager (cause I was all growns-up), I have spent the last 3 plus years in the fast-paced and exciting world of Insurance Consulting. Now, that isn't as boring as it sounds. It is far, far worse. But it's stable, and these days, that's all a man with no real ambition can ask for.

So what do I do in my spare time? I drink. I smoke (I know, gross huh?). I listen to good music and have an unhealthy obsession with the cinema. I like to sing, write, hike, go out with friends, or just kick it in the house with some board games. I am a sports fanatic, and I like to be active and outdoors, despite the black lungs and constant hangover. I am uncomfortable with all things on-line (ironic, huh?), and still read my newspaper everyday to find out what's going on in the world.

I believe that Lee Harvey Oswald was simply a patsy, and that O.J. Simpson was still funny in the "Naked Gun" movies, despite his penchant for cutting people's heads off. I believe in the death penalty, and marking degenerate sexual offenders with a little red dot over their homes on the internet. I believe that it is a woman's right to choose, but that the man should at least be allowed to have some input into the conversation. Despite the protestations of those "artsy" people I met in film school, I think that Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, and George Clooney are all terriffic actors. I firmly believe that while I have the right to slam the door in the face of any pushy door-to-door salesman, it is better for both parties if I just cut them off, tell them that I am in no way interested, and wish them good luck in a sincere manner.

I believe that any man who physically or emotionally assaults a woman is a coward. I believe that a woman can sleep with a large number of men and not be a slut. While I am heterosexual, I believe that if it was as socially acceptable for two guys to hook up as it has become for two women to do so, you would see a hell of a lot more guys whistling show tunes. I think that women can get anything - and I mean ANYTHING - they want by kissing another woman in public. And while I am absolutely one of those guys, I think we are fucking stupid for succumbing so easily.

I believe that if all women were to get together and decide that they are not going to pay attention to other women's toenail polish or designer handbags, they could do away with all of them and save thousands of dollars (Here's a tip ladies, unless the guy is gay or has a foot fetish, he doesn't give a rat's ass). I believe that when a woman says, "Size doesn't matter," she is lying to herself, cause a guy with a tubesteak who knows what he's doing in bed is better than a guy with a light switch down there who knows how to work it. I believe that lips are more important than the tongue when kissing; that sex is just as important to a healthy relationship as love is; and that men and women will never, ever GET each other - which is exactly why we need one another.

So there it is, I'll talk about high school and college and relationships and all that shit some other time cause in case you haven't noticed, I am a bit long winded. Until next time, let Uncle Drew give you one piece of advice to take to your grave:

If you are a guy, and are bored with your sex life with your girlfriend, talk to her. She is willing to do RIDICULOUS shit with you at least once, because she loves you. And you never know, she may find something that she likes.

Turkey Time

2009-11-20T12:31:00.000-08:00

In honor of Thanksgiving next week, I am grateful for - and humbled by - the following:

1.) People on Facebook who do NOT feel the need to come across as 'deep' and throw out schmaltzy, meaningless quotes about life, love, or happiness on a daily fucking basis

2.) The complete filmographies of Daniel-Day-Lewis and Bill Murray

3.) Girls who actually know how to give a good hand job

4.) #18, and his refusal to quit, no matter how many points down and how little time left on the clock. God bless you Peyton, you are the best QB and head coach in the NFL

5.) Attractive women with low expectations and/or daddy-issues

6.) Lem Motlow, Proprietor, Jack Daniel Distillery - for your incredible vision (and your fine product's effect on mine)

7.) The feeling that comes over me when my amazing little niece kisses my cheek and tells me that she loves her Uncle Anjew

8.) Wii Punch Out, the batting cages, and my writing, for giving me an outlet that keeps me from causing other people harm

9.) Those who were put on this planet to create incredible music - songs that inspire me to think, create, and sing at the top of my lungs on the freeway while passers-by stare at me like my car is on fire. I'm looking at you Eddie Vedder, Damien Rice, Jill Scott, Elliot Smith, John Legend, Layne Staley, and Ray LaMontagne, amongst others.

10.) People who treat servers, bartenders, and managers in restaurants with respect toward them as people and what they do.

11.) Those women that didn't get preggers or cause me to get itchy despite my aversion to condoms (may the Lord bless and keep you)

12.) Anyone who in any way contributes creatively to the show "Lost"

13.) People who join me in restrained laughter when a fat person falls down or a midget jumps up and down in anger

14.) Waking up from sleep on my back when I have morning wood

15.) Haley, Jack, Will, and Connor - I love you all very much. You make me a better man and uncle.....and keep me from being a Daddy. The world owes you.

