Movie Review Section, Part I: I recently watched "Cinderella Man" starring Russell Crowe and an actress who used to be Renee Zellweger. I think this was the only film directed by Ron Howard which wasn't nominated for a bunch of Oscars and didn't make wheelbarrows of cash ("Far and Away" might also fall into this category though). You may recall that this film did so badly at the box office that the studio offered a money-back guarantee for those who went to see the movie and didn't enjoy it. Do you think that guarantee is still in effect? Because I want back the 144 minutes I wasted watching that paint-by-the-numbers steaming pile of monkey crap. I'll be invoicing Ron Howard for... carry the one... 0.33% of my September cable bill. Wish me luck...You will note that I have been posting in this Courier font, while The Wood Dog's blog entries are in Trebuchet or whatever that much more readable default font is. Therefore, there are now three ways to determine which of us wrote a particular blog post: (1) look at the font; (2) look at the bottom of the post; and (3) it was me, because The Wood Dog doesn't post any more. I now have a lot more sympathy for pregnant women than I used to. I mean, seeing as how hard it is to blog for two, I can imagine it is quite a chore to eat for two...
My Hump Island needs updating. For those of you who aren't familiar with the concept, you choose five people to be stranded with you on your Hump Island, the idea being that there is really nothing to do on the island except have sex with the other stranded people. In other words, it is a slightly more clever way of asking someone to name the five people they find most attractive. Some couples in relationships name five people besides their significant others with whom they are allowed to have sex without cratering the relationship. I guess that is kind of like Hump Island, except it doesn't involve an island. The catch is that people named in either instance must be famous people - this allows other people to judge your taste and precludes you from claiming immunity for boning the hot barista at the local Starbucks, which theoretically could happen. But if you somehow manage to nail Elisha Cuthbert, you should totally get away with it. Anyway, my Hump Island used to consist of Anna Kournikova, Charlize Theron, Kristy Swanson (see The Chase or click here before you kill me for that one), Katherine Heigl (anyone noticing a type?) and Jessica Alba. I haven't finished updating my Hump Island, but let's start with Leslie Bibb (Mrs. Ricky Bobby, and the reporter Iron Man boned) and, heading over to the dark side, Erinn Hayes (from some new CBS "comedy" called Worst Week; she looks to me like she's the love child of Jessica Alba and Jennifer Garner):
Oh what the hell, let's put Elisha on there too. Hubba, hubba...What exactly does "hooking up" mean? I always thought it meant "heavy petting" or "making out" - basically, something more than a goodnight kiss. After hearing a couple of girls deny hooking up with me to my face (not that I blame them for lying about it, but I am pretty sure it happened; I mean, I was there and all), I finally asked what they thought it meant. Turns out girls (these girls at least) think "hooking up" means "having sex". Is it a generational thing (these girls were younger)? Is it a NorCal-SoCal thing? Is it a boy-girl thing?...
During the MLB All-Star break, ESPN had three of their "fantasy sports experts" on to make predictions for the second half of the season. First of all: Oh My God. These are the guys who weren't cool enough to get invited to play Dungeons & Dragons in junior high:
Secondly, does anyone keep track of whether these tools actually know what they are talking about? They sure tell you when they were right, but are they right more often than not? Near as I can tell, to be a fantasy expert for ESPN, all you have to do is have a podcast where you say "this is, uh, this is very true" a lot, you quit paying attention to baseball to focus on football and admit to this on your baseball podcast, and you often call in to work instead of actually going to work because you were out drinking the night before, which you also admit on-air. I'm pretty sure you get fired for that sort of thing at most other jobs - is ESPN hiring?...Chronology of one of my recent relationships: Boy meets Girl. Boy attempts to date Girl. Girl refuses, as she doesn't trust Boy because she thinks Boy is a player because he rarely calls. Boy and Girl become friends. Girl realizes Boy isn't a player, he is just a little odd about calling and texting. Boy expresses no further interest in Girl, since they are friends. Girl starts to like Boy. Boy and Girl date for 48 hours. Girl breaks up with Boy because she realizes he will never be as attentive as she would like. Girl and Boy don't speak for several months. Girl e-mails Boy and says she wants to be friends. Boy and Girl become friends with benefits. What is the point (assuming there is one)? Well, mostly so I could throw in the "friends with benefits" line and piss off any married people who may be reading. But also, that it is useful to have chick friends, especially hot ones. They will tell you things that you need to change, things that other hot chicks will notice and be put off by. Like that you need to change what you're doing with your hair. That you need to buy different jeans or shoes. That you need to wear cologne. That you need to either look into penile enlargement surgery or make a ton of money. You know, the sorts of things that might not occur to you on your own. I would like to thank Girl for two specific recommendations. First, Girl made me switch to short socks. Used to be I would wear full-length tube socks at the gym, and would just push them down around my ankles. Girl informed me that this was Wrong and something that Old Guys do. Next time I was at the gym, I looked around and saw that no one was wearing socks. They weren't even wearing clothes, and there were only dudes in there. Then I realized I had somehow wandered into the San Francisco Gold's Gym. So I hightailed it out of there and headed to my local 24-Hour Fitness. Sure enough, guys who looked to be in their twenties were wearing short socks. Guys who looked to be in their fifties and sixties were wearing long socks, sometimes pushed down, sometimes not. There weren't really any guys in their thirties or forties; those poor sods were probably at home, wrangling toddlers and otherwise keeping busy not using the treadmill they bought for the home office. Seeing as how I'd rather be identified with guys in their twenties than with Old Guys, chest waxing be damned, I made the switch to short socks and I am a much happier man for it. Secondly, Girl informed me that my flannel boxers, which had things like dogs and plaid patterns on them, are not sexy. I thought they were cute and intriguing, like a Bugs Bunny tie I had in college, but then I thought further and realized that the Bugs Bunny tie wouldn't play in this day and age. Girl instructed me to acquire black boxer-briefs. After a few false starts (tip: don't buy Under Armour underwear - they feel and wear like compression shorts) I've acquired appropriate undergarments, including some black boxer-briefs:
Once again I can work out, and prance around the house afterwards, with confidence...
