In Medias Res

Hot Hot Hot

I'm in NYC. If that thought makes you jealous, just get into an oven with a big bucket of bum urine, and smoke.

Last night marked the end of the Upright Citizens Brigade's 7th Annual Del Close Improv Marathon, to which hundreds of comics came from all over the country to creep me out a little. Honestly, I'm so tired of improv I'm not even going to make up things to say conversationally in real life for a couple of weeks.

Also, I need everyone's help with some slang issues. I'm getting a little sick of the overuse and subsequent cheapening of the word LITERALLY. As in, "I met this guy last night who was LITERALLY thirty feet tall," "Lance Armstrong is LITERALLY setting the cycling world on fire," or "I have been a fan of The Arcade Fire LITERALLY forever." No you didn't, no he isn't, and nobody really likes The Arcade Fire.

Instead, I want us all to start using FIGURATIVELY, and with the same gusto. As in, "I slept for FIGURATIVELY 25 hours last night," "It is so hot in New York I FIGURATIVELY turned into clam chowder," or "If one more person tells me about how they get The Arcade Fire like nobody else does, I will FIGURATIVELY implode from boredom."

Thank you for your quick attention to this matter. And while we're at it, "your" and "you're" are different words.

And on the counta three...

We will begin with two quick but important statistics:

Number of times I’ve referred to the all-black barbershop where I now get my hair cut as “EXACTLY like the movie ‘Barbershop!’”: approx. 45

Number of times I’ve seen the movie “Barbershop”: 0

But it was in this place (LEGENDS, Detroit & Wilshire), during my last haircut (clippers, #5), where one of the barbers’ birthdays was being celebrated with loud K-DAY, a bottle of Hennessy and a stack of Styrofoam cups. (See? They do something EXACTLY like that in the movie probably!) And it was during this celebration, while I tried to figure out the etiquette for asking strangers for a midday cup of cognac, that I learned something truly weird:

On commercial radio, when they play Common’s “Go!”, the censors drop the word “ass,” but leave in the entire phrase “…like rain, when she came, it poured.”

So, evidently:

A word commonly used to refer to buttocks, which in the world of the song are a woman’s and for all we know fully covered (though we do learn that Common “got to pause, when [he] think[s] about her in them draws,” [first verse, ibid] so they’re most likely in underwear, but still): UNACCEPTABLE!

A phrase describing a torrent of female ejaculate so intense it soaks right through Common’s flimsy London Fog and tears his umbrella to ribbons: FINE. IN FACT, GO AHEAD AND PLAY IT IN THE DAYTIME.

Freaky like the daughter of a pastor. It got me thinking about “Sixteen Candles” and its catch phrase (which someone in a Hooters restaurant is repeating right this second) “No more yankee my wankee. The Donger need food!” If you happen to catch this movie on commercial television, you will notice that the line has become “No more Yankee rum drinkee. The Donger need food!”

So, evidently:

Dialogue indicating a consensual handjob between a naïve Chinese exchange student and a gruff but gentle track & field star- a handy whose completion he considers secondary to a first-date meal: FILTH!

Dialogue which changes the entire context of the relationship and which, since consent cannot be granted by an intoxicated person, indicates date rape: SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.

Only one person can see us through the darkness in times like this, and that's Michael Schoeffling. Knowing what we know now, wouldn't we all rather things had gone a little better for him? Think HE'D be embarrassing himself on Oprah's sofa, or debating neurochemistry with Matt Lauer? Aw, hell to the no.

Where have you gone, Jake Ryan? Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you.

ROCK STAR CATCH PHRASE!

"I'm sorry, but you're just not right for our band, INXS. Sorry, God bless."

Awesome! I'm writing it on my beer coolie right now, and I can't fuckin' wait to use it colloquially. Like, next time I'm facing off against some mark at a red light, when the light turns green and I leave him in a cloud of toxic tire smoke I'm gonna be all "I'm sorry, but you're just not right for our band, INXS. Sorry, God bless!" FACE!

No winner on the parlor game. But TLC's "R U The Girl" starts on the 27th, and you KNOW T-Boz and Chilli won't let us down.

By the way, my money's on Wil. For obvious reasons.

Yes, yes...very talented.

But is anyone else as sick of their smug little faces as I am?

Parlor Game: ROCK STAR

Remember summer reruns? Those long, post-Ghost In The Graveyard Friday nights spent eating handfuls of Jiffy-Pop on the family-room floor in your footies, in front of a "Benson" you'd already seen at least once? They reflected and amplified the summer languor. They provided the familiarity and repetition we secretly missed from school. But most importantly, they provided a second chance to learn the lines we'd spend the early 1990s quoting in bars, through neon-tinted clouds of Camel Light smoke. (Particularly if we were Ethan Hawke and Steve Zahn in "Reality Bites," and face it: for at least 5 minutes, you were.)

Yeah, well, I don't know what my kids will talk about in the rugged, post-apocalyptic bars of the future. In the 21st century, it's all about the summer rehash. Take whatever show entered the vernacular in the last year, alter one detail, instant new product. 2005's template? "The Apprentice." Every new unscripted show can be traced back to it, in .25 degrees: Agent Apprentice. Fancy Apprentice. Black Apprentice.

