The Coffin

One upon a time, a long time ago, there was a country boy who went to town to see the sights.  He didn’t have any money for a hotel and the local police had a reputation for hassling vagrants, so he decided to sleep in the one place where no one would bother him . . . the cemetery! 

In the middle of the night, he woke up when something bumped him on the foot.  He looked up and there, at his feet, was a shiny rosewood coffin!  A little unnerved, he got up and moved; the coffin moved with him!  He moved a little further; the coffin moved a little further too.  He got scrambled to his feet and started to run; the coffin floated up into the air and started to follow him!

He ran out of the gate of the graveyard; the coffin chased after him.  He ran across a flowerbed, trampling the flowers; the coffin scraped across the flowerbed, crushing some flowers too.  He ran through a chicken coop and scared all the chickens; the coffin scared them too.  He ran through the park and knocked over a picnic table; the coffin knocked one over too.  He ran through the stable and frightened half the horses; the coffin banged through the stable, frightening the rest. 

He ran through the grocery store, knocking over a display of fruit; the coffin ploughed through the grocery store, knocking over a display of vegetables.  He jumped through the back window, shattering the glass; the coffin smashed through a window, shattering it too!

He made it to the pharmacy and there it all ended: he opened a bottle, drank some cough syrup and stopped that coffin!

Tales Of The DBL, Part 1

The winter of my senior year, we moved into the house that would come to be known, infamously, as the “DBL” and due to the various shenanigans we get up to (and the amount of alcohol we drink), I thought it best to get some stories down before I forgot them completely.

The house had been owned by successive generations of college students, at the very least since I was a freshman, and the main draw for living there was the ridiculously cheap rent and that it was only about a half-mile from the school; as is typical of many houses with a close proximity to campus, it was frequently the site of parties and well-known to be a hub for underage drinking.  Much later on, we found out that the reason why the rent was so cheap in the first place was that the original owner had died, leaving the property to her son and he decided to fuel his drug habit by constructing a meth lab in the shed; as can be expected, the lab caught fire, burning the back of the house to the ground and the property was seized by the police and sold at auction.  Our landlord, having purchased this hot little commodity, slapped some drywall up in place of the damaged section and, disregarding all state and federal laws, called it habitable and rented it out to poor college students.

At the time I joined the house, the property was in the possession of one of my good friends from school, Cody, who had been living there since he won a lottery to live off-campus his sophomore year.  He had gone through a succession of roommates over the following two years, as studies-abroad and personal endeavors took their toll and by late 2006, he found himself with three vacant rooms when several members of the house decided to leave.  My then current roommate Max, Cody’s high-school friend Nick and myself secured those rooms and thus was formed the initial band of misfits to be blessed with the nickname of “DBL”.

We had all just returned from our various Christmas breaks, but had a couple weeks before school was back in session and so, like responsible young men we spent most of this time playing drinking games and carousing till the break of dawn.  Typically the preferred game would be beer pong (with a table made from one of the household doors we removed from the wall) but the favorite alternate was the dice game “7-11-Doubles” or as Cody called it, “Mexican Doubles”.  To play this game, all participants would sit in a circle, usually on the kitchen floor (which was filthy and alcohol spillage tended to improve its sanitary condition) with a mug placed on the floor somewhere nearby and roll dice.  The mug would be filled with a small (or large, depending on how cruel you felt) amount of beer and play proceeded to the left, with all the participants rolling in turn until someone hit the numbers 7, 11 or two of the same number came up (hence the name).  At this point, the roller picked someone else in the circle to drink and as soon as the drinker's hand touched the cup, began rolling feverishly before they could finish and slam the glass back on the ground; if the roller hit 7, 11 or doubles before the cup hit the ground, the container would be refilled and the process repeated.  The drinker could be saved by anyone else in the circle grabbing the mug (thereby reclassifying themselves as the drinker) and play would proceed as before.   