16.) To those of you who have faith, and use it for inspiration, instead of a crutch. And for not pushing it on me, describing it to me, or pretty much bringing it up to me at any point in time

17.) Angelina Jolie's lips, Jessica Biel's ass, Emmanuel Chriqui's hair, Audrina Patridge's breasts, Eliza Dushku's legs, and Charlize Theron's eyes. Put it all together on one woman and....well, she'd probably look messed up but I would hit it every day of the week and twice on Sunday.

18.) For James and Elaine Derby, the most loving, understanding, influential, and patient individuals that have ever graced this planet. Everything that I am, that I've been, that I will strive to become - it is because of the two of you, and your guidance. Can't wait to see you for the holiday.

19.) To my 'Framily' - my friends who are, although not by blood, part of my family nontheless. You inspire me, help me grow, make me strong, make me laugh....and on occasion drive me bugfucking insane. I need all of these, so stick with me.

20.) And last but not least, for my early morning BM. Without you, the day cannot progress

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone. Here's hoping you get to spend it with those people who feel like home.

Serendipty - so sorry, this one is gonna be LONG

2009-11-07T16:32:00.000-08:00

When you are on the kind of lengthy romantic drought that I am, you start thinking back about the chances that you let slip away. I can't help but let my mind drift back to those times when, at a bar or party, I locked eyes with some beauty, and a little spark flickered between us.

The possibilities are endless in this moment: she could be the girl. The one you take home to mom and dad, marry and raise kids with, then spend your golden years sitting on the front porch watching the sun set while holding hands. Or better yet, she may be that girl, the one who goes home with you after drunkenly dry-humping on the dance floor for an hour, has awkward sex with you, then tries and fails to hold her head up high after you toss her a Gatorade and show her the door, silently whispering "Be strong" as she makes the walk of shame to whatever front lawn her intoxicated ass parked the car on last night.

But the window of opportunity to act on said spark is miniscule. You hestitate, and she walks away. You go to get another drink for for a little Irish courage, and when you come back, she is surrounded by a pack of her girlfriends. Or worst of all, you chicken out, and next thing you know you see her slip into the back room with the musclebound douchebag who probably couldn't tell her the capital of his home state, but at least had the sack to walk up to her and drop some line he picked up watching "Tool Academy".

I have had more than one of these moments in my life, but one takes the cake, a mistake I will never fogive myself for. It was back in college, and her name was Laura. And I mean....damn. Black hair. Green eyes. And a fucking college gymnast. Still to this day, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen with my own two eyes. And considering the douche I was back then, who would hit on any woman at anytime, I could not talk to her for the life of me. She would show up, smile at me, and I....became Anne Frank. Like I was hiding under the floorboards, hoping desperately not to breathe too loud lest me and my entire family become Hot Pockets.

This went on for years - she would even laugh at my complete and utter cowardice sometimes. I graduated, and thought that was the last of it. Until she walked into the restaurant I worked in after college, 50 miles from campus in another town. There she was, a group of what I am sure were extremely good looking friends with her, made to look like Whoopi Goldberg sitting next to that goddess.

When she saw me, there was instant recognition - and that smile that flat-out fucking floored me (points to me for alliteration). This was it. This was my time. I was going to talk to her or perish in a flame of pity and shame trying. My buddy let me drop her check (and the change) off at her table, and I walked right up to her. She looked up, and smiled in a way that let me know she wanted me to talk to her. I handed her the book and the money. And in a confident, incredibly sexy/macho manner, I looked her right in those indescribable eyes and said, "Huhhuhmmkaytanksforcomingnite." I think that's how you spell it, I'm not sure, it was loud in there. Then I turned around and made a bee-line for the kitchen like I was a fat kid with diabetes and my orange juice was back there somewhere. She left without a word.

Later that night, while my coworkers retold the story and mimicked my Forrest Gump-esque run for the hills, I grabbed the book with her change in it and took a single dollar from it, replacing it with another from my wallet. I went home and put it in a box, so that at any time I could take it out, look at it, and curse myself for being the world's biggest vagina.

