Retro Video of the Week: "Paradise City" by Guns N' Roses

Apologies for not posting a Tuesday Top Ten yesterday.  I was busy from 7 a.m. to midnight, which is always pleasant.  As an olive branch, I extend to you an article my friend Hess sent me, entitled "Remember That 2004 Episode of 'The O.C.' Where They Go to L.A. and Meet Paris Hilton? We Do."  I do, too, and the article is a fantastic recap of a great episode in what some would call the greatest teen drama ever made.  The layers of meta awareness in that episode are thick and plentiful.

Speaking of L.A., Friday marks an important anniversary -- 30 years since Guns N' Roses released their megahit debut album Appetite for Destruction.  I would argue that Appetite is the greatest debut album in rock history, and apparently consumers agree with me, since it is the best-selling debut album in music history, selling 18 million copies in the U.S. alone and about 30 million worldwide.

Appetite's importance cannot be understated.  It was raw, it was powerful, it was rock and fucking roll.  I remember buying the tape at Phar-Mor.  Somehow, my mom let me buy it, even though it had a "parental advisory" sticker on it and featured five skulls on a cross.  Maybe it was because the cross wasn't upside down.  Either way, it was allowance money well spent.  Hearing "It's So Easy" -- and it's "why don't you just fuck off!" -- for the first time was an eye opener for a prepubescent suburban lad, but I absolutely loved it.  And then, there was the artwork on the inner sleeve, showing what appears to be a flying robot dragon with knives for teeth about to exact revenge on a skeleton with a gun attached to his head who just raped a blindfolded woman.  I still don't quite understand what's going on there.

But I digress.  There is not a bad song on Appetite, and it spawned some of GNR's most beloved and well-known songs:  "Sweet Child O' Mine," "Welcome to the Jungle," "Paradise City," and "Nightrain," to name a few, not to mention "Mr. Brownstone," "It's So Easy," "My Michelle," and my personal favorite, "Rocket Queen."  I'm going with "Paradise City" because it's an awesome song and a classic "on the road" video.  The song became the band's third Top Ten hit in a row off of the album, clocking in at #5 on the Billboard Hot 100 (following "Welcome to the Jungle" (#7) and "Sweet Child O' Mine" (#1)). And even squares recognize that iconic chorus. If you say "take me down to the Paradise City" and someone doesn't respond "where the grass is green and the girls are pretty," you have my permission to walk away, head to the nearest Sam Goody, purchase a copy of Appetite, and then return to your original location and provide said copy of Appetite to that person, making it imperative on him or her to listen to the album repeatedly until all songs are memorized. That will assure such a shameful occurrence never again happens.

The Decline of Western OCivilization

Two amazing new items crossed the wire today, and it had nothing to do with what lethal injection chemical the conservative justices on the Supreme Court think is constitutionally cool.  

First, I found out that the Decline of Western Civilization documentary trilogy will be released tomorrow on DVD and Blu-Ray for the first time ever.  I have been waiting for the Decline of Western Civilization II to be released on a non-VHS format for some time now.  That's the one that focuses on the Sunset Strip in the mid to late '80s, with the infamous interview of W.A.S.P. bassist Chris Holmes sitting in a pool, wearing leather pants and a leather vest, chugging and bathing himself in vodka while his mother looked on (a portion of that clip is embedded in the article linked above).  As a hair band fan, the documentary is both awesome and bittersweet all at once.  Nonetheless, I look forward to finally owning it, as well as the other two installments, the first of which focused on the L.A. punk scene in the late '70s/early '80s and the third of which focused on L.A.'s homeless teens in the late '90s.

Speaking of Southern California, perhaps more amazing than the news of the Decline trilogy's release, I received word, via a friend via the internet, that there is going to be a musical about The OC -- which many consider to be the single greatest television drama set in Newport Beach of all-time.  It is apparently going to be a one-night only affair in L.A. on August 30.  I would have picked the auditorium at Harbor, or at least Newport Union, but L.A. is close enough.  Regardless, the article leaves us with the following questions:

1.  Are Josh Schwartz and McG going to be involved?  If so, I will start sailing to L.A. right now in my makeshift version of The Summer Breeze.