George Takei (rhymes with "gay", not with "guy") got married recently. Takei is a gay man, and he married his longtime partner, a man by the name of Brad Altman. I have no problem with this - I think gay marriage is fine just so long as I don't wake up in Vegas one morning hung over as all get-out and married to a dude. You know, because why buy the cow. Takei is best known as Lieutenant Sulu on Star Trek (though he did attain higher ranks throughout his career - he was Captain Sulu in "Star Trek 6: The Undiscovered Country", and is known as the Rear Admiral at the San Francisco Gold's Gym). So Takei is boldly going where no man has gone before, except for himself, and he's been going there for years. Not my line, just passing it along...I don't know what in the hell I am going to be for Halloween. So far my only idea is to be The Most Interesting Man in the World. Near as I can tell, this would require a tuxedo jacket, no tie, white hair and beard, and I would have to drink Dos Equis all night:
Not my cleverest, not by a long shot. Oh, I long for the heady days when I was Jared from Subway for Halloween. Now that was a costume with some sex appeal...Is there a bigger asshole on the baseball diamond than the guy who makes two outs in the same inning when his team bats around?...
Suppose you're "manscaping". And I don't mean general manscaping, but in the area of the twig and berries. And suppose that while trimming the twig, you accidentally cut down a significant portion of the surrounding forest. And suppose that to that point the forest has never been a Brazilian forest. And further suppose you are expecting a female botanist who has previously visited that part of the world to return for further research. Should you just clear-cut the entire area, or wait until that portion of the forest re-grows naturally?...
Movie Review Section, Part II: I also recently watched the Oscar-nominated film "Michael Clayton", which is the story of a law firm "fixer" - Clayton doesn't actually practice law but instead supposedly comes up with practical solutions when things go wrong. Throughout the film Clayton is constantly praised by the partners in the firm for the value of the services he provides. However, HE NEVER ACTUALLY FIXES ANYTHING. Clayton is asked to help out a client who has just committed a hit-and-run on a pedestrian and fled the scene. How does he "fix" the situation? He tells the guy to hire an attorney. Gee, thanks. Clayton is also asked to take care of a firm partner who is defending one of the firm's major clients in a toxic tort suit. The partner has quit taking his medication and is acting erratically, and his behavior is compromising the case. Clayton's job is to bring the partner back home, and get him to take his medication again so he can win the case. How does that turn out? Well, after Clayton finds him, the partner ditches Clayton and puts together thousands of binders containing damaging evidence against the firm's client, and is murdered afterwards. Nice job again, Clayton. Aces, really. What would the firm do without you?...
Every now and again, people get all worked up over a sports team's name being offensive. You can't call your team the Redskins, because that's offensive to Native Americans. You can't call your team the Redmen, because that's offensive to Native Americans. You have to change your Chief Wahoo logo, because it's offensive to Native Americans. I'm personally not offended, but I probably don't have enough Native American in me (and no, I don't want a Native American in me, no matter which gym I happen to be in) to be offended. But what I'm wondering is, why don't people make a big deal about people's names being offensive? I don't mean names like Mike Hunt, Oliver Closeoff, Haywood Jablowme or former SF Giants pitching coach Dick Pole, but racially offensive names. Many people's surnames came about for practical reasons. If two guys were named John, and one was a tailor and the other was a bricklayer, they might be called John Taylor and John Mason. If two guys were named Steve, and one was a blacksmith and the other was born to a guy named Jack, they might be called Steve Smith and Steve Jackson. So what the hell happened with Rolando Blackman and his Caribbean cousin Will Blackmon? No one's pissed about those names? I guess if they were pissed they could just legally change their names, but I think name changing has kind of gotten out of hand recently...
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