Cody was and is one of the luckiest sons-of-bitches I have ever met in my life and if he were on the dice, it wouldn’t be uncommon for him to hit a streak of ten or more winning rolls and as the quickest drinker in the house, this naturally progressed into a minor competition between us and I would frequently jump in to help out the other players, after they had lost a couple rounds in a row, ending his turn as the roller.  However, since nobody else in the house could match him for luck and drinking as quickly as I did was difficult without practice, other players tended towards either rolling quickly to keep play moving, or rolling slowly to get a chance at some breathing room.  Playing this game, late at night, during that winter, some player (whose identity has long since been lost to the PBR-soaked mists of time) began making egregiously slow rolls, shaking the dice for several minutes at a time and this prompted Nick to yell: “Hurry the fuck up, this isn’t 'take your time at the Douchebag Lounge!'”  The moniker stuck and the crew of the house was known as the DBL forevermore.

Next: Winter is Awesome! (We get cut off at Market of Choice)

It's those Brass Horns, I Swear

Status of Paul's brain: lightly poached, slightly less annoying song stuck in it.

New Year's Resolutions Are Stupid

So, I didn't make any New Year's Resolutions this year, mostly because I think the whole practice is stupid and everyone forgets their objectives a month later.  Having said that, I'm making it a goal to keep up with this blog and tell some (probably boring to everyone) stories or even an opinion post or two.  More to follow.

Some little bit of content: California Girls has been stuck in my head all day and I have no idea why.

I Need a Hug

Maybe it's just the cold and the fact that our heating doesn't work very well; maybe it's that my meal plan for the day is soup-for-one and beer for eight, but I woke up this morning with a horrible sensation of ennui.  I can't even muster a proper fear-of-the-unknown and I stayed up all night reading ghost stories.

It's probably that damn Maslow Hierarchy of Needs again; now that I've gotten my professional life and my housing sorted, the next step is to get my social life together and I just can't seem to get over that wall.  Perhaps I never truly had it, but it appears that somewhere along the way I lost the ability to make new friends and not just acquaintances. 

Maybe I'll go get a cup of coffee and try to get back into the book I've been trying to read for the past month, maybe I'll make another futile trip downtown, just to feel like I've got traction again.  I should probably start by putting on pants. *sigh*

Due Date Film Review

Let me start by saying that while the initial commercials did not seem that great, I typically enjoy the antics of Zach Galifianakis (for the most part) and given Robert Downey Jr.’s recent spate of well-acted and entertaining films, I went into the theater with hopes that this would be on the level of Todd Phillips’ other movies, Old School and The Hangover. However, at one half-chuckle during the entirety of the 100 minute running time, Due Date has proven to be quite possibly the least funny “comedy” I’ve ever seen.

The film’s premise is that up-tight architect Peter Highman (Downey Jr.) needs to get from Atlanta to Los Angeles within a few days to be present for his wife’s C-section and the birth of his first child and this seemingly easy task is hindered by aspiring actor and all around boorish Ethan Tremblay (Galifianakis). Ethan’s annoying eccentricities and Asperger’s-like inability to understand even basic social conventions cause both him and Peter to be ejected from their flight and Peter is subsequently forced to drive cross-country with this wreck of a human-being to beat his deadline.

The pairing is clearly intended to be the classic square/slob cliché, where the slob learns to be a bit more responsible and the square learns to loosen up, but the characters are so fundamentally unrelatable and the duo so lacking in chemistry that this dynamic devolves into both actors being complete assholes to each other for most of the film. Several celebrity cameos (RZA, Matt Walsh, Juliette Lewis, Danny McBride and Jamie Foxx) provide welcome relief from watching these two unlikeable douchebags, but they are brief asides and add little value or insight to the characters or plot. Jamie Foxx’s role as Peter’s good friend (and potential cuckolder) was particularly inscrutable as the idea of an affair is completely dropped after about 10 minutes and no character gives it further thought, barring one 2-second attempt at a gag towards the end of the film.

Without giving away too much more of the plot, this movie quite literally has all the elements of a hilarious film, without any kind of consistent or rational thread to join them together; it’s as if the writers spent a weekend watching every comedy they could get their hands on, picked their favorite scenes and then jammed them every which-way into a road-trip script. To his credit, Todd Phillips mostly shies away from his typical gross-out humor (although there is a prolonged shot of a dog masturbating) in favor of the awkward, uncomfortable-silence type of comedy seen in The Office, but the slapstick portions that balance out the mix quite frankly aren’t silly enough to be funny and actively detract from the mirth of the situation; instead of laughing that Ethan’s “wackiness” results in their car crashing, I’m wincing that their car has been completely flipped and destroyed, breaking Peter’s arm and injuring the dog sidekick.