2.  Will there be original musical numbers or some of the memorable songs from the show, like Phantom Planet's "California" (the theme song), "Hallelujah," or the "Mmm Watcha Say" song featured when Marissa shot Trey (not that she needed to because Ryan Atwood cedes to no man, and he was just waiting to make his move, but then again, he didn't want to kill his own brother, so everything worked out in that respect)?

3.  How much of the musical will be devoted to Ryan's cage fighting phase?  Anything less than two hours would be a disappointment.

4.  Will that saucy little tart Taylor Townsend make an appearance with candle wax, tube socks, and the new Fiona Apple CD?

5.  Will we finally find out what happened to the child Ryan implanted in Teresa?

6.  How much of the musical will be devoted to Marissa and Alex's lesbian affair?  Anything less than three hours would be a disappointment.

7.  Will Volchok's vampire roots be explored?

8.  How much of the musical will be devoted to that floppy-haired surfer Johnny?  Anything more than nothing would be a disappointment.

9.  Will Marissa eat on stage at any point?  If so, the musical can be cast aside as a complete fabrication.

10.  Sweet Jesus, how much are tickets?!

The OC Episodes Ranked and The Cast Then and Now

It's been over eleven years since the greatest show in TV history, The OC, debuted, and over seven years since it was so ruthlessly taken from us.  My love of The OC is no secret, and frankly, it provided this blog with a lot of energy in the early years.

Today, Gawker released its rankings of every OC episode ever.  (Thanks to Jaleh for the link.)  I'll let you take a look and reach your own opinions, but the fact that The Rainy Day Women -- an episode that has been deemed by some to be the single greatest episode in any television program ever -- came in at #57 calls into question the integrity of the entire list.

Also, frienemy and fellow OC connoisseur, Ryan (no relation to Atwood), sent me a link to a Buzzfeed article entitled "Here's What The Cast Of "The OC" Looks Like Now."  It has a cool little feature, where you can slide a line across a picture to see what the actor or actress looked like then and now.  Included are:

1.  Mischa Barton (Marissa Cooper).  She still looks pretty good.  I still wish Jester and I would have had the courage to ask her to be our nanny when we saw her at the Troubadour in 2010. 

2.  Rachel Bilson (Summer Roberts).  She pretty much looks the exact same.

3.  Adam Brody (Seth Cohen).  He looks like was was stoned to the Bejusus belt in the "before" picture.  More than anyone, I think he was the character who made The OC.  Fans of The League, of course, know him as Ted, the guy with AIDS in the league who got hit by a car and died in the season premiere this year.

4.  Benjamin McKenzie (Ryan Atwood).  He won't allow God to let him age.

5.  Peter Gallagher (Sandy Cohen).  TV's second-greatest dad ever (behind Cliff Huxtable) still has his eyebrows.

6.  Samaire Armstrong (Anna Stern).  In my opinion, she looks better now, without that pixie cut.

7.  Logan Marshall-Green (Trey Atwood).  Apparently that scruffy, patchwork facial hair was not grown only for his role as Trey.

8.  Autumn Reeser (Taylor Townsend).  Maybe it's just a bad recent picture, but she looks a little crazy-eyed.  Then again, perhaps that's why she played Taylor Townsend so well.

9.  Tate Donovan (Jimmy Cooper).  I still wish Jester and I would have had the courage to ask him to be our nanny when we saw him at a diner in Santa Monica in 2010.

10.  Kelly Rowan (Kirsten Cohen).  Probably drunk, if I know Kiki.

11.  Melinda Clarke (Julie Cooper-Nichol-Bullitt).  She still looks pretty good.  And diabolical.

12.  Chris Carmack (Luke Ward).  Probably still playing water polo.

13.  Olivia Wilde (Alex Kelly).  Those couple months where Marissa and Alex were kind of hooking up were some of the happiest of my life.

While I was happy to see all of these shining faces, I thought there were some egregious omissions (with "before" pictures):

1.  Kaitlin Cooper.  When she heard she was left out of the article, she probably said, "Er yaw kedding may?" and then pouted her lips and crossed her arms.  Then she probably said "Gay dad trumps slutty mom" to the wall in her prison cell.  I assume she's in prison.