(I call it the Kaoma Effect. Remember Kaoma? The flamenco band whose 1989 song "Lambada" triggered a dance craze that was at once tedious and forbidden? My freshman year roommate at Holy Cross had the CD, and the track listing went something like this: Lambada. Disco Lambada. Lambareggae. Lambada On Your Head. Lambada de Amor. Mother May I Lambada With Danger? Etc.)

Since nobody seems to be sweating conceptual originality, the producers of these shows have all the time in the world to focus on the kiss-off line. Donald Trump hit a merchandising homer with "You're Fired," which is interesting given that people had been saying it pretty regularly for generations. So now every knock-off comes complete with its own slogan- germane to the show's setting, snippy enough to get the rejection across, pithy enough to fit on a mug should the market demand it. For example, Tommy Hilfiger spurns designers on Fashion Apprentice "The Cut" by telling them, "You're out of style." Faye Dunaway dashed the hopes of wannabe starlets on Acting Apprentice "The Starlet" with "Don't call us, we'll call you." Get it?

Which brings us to the parlor game of Summer '05: predicting the contestant-cutting line before the show premieres.

A couple of weeks ago, just before "I Want To Be A Hilton"-mania swept dozens, my friend Scott and I tried to call it. Scott's pick: "You are excused." Mine was more abstract: Kathy Hilton dismisses everyone from the room except the eliminated hopeful, then takes an Ambien and slowly dozes off. The actual line ended up being "You're not on the list," which is actually pretty fucking great. And I got the part about Kathy dismissing everyone else correct, which really got my hopes up.

Why is this important right now? Because on Monday July 11, CBS premieres ROCK STAR, which can be subtitled INXS Apprentice: 15 rock-stars-in-waiting vie to replace Michael Hutchence as lead singer of INXS. (You could also subtitle this show State Fair Apprentice.)

So I put it to you, readers: what's your prediction for ROCK STAR's climactic rejection line? Will it incorporate an INXS song title? Will it refer to the rock & roll lifestyle, or to Michael himself? Will it be on a T-shirt at Spencer Gifts in August?

Post your answers in the COMMENTS section. Winner gets Jiffy-Pop. Offer void in California.

By the way, you've got your work cut out for you. I explained this game to Ben, and his answer, given with only a moment's thought, illustrates why I think he'll be around for a long time.

Ben's pick: "You choked."

Gonna give it to ya.

If this doesn't brighten your day, fuck off.

Got hipped to this by the redoubtable Tommy Himself, whose insights at The Sticking Point are worth checking out.

The Funniest Thing I Have Ever Seen

Hanging in the window of the AM/PM on Sunset at San Vicente, from the inside, behind the counter, in the area only employees can access. Remember this detail. It's important.

What? Can't read it? Okay, there are limits to what a camera-phone can do. Allow me to summarize.

The official letter is from the Tasty Products Corporation, and it says (I'm paraphrasing):

"Dear Proprietor:

On a recent visit to your establishment, a representative of Tasty Products observed that your Tasty Frozen Beverage Machine (tm) was in need of cleaning. We have enclosed a copy of the owner's manual, which you received at the time of the machine's delivery, and which clearly states that THE TASTY FROZEN BEVERAGE MACHINE MUST BE CLEANED AT LEAST ONCE A WEEK. Please see to it that your employees comply with this simple rule, to avoid Health Department penalties and to ENHANCE SALES!

Thank you for your quick attention to this matter,

Betty McWhatever
Tasty Products, LLC"

And now, the kicker. Written underneath the text, in an angry scrawl, is the proprietor's reply:

"YOU PUT ME DOWN. SHAME ON YOU!!!"

Don't bother passing by to visit the letter; like everything I love, it went away.

But STILL.

I Loh Heem: Chris Evans

Because this blog, like my bedroom, should sometimes resemble the locker of a 14-year-old girl, please allow me to present the first in an ongoing series wherein we expose, explore and celebrate the men I dig from afar.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Chris Evans.

Those lips. Those eyes. That acting technique which seems entirely stolen from that Buffy guy who stole his acting technique entirely from Matthew Perry. Those mysterious and deep-down-probably-already-regretted tattoos. I long to don an old pair of long-johns and spar a few rounds with this one while we sweatily, perhaps even tearily discuss the state of our nation. "537 votes, for real, Chris? Fuck!"

You: Don't even think about it, Dave.
Me: Never do.

His name is Chris Evans, and I loh heem.

OVERHEARD

At the gym. Early afternoon. During a 3-second iPod song gap, I hear a woman in her early 40s says these exact words to her brightly-dressed trainer:

"Having as many cute outfits as I do? Seriously? Can sometimes be a SUFFOCATING feeling."

And there you have it. A 3-second summary of Los Angeles more on-point than Entourage has offered in a season and a half. Remind me to listen to longer songs.

Related this immediately afterwards to my father. "You know what I would have done in that situation," he said, "I would have suffocated her." God bless you, Daddy-O.