I was particularly baffled by the movie’s blatant tie-in with Two and a Half Men, but given that I don’t find one iota of that sitcom funny to any degree, perhaps I’m just completely outside the intended audience of this entire enterprise.

TLDR: There’s only one joke the entire film and it’s on the audience.

Frog's Wig

I wrote a story for the randomly generated question in the profile setup, but it was too large to post there, so it gets to be my first blog post!

"The children are waiting! Please tell them the story about the bald frog with the wig:"

Frog's Wig

A long time ago, when the world was new, Frog was a very different creature than he is today; he had lush, thick hair and could frequently be seen vainly strutting around the forest, proclaiming the beauty of his luxurious pompadour and denigrating the hairdos of the other forest denizens.  These poor creatures were sick to death of Frog's criticisms, but unfortunately, he was right; not one of them could match the plush verdance of his perfectly manicured coif. 

Now, in this age Rabbit's behind was as bare as the surface of the moon and Frog took particular malicious glee in poking fun at the barren waste on his rump.  One day, after a particularly snide remark, Rabbit decided it was time for Frog to get his comeuppance and crafted a plan to put him in his place.  He sent out word to all the creatures, great and small, that the Forest would host a beauty contest, to determine, which animal was the most hip; Frog, of course, entered immediately and cackled with glee at the thought of the fame his hair would have.  Soon, animals started arriving from all over the globe to participate and Frog cloistered himself, preening and prepping each individual follicle. 

The night before the contest, Rabbit stopped by to confirm Frog was ready for the big day and slyly invited him out for a drink, to toast to his success.  Never passing up an opportunity to belittle his favorite object of ridicule, Frog instantly agreed to a night out. However, amphibians absolutely cannot hold their liquor and pretty soon Frog was insensible and comatose.  Taking the advantage of this incapacitance, Rabbit carefully plucked every strand of hair from Frog’s head and departed to prepare his coup de grace for the contest.

The next morning, Frog awoke and, bleary-eyed and head pounding, stumbled back to his home to get ready for the contest; he noted how chilly it was, but put it down to the hangover.  He went to the bathroom to take shower but the instant he locked eyes with the mirror he realized that he was completely hairless; his pet, his beauty, his magnificent hairdo was gone!  Croaking in panic he hopped around his house frantically, trying to figure out what had happened and where he could come up with a pile of hair at such short notice; he certainly couldn’t back out now, after all the strutting and boasting he did.  Eventually, his eyes fell on the old mop in the kitchen; with all his products and skills, he could surely create a reasonable facsimile of his MIA mane, couldn’t he?

Soon, it was time for the contest and the competition was fierce!  There was Lion, taking time off from his scavenging to display his mighty neckbeard; Bear, showing off her cinnamon coat streaked red with berries; Hippo, having been dared to compete by Spider, shining his bald pate in the sun; haughty Penguin from Antarctica, waddling about in his evening jacket and monocle; Turtle, who decided to come out of his shell and of course, miserable Frog, trying to detract attention from his hidden shame.  After a parade down to the stage, the contest proceeded to the judging, with the crowd voicing their approval or disapproval for the animal on display.

One by one, the contestants’ worth was reviewed, until finally it was Frog’s turn.  He hopped up to the stage and carefully walked down the catwalk.  As he neared the tip of the stage, Rabbit suddenly came leaping out of the tree above and knocked Frog to the ground, dislodging his wig.  The crowd gasped in surprise as Frog stood up, displaying his baldness  . . . and then promptly exploded with laughter as Rabbit turned around and revealed what he had done with Frog’s wonderful hair: he had woven it into a poofy tail and was wearing it on his rump!

The animals howled with laughter as Frog ran away from the Forest and hid his shameful, hairless body in the Swamp.  He still sits there to this day, quietly plotting his revenge in the muck: “Rabbit, rabbit . . . “