2.  Oliver.  I want to see what years of pill popping and punching oneself in the head does to a man.

3.  Volchok.  As Ryan pointed out, I suppose we don't need to see a "now" picture of him because vampires don't age.

4.  Johnny.  I could have reached right through the screen and punched him in the face every time I saw that hair.  Sure, he was killed off, but I need to know if he cut his hair because I can't live with the thought that he is out there, somewhere, with that floppy hair just waving in the California breeze.

5.  Che.  Yes, I know he eventually graduated from Brown, moved to Pawnee, Indiana, and formed the band Mouse Rat, but a picture would have been nice.

6.  Gordon Bullitt.  The oil tycoon who wooed Julie was a much-needed spark in the last season supposedly got engaged to Julie.

7.  Dean Hess.  I just have to know that he's dead, and I want pictorial proof.

8.  Theresa.  Perhaps the greatest plot line that was never closed up was the fact that Theresa had birthed Ryan Atwood's child (even though she lied and said it was Eddie's son).  What happened to Theresa and the child?

9.  Ryan Atwood, Jr.  I need to know that the aforementioned child of Ryan and Theresa has now matured into the adolescent cage fighter I know he can be.  Here's what I imagine he looks like:

10.  Hailey Nichol.  She was a stripper who appeared to have moved to Japan for a fashion job instead of sailing with Jimmy to Hawaii.  I'd like to see her face again to know that she's okay.

Retro Video of the Week: "California" by Phantom Planet

Keeping with the OC theme, even though it's not technically a "retro" video, the song that became the theme song of The OC seems appropriate.  Of course, one of my long lost twins plays drums, so that makes it even that much more special.  Because I love you guys so much, I am including the official video and the song as played during the opening credits of the first season of the single greatest cultural phenomenon in the history of man involving vampire surfers, chicks who can't pronounce the word "clothes," and cage-fighting superhumans from Chino.

More OC Love

I was too busy today to write my obligatory Tuesday Top Ten about the ten best shows I saw at Lollapalooza, so that will have to wait until next week.  In the meantime, yesterday's post about The OC must have struck a chord because I received several OC-related links.  The first is a great article from Grantland (that doesn't take 45 minutes to read).  Thanks to RPTre for the link.  The second is an online OC "Superfan Quiz."  Thanks to RDC for that link, who, incidentally, got 33 out of 50 on the quiz.  Sadly, I only got 30, which only serves as a reminder of how much I need The OC in my life.

Remember The OC, Bitch

It is categorically undebatable that The OC is the greatest show in television history.  It seems like yesterday that Sandy Cohen took a chance on a kid from Chino who could pretty much kill anyone just by looking at them.  But it wasn't yesterday.  It was exactly ten years ago tonight.  I remember watching the pilot with my then-new-roommates Tron and Two Dolla.  We were immediately hooked, and I can honestly say that I have seen every episode of the show.

In honor of the tenth anniversary, Alan Sepinwall of Hitfix.com recently interviewed The OC's creator, Josh Schwartz.  It is in two parts.  For Part 1, click here.  For Part 2, click here.  God, I miss it so much, you guys.  Every damn day.  Eternal thanks to Jaleh for sending me the link.

Smörgåsbord of Awesome

I'm still riding my high from the Hoosiers' demolition of Purdue last night.  And from the mescaline.  I'm heading down to B-town this weekend for the big IU/Michigan game, and I'm extremely pumped, even though I don't even have tickets or plan on going to the game.  Bloomington is going to be buzzing this weekend.

Anyway, in light of the general awesomeness of this week and weekend, I'd like to present you with the following awesome compilation of links and videos about The Darkness, Aerosmith, Lebowski, basketball in Indiana, The OC, and people getting injured in ice and snow.  Yippee-ki-yay, Mister Falcon!

1.  First off, last Sunday night, I went to see The Darkness at The Vic with my buddy Daniel.  Good Lord, they put on a great show.  It's just one of those shows that, even if you don't know any songs or don't necessarily like the type of music they play, you would still have a great time because they know how to entertain.  Here are two videos I took.  The first is of "I Believe in a Thing Called Love," and the second shows lead singer Justin Hawkins diving into the crowd from a 15-foot balcony and then crowd-surfing back up the stage before finishing the last song of the night, "Love On the Rocks With No Ice."



2.  Here is the link to the fourth in Steven Hyden's Winners' History of Rock and Roll series on Grantland, which is about Aerosmith, who I would consider to be one of the top five American rock and roll bands of all-time, if not top two or three.  Next week's band:  Blue Velvet Revolver, a metal tribute to the songs of "the Bobbys." 

