I'm Getting Her Google For Christmas

So, I've got these friends.

Let me start this again. My friend has a friend and that friend is married to someone...difficult.

I shouldn't have started like that.

She's...man.

See, I'm educated, but I'm not what you'd call informed on a lot of topics, and the topics about which I do find myself informed--TV shows, comic books, candy--tend to be things that I'm surprised other people might not be interested in. I suppose I can be a little cocky about it. If I were a doctor, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't expect you to know the things I'd know about, say, surgery. But since my circle of friends is largely of a generation spanning only ten years or so, and since we're all from relatively the same place, geographically, then I expect there's a common ground that we share in terms of pop culture.

Is it just me? If we have nothing else to talk about, if our jobs don't line up and our politics are opposite, then shouldn't we be able to find something at the level of small talk in the world of what you might watch on TV, or what kind of music you listen to, or if you think Nick Nolte's rep as crazy is unfair considering he's actually quite talented?

See?

But no. There's nothing to talk about, because if you start with her, then you get a short little "I don't watch TV" or "most movies are terrible", and what can I do with that?

So, the question came up, one of my friends couldn't think of a name, and I could: "Who was that model in the Whitesnake videos?"

So I said "Tawny Kitaen", which, by the way, is correct, and for a certain type of person, common knowledge. I'll allow that she's just not that type of person. But if you weren't the kind of person who knows that Tawny Kitaen danced on the hood of a car in Whitesnake's video for Here I Go Again, then wouldn't you just accept that as the answer, since who cares? Because it's Whitesnake and seriously, who cares, again? Who cares, some more? Who cared, ever?

But she says, in a really agressively argumentative tone: "It was not! It was Alicia Silverstone!"
Do you ever feel like someone's all up in your face even if they're across the room? I'm pretty sure I flinched.

And so I explained, because I'm sort of a dick, I guess, that Alicia Silverstone was a child when Whitesnake was making videos, and that instead, she was in a series of Aerosmith videos a decade later.

The response? "I don't listen to music". I'm trying to make this clear: it was not some sort of mea culpa, like she was embarrassed and apologetic about not listening to music. Like I'd be in all those moments when you want to talk about what's in the news and I have to admit that I didn't read the paper today. In those moments, I try to convey that I'm interested in the news, and it's my intention to learn more and stay up-to-date, but today, I just missed having enough time to catch up. No. Instead, she claims not to listen to music as a source of pride. Like anyone who does listen to music is just wasting time on shallow things, like music is porn or junk food or blog-reading, all of which I'm quite fond, thank you very much.

By the way, I watched one of each just now (Whitesnake and Aerosmith). Tawny Kitaen is very operators-are-standing-by, but Alicia Siverstone is a fox. I'm just saying. Life's too short not to know the difference.

Richard Pryor, Comedian, RIP

I went to school with this weird, funny kid named P.J. P.J. never opened his eyes more than half way, and he never dressed out for gym class. I loved being around him with a group, because he always had something odd to say, usually so odd I'd try and remember to tell an absent friend about it later. "Dude, P.J. is so weird. Listen to what he said in the library today..." I was a little afraid to talk with him one-on-0ne.

P.J. was present when one of his friends was accidentally killed, and he disolved into a life of drugs and mental illness, the latter of which was no doubt just intense sadness. He was "sent away" for a while, and when he returned, he was weirder and funnier, though anything funny he said at that point was chalked up as just plain weird. After his stint in rehab/juvie, whenever P.J.'s name was called during roll, he would say "here" followed by a mumbled "Jo-Jo Dancer".

Sometimes he'd slip it into conversation. "P.J., how's your lunch?"

"The burger's okay. Jo-Jo Dancer. But my fries are kinda soggy. Jo-Jo Dancer."

It never made sense until I was older. Jo-Jo Dancer, Your Life is Calling is probably a movie P.J. watched when he was away from school. He probably heard stories about Richard Pryor and the dangers of drugs. "Jo-Jo Dancer" was a bit of a mantra, maybe, and maybe P.J. used it as a calming tool, or as a reminder that bullshit like kids snickering at you during attendance is nothing compared to, say, catching your head on fire while free-basing, or watching one of your friends die. I think P.J. may have been on to something.

Richard Pryor died yesterday. Damn. I used to strut back and forth in the living room for my dad any time Silver Streak was on latenight television (all censored and chopped up for commercials). This week, promise me you'll tell an embarrassing, so painful-to-tell-that-it's-hilarious story, at least once. Oh, and try and put some swearing in there somewhere. Cause there's nothing cooler than someone who can laugh at himself, especially through pain, and if you swear, you might be a badass as well.

But not as badass as Richard Pryor. I mean, come on.

Richard Pryor and Mitch Hedberg died in the same year. Bob Newhart better live to be a hundred.

Nothing says 'Nutrition' like a Black Can.

I spent the day today sleeping like the clinically depressed. Middle of the day, fitful, bad dreams, pillow marks on my face, fully dressed. I'm a catch.

But it doesn't matter. I bought some Sobe Adrenaline Rush. It's full of chemicals and herbs and pretend nutrition. It tastes like Smarties. It rocks. Because of caffeine. No one told me about caffeine. I barely sleep at night, so caffeine always seemed like the thing that might make me crazy, all rapid heart beats and bad songs written.

But I've had all these early morning meetings lately, and all these crash-like-the-sad naps during the day, and damned if my discovery, a month ago, of Mountain Dew Amp hasn't turned my life around. It's not so much that it wakes me up, but more that it makes me happy.

That's an addict talking, isn't it? Maybe it's Taurine. Maybe that's what's so frickin' awesome. Or Guarana? D-Ribose? Cause something in it is very special. Like, I want to take it to prom.

Adrenaline Rush isn't as good as Amp, in case you were wondering, but at least I feel like going to work now.

I'm Slim and Shady. Coincidence?

I bought Eminem's new album today: Curtain Call, The Hits. I like Eminem, the same way I like Sarah Silverman and Howard Stern and Larry David. He makes me a little nervous. He challenges me to accept satire and irony, which isn't always easy, even for smartasses like me. Mainly though, he expresses rage; pure, unfiltered anger, but in a snarky enough tone he can claim he was joking later, in case he hurts your feelings. He's like if Kurt Cobain had owned all the Family Guy collections on DVD.

And I'm really just a casual fan. A lot of his songs sound like most of his other songs. Going through the tracklist, I noticed a few songs that until now I thought were actually one song, and a couple more that I'll recognize when I hear them, but the titles of which are completely foreign. But it seemed like one of those collections that will last for a long time, and years from now, I'll be glad to have bought it, even if its true potential eludes me for the time being.

And then, on my way out of the parking lot, moving through a green light, someone in an SUV ran a red and almost smashed right into me. She swerved around, and as she drove past, honked and flipped me off.

And that, I thought, is why Eminem has so many hits.

I have it on right now.