A year later I moved to Cali, and spent a comfortable night alone with some booze and a chick flick (a practice that I am fully comfortable admitting still goes on). And being the Cusack fan that I am, I let the horrible script and lame direction of the film Serendipity wash over me. If you haven't seen it - a summary: Guy and Girl meet cute. Guy has girlfriend, Girl has boyfriend. They part ways, but not before she writes her number on a $5 bill and throws it into the wind (like people do), hopeful that fate brings 'em back together blah blah blah. Whatever, Piven's in it.

Painfully reminded of my neutered encounter with Laura a year or so earlier, I walked into my room and took out the dollar bill. The word "pussy" came out of my mouth as I looked in the mirror, bemoaning the thought of how, standing in front of that emerald-eyed gift from God, my testicles had chosen that exact moment to regress into my abdomen, leaving me standing there like Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs (Cue creepy music and the infamous "Tuck Back").

I crumpled up the bill, and threw it. And then (because at this point I was apparently still channeling the spirit of a little fancy girl) ran after it, picked it up, and spread it out on my dresser like I was trying to mend a baby bird's broken wing. And that's when I saw it.

Now, you can see where this is going. Before you cry "BULLSHIT!" - I swear to Peyton. I still have the bill if you wanna come look at it. No joke, scrawled on the back of the bill was one word. A word that instantly made me want to punch myself in the face, throw down the rest of my drink, and start furiously beating off. And not necessarily in that order.

Laura
(812) 323-$&%@

Come on, I'm not an idiot. I ain't puttin' the whole thing up there. Fuckin' perverts.

She had left me her number, and I became, on that very day, the saddest pile of monkey spooge on the planet. Let that be a lesson to all of you! When the woman/man of your dreams comes 'round, try your best not to act like Drew. Like a puppy who limps around the house, giving you that, "WHY?" look when you just got back from the vet after having his nuts chopped off.

And that's not even the end. You should hear what happened when I actually called the number. But alas, that is a story for another time, dear friends.....

My Little Road Rage

2009-10-30T16:31:00.000-07:00

To say that I am an angry driver is a bit of an understatement. When I am alone, behind the wheel of my girl (a '98 Saturn who is way too good to me), I make Patrick Bateman look like the kind of guy you would think is a good cuddler. To those of you who make me want to chase you down, drag you out of your car, hit you on the nose with a rolled up magazine and yell, "NO!" - this is for you:

You people who drive the speed limit in the fast lane: Hi! My name is Drew! I drink too much. I am unhappy in my job. At any given time, it has probably been too long since I have been laid. I am prone to fits of rage, and my foul mouth could make a Tourette's sufferer stare in stunned silence. I like old movies and showtunes. And if you don't get out of the fast lane when I am clearly going faster than you, know this - behind you, I am planning your brutal demise. It probably involves my scrotum on the forehead of your dead corpse at some point.

You people who get butt-hurt and speed up to keep me from passing you on the right: I am not afraid to go to jail. You will lose this particular battle. Be the better person, and let me by. And that gesture you see as I race past? Don't take it the wrong way, I am just letting you know that you are #1 in my book.

And finally, you people who don't give me that little wave after I let you merge in front of me: I feel terribly sorry for your parents. They probably tried their best to raise a well-mannered, polite son or daughter. They probably speak so highly of you when someone asks them how you are doing at dinner parties. Let's just hope they never have to see what a terrible waste of human blood you have become. Seriously, on the scale of value that you bring to human society, you rank somewhere in between the still living member of Milli Vanilli, and a kiddie rapist. Say hi to your mom for me.

Hope to see you on the road!

All Hallow's Eve

2009-10-30T12:21:00.000-07:00

I remember the last time that Halloween counted as a 'holiday' for me. I was 10, I think. My mom made me a kick-ass E.T. costume. And I came back with what was at that point in my life, the best candy haul EVER. Forget the fact that, even at age ten, I was pretty tall and my legs were way too long to fit into squat little E.T.'s body shape. Hell, I was probably walking around the neighborhood looking like Pam Anderson must have looked when she got off that boat with Tommy Lee. Like I had the rickets.

But just looking down into that plastic jack-o'-lantern full of delicious, chocolate-covered madness gave me a boner before I knew what boners were meant for. Snicker's bars, Bit-O'-Honeys, and Butterfingers. Nerds, caramels, and Sweet Tarts. That unbelievably cool woman who had handed out Fun-Dip packets was a rockstar; the douchebag who handed out toothbrushes could kiss my pucker.