3.  Here's a link to a Tumblr feed called Cinephilia & Beyond that has a page dedicated to the greatest movie of all-time, The Big Lebowski.  Included on the page are several videos, some quotes, and a fantastic picture of a young Lloyd Bridges giving son Jeff a high five.  Thanks to Trashton for the link.

4.  Here is a link to an article Holt sent me about why The OC is the greatest television show in the history of the world.  God, I miss it.  Every damn day.  Why'd you have to leave us so soon Marissa?  Volchock!!

5.  Here's a link to an ESPN article Holt sent me about how basketball is religion in the State of Indiana.  Good stuff.


6.  Here is a video Ryan sent me, which is basically three minutes of cars and people losing to winter.  As someone who can't get enough of the show Ridiculousness, this is right up my alley.  My question to you, good sir, is why were you running down the street playing a banjo in the first place?

OC 101

In college, I took what I assume is the coolest class offered at any university, ever:  an entire class about The Beatles.  There have been other pop-culture classes offered at various schools on The Simpsons, Buffy, Frank Zappa, and The Sopranos.  But now Duke has raised the bar by offering a class on the greatest show in television history, The OC.  (Thanks to Tradd for the link.)  According to the article, the name of the class is "California Here We Come: The O.C. & Self-Aware Culture of 21st Century America," and it "aims to explore the 'hyper self-awareness' unique to The O.C. and analyze Californian exceptionalism and singularity in history and popular culture, girl culture, 21st century suburban revivalism, the indie music scene, the meta-series, and more."  Clearly, this is the best thing to ever come out of Duke.

Given that I have seen every episode of The OC and that I tend to overanalyze pretty much everything, I feel like I would thrive in this class.  In response to the article, one of my friends said, "The final is who would you rather bang: Marissa or Summer? Explain in detail what you would do and why."  This, of course, is a trick question because Marissa is dead.

Here are some possible lecture or essay topics I've thought of:

Sandy Cohen:  Greatest TV dad ever?

"Out on the streets for a living":  Ryan Atwood as an urban demigod hero who could pretty much kill anyone

OC can you sing?:  Popular music as a narrative device.

"Welcome to The OC, bitch":  Latent homosexuality and the contemporary water polo player.

Chrismukkah:  The new Festivus.

Caleb Nichol vs. Jimmy Cooper:  Lessons in Southern Californian business ethics

When killing off main characters goes wrong.

Dean Hess:  What an asshole.

"Er Yaw Sireus? Thaht's sew lahm":  How Kaitlin Cooper teaches our children to speak like fucking morons.

Here's Johnny's body:  Why no one is sad when kids with terrible hair die.

The Seth Cohenization of modern nerds in popular culture.

The world is a vampire:  Volchok, rape, and cocaine's impact on amateur surfing.

Seriously, what the fuck happened to Teresa and the child she had with Ryan?

"Gay dad trumps slutty mom":  The OC's impact on how we view our parents.

Summer of '69:  Summer Roberts as an allegory for the flower power movement.

"Candle wax, tube socks, and the new Fiona Apple CD":  What Taylor Townsend teaches us about sexuality in the new millennium.

I strongly encourage you to submit your suggested lecture and essay topics in the comments.  God, I miss The OC.

Father Time

This weekend was my first real test of fatherhood. Jester went out of town to The Meadows for the weekend -- something about a "much-needed coke binge." At least, I hope she said "coke." Thus, it was just me and Daughter (and Harley) this weekend. After two days of being a single parent, frankly I don't understand what all of the fuss is about. It was a fun-filled and action-packed two days.

We laughed, she cried.

We went shopping on Armitage and told people what time it was, or at least this one chick who was all "do you know what time it is?" Time to stop hitting on me, trollop.

We went to a birthday party for another infant, at which she slept for a total of 14 seconds, and cried for the remainder, thus prompting an early exit and a deserved 15-minute scolding once we got in the car.

I taught her how to terrorize an autistic dog into submission by opening umbrellas and making a fog horn sound by blowing into the top of an empty beer bottle. Oh, I also taught her how to drink beer.

We made gratuitous use of the Baby Bjorn.

She learned the ins and outs of yelling at the TV during White Sox games. Her first word will either be "mercy!" or "yougottabefuckingkiddingme."

I taught her how to make a shitload of hard-boiled eggs, eat all of them, and then buy another 18-count carton of eggs to make it look like nothing happened.

And all of this is just while she was awake. When she went to sleep, I recited The Big Lebowski to her from memory. After that, I got so much done: dishes, laundry, watching Metal Mania, online trivia, filing my canines into fangs, writing a screenplay about my weekend.

On the online trivia front, I've become pscyhologically addicted to Sporcle. While I have played many a game on there, here are the five that stuck out to me thus far as ones that you guys should check out:

1. Olympic Cities (10 minutes). Name every city in which the Olympics (summer and winter) have been held. I got 38 out of 47. For some of the winter cities, you would pretty much have to live there to know them.

2. Chicago Bears QBs (8 minutes). You have to name every Bears starting QB since 1985. I got 20 out of 28. Not to give you too much, but I am pissed at myself that I missed Will Furrer.

3. The OC Characters (6 minutes). They give you the actor/actress, and you name the character. I got 25 of 30. God, I miss that show.

4. Led Zeppelin Songs (12 minutes). Name every song from Led Zeppelin's 9 studio albums. I got 50 out of 81. My early Zeppelin is far more solid than my late Zeppelin.

5. Beatles Songs (19 minutes). Name every song from The Beatles' 13 studio albums. This is the motherlode. I got 127 of 192, which I consider to be pathetic. In the spring of 1999, I would have gotten a 192.

By the way, whenever you play MLB trivia games, do not forget about Nap Lajoie.

He Lives, Somehow

What do you get when you're an Eastern Bloc vampire surfer who doesn't wear sleeves, kills non-vampire surfers with horrible hair, forces an anorexic Newpsie to supplant food with cocaine, hangs out with dudes who look like Trent Reznor and bang passed-out chicks in poor man's Sin Bins, gets beaten within an inch of his life by one Ryan Atwood, kills Marissa fucking Cooper, and then goes into hiding for fear of suffering a horribly violent punching-related death?

You get a weird haircut and you wear scarves in Gap ads.
Is there no justice in the world? Fuck Volchok. And fuck Ryan for not killing him when he had the chance? What the hell was all that cage fighting training for? God, I miss The OC. Thanks to RobD for the extremely disturbing photo.

Oh How the Mighty Have Fallen, Part 2

First Topanga, and now Marissa Cooper. Yes, it is my extreme displeasure to report that Mischa Barton got arrested for a dooey in LA. Perhaps if she had ever eaten something besides one cereal flake, she might have been able to withstand what I assume were three sips of a Bartles & Jaymes at a water polo party on the beach. I have a sneaking suspicion that Volchok was somehow behind this. That Eastern European vampire motherfucker always did bring her down. My main concern is that Atwood wasn't around to unalcholize Marissa simply by brooding.

All I Want For Christmas Is Taylor Townsend

Ahhh, The OC, how I miss thee. Jaleh sent me this link to a lengthy TV Guide online interview with Josh Schwartz. Among the topics discussed are the brand new The OC complete series box set. That's right, all four seasons and a ton of bonus features, such as a booklet, documentary, bloopers, bonus scenes, and commentary, all wrapped in a sharp-looking package that screams, "welcome to The OC, bitch." Possibly the greatest line in television history.

Everything Alright In There?

Midwestern Eavesdropping will be back next week after you jerks overhear some funny things and send them to gmyhblog@yahoo.com.

Trivia Repeat
The Well-Coifed Women of High Moral Standards (comprised of me, Christoff, Gregerson, and Gregerson's friends Nick, Andy, and Dan) accomplished something rivaling what Florida did this year. We won Rocks Trivia for the second week in a row, and, like the Gators, it was a true team effort. With 7 members, we had to rotate one out each round, so as not to be disqualified for having too many players.

Stormy Weather, Baby
Victory could not be savored too long, as yesterday morning I woke up to a thin layer of wet snow on the ground. It was miserable in the morning. The snow was coming down in giant globs, feeling more like rain. To top it off, there was a horribly inappropriate stiff wind smacking me in the face, reminding me that I'm a sinner.