As always, my wonderfully responsible parents checked my candy out first. And my mommy found it - it was one of those peanut butter taffy's. You know, the no-brand-name ones that came in either black or orange, non-descript wax wrapping, twisted into little bows at both ends. Am I the only kid ever who fucking LOVED those candies?

Only this one had a large pin in it, whose pointy side was poking through the wrapper.

My mom loved me very much (still does, though I have given her so many reasons not to), but she was also a pediatric nurse who was no-nonsense when it came to her two children. The entire haul went into the trash. I remember her taking me, crying, to McD's for my favorite shaped and processed poultry parts - Chicken McNuggets - and buying me some small bags of candy on the way home.

But it just wasn't the same anymore. The innocence of Halloween for me had bled away, the result of some sick, demented psychopath who thought that the idea of a child putting a sewing pin through his upper lip qualified as good sport. Sure, I trick-or-treated again after that, but it was never the same. The idea that people like that existed out there, in our own neighborhood no less, made the idea of dressing up as my favorite superhero or Saturday morning cartoon character, knocking on stranger's doors and allowing them to give you things to put in your mouth seem dangerous and stupid.

No more kid's stuff. I mean, look at how I spend Halloween now: I throw a big party where the booze flows and the costumes show as much flesh as possible. I dress up in a costume that I hope will offend people in some small way. I blare loud music, stare at countless breasts sitting up perfectly like Ziggy and his twin brother peeking over a fence, and watch as all the women relax, allowed to look like total tramps one night out of the year and not be judged by the chunkier girls (the ones who dressed up in 'funny' costumes). And all the while, I calculate exactly how much whiskey I can consume to properly lower my inhibitions (and maybe my standards), but still allow my penis to work just enough should I be lucky enough to fulfill that fantasy of sneaking back to my room with some girl dressed as a naughty maid or a sexy cop, and allow her to put my Tootsie Pop wherever she feels appropriate.

Wait. Come to think of it, fuck innocence! I can buy Fun Dip at Seven Eleven!

Happy Halloween everybody.

So here it is....

2009-10-23T17:12:00.000-07:00

....my blog. A little part of me died inside as I typed that word. "Blog". I am contributing to the death of the printed word. Doing my tiny part to slowly and methodically kill the possiblity for future generations to actually pick up a newspaper or magazine. I'm serious, every little bit of technology that we become obsessed with, that becomes part of the public vernacular - "I just Facebooked you" or "Did you Tweet about it?" - causes one more fat, pimple-faced twenty-something to spend an extra hour in his room, face all a glow from the light emanating from his monitor, simultaneously killing hordes of goblins on World of Warcraft with one hand, while the other (without guilt) touches himself as 'justturned18hottie' tells him that she's wet via chat room.

Jesus, that was one of the worst run-on sentences I ever wrote. Oh well, that is what you will get by reading this blog - a lot of piss and vinegar, a shit load of random thoughts, and probably more honesty than you or I are comfortable with. I will promise you three things:

1.) Whatever comes into my head - it will be thrust into cyberspace (do we even call it that anymore?) minus any concern for your feelings, viewpoints, or values. If you don't like what I write, don't read it. I will not take it personally.

2.) The frequency of my posts will directly result from both the mood I am in at any given point in time, and my level of intoxication. Come on, anyone who ever had anything to say was fucked up on something. Hemingway was a rampant drunk. Thompson had more acid in his system than the alien from H.R. Gieger's nightmares. Hell, even Shakespeare needed an opiate of some sort to put pen to paper. While I am in no way shape or form putting myself on the level of those artists, and chances are nothing EVER on this blog will have an effect on anyone's life other than mine, I like to daydream that I have a talent that the rest of the world just hasn't been exposed to yet. Sue me, I am a self-centered prick. Although, contrary to the popular phrase, my shit does in fact, stink. My diet is poor.

3.) I'm gonna talk about anything. From whatever happened to me personally that day, to what's happening in the sport's world, to movies, to the fact that I will never understand the appeal of Kate Hudson, personalized licensed plates, or couples who sit on the same side of a booth in restaurants. In fact, those three things make me want to stick some sort of sharp object in my ear, to make death come swiftly.

Hey, you were the one dumb enough to log on to this. Don't blame me. I'm just the.....fuck....blogger.

And P.S. - thanks BFF, for giving me a push.