More Bathroom Hijinx
Yesterday morning I went into the bathroom. My coveted third stall was taken, so I had to settle for the first stall. Normally when someone else is in the bathroom I hear some jostling, toilet paper pulling, and uncomfortably loud panting. At the very least I hear some breathing or movement. But I wasn't hearing anything. Nothing at all, even after several minutes. I had convinced myself that this guy died in glorious fashion -- a true man's death indeed. As I sat there trying unsuccessfully to hear any sort of noise, I became more and more convinced. Now obviously I wasn't about to test my theory, but I was frightened that I would encounter the same thing on my next trip to the bathroom, at which time I would have to alert the building that there was a man who died during defecation in the third stall, forever tainting my once happy bathroom home. While I was working this out in my mind, his walkie-talkie cut through the silence like Jack the Ripper through a Whitechapel hooker (too soon?), asking him where he was. "Sleeping on the shitter" was not his answer. Needless to say, I'm relieved. Lord knows I don't want to be known around the office as The Guy Who Discovers Dead People in the Bathroom. It would surely taint my current image as The Guy With the Totally Awesome Three-Disc Changer Who Bangs Like Eighty Chicks Every Day and Does Not Discover Dead People in the Bathroom.

Work, IU, and the Like
As if my day couldn't get any better, I got some rush assignment yesterday afternoon, which was due this morning. Slowly I'm transforming into The Guy Who Everyone Gives Rush Assignments To Because He's Too New To Turn Them Down. What was particularly timely about this assignment was that several months ago -- out of the goodness of my heart and devotion to my alma maters -- I agreed to be an alumni volunteer for IU for the LT college fair, which of course was last night. So I worked until 6, trucked it over to Union Station, did as much work as I could on the train, trucked it to the North Campus Fieldhouse, for two hours helped convince a seemingly endless number of LT juniors (mostly hot chicks, er, I mean pretty girls, er, I mean males and females between the ages 16 and 17) to apply to IU by answering such questions as "What's like the most popular major?" (folklore, asshole, keep walking to Iowa State), "What do most people major in at IU?" (binge drinking), "What's your strongest program?" (this is always a funny one because the answer is music, and anyone who doesn't know that probably isn't interested in, or talented enough to get into, the music school), and, of course, "Is your business school any good?" (yes, although COAS RULES), then trucked it back to the Stone Avenue stop, read some of The Dirt on the Metra, trucked it to the Quincy L stop, read some more of The Dirt on the L, trucked it home, and worked until about 1 in the morning.

Lolla Lineup
The lineup for Lollapalooza has been announced. It looks pretty good. Among others, here are the groups slated to be there: Pearl Jam, Daft Punk, Ben Harper & The Innocent Criminals, Muse, Iggy & The Stooges, Modest Mouse, Interpol, My Morning Jacket, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Snow Patrol, The Roots, Pete Yorn, Patti Smith, Kings of Leon, The Black Keys, The Hold Steady, and a ton more. As usual, it looks like it's going to be a pretty good show, although I'm not sure why Daft Punk is getting second billing. Tickets are now $195 for the 3-day fest. Deal with it.

The OC is Back, Kind Of
Like a heroin junkie chasing the dragon, I have been looking for something to fill the void since The OC was so callously taken from me. All other teen dramas are akin to methadone as far as I'm concerned. Kudos to cable network SOAP for fixing me with a Nikki Sixx-sized hit of the good stuff by showing The OC reruns every weekday at 5pm Central (that's 6pm Eastern, 1pm for the Aleuts, and 7:30pm for those of you in Newfoundland, although I'm not convinced there are TVs in Newfoundland, nor the internet to read this increasingly superfluous parenthetical). Of course now I have to find an excuse to leave work every day at 4:30, but I can always lie and say that I'm meeting my dealer, going to the strip club, having an affair, going to my other job, taking voice lessons, going to the clinic "because my fuckin' dick just won't stop itching," or a combination of all of the above.

Videos
Here are a couple good videos:
1. A Blue Jays commercial featuring Frank Thomas that got pulled because Canadians are weak. Thanks to Christoff for the link.
2. A foreign slam dunk contestant picks a girl out of the crowd to dunk over, or at least that was the plan. Thanks to Gregerson for the link.
3. Jimmy Kimmel verbally depantses the girl who runs Gawker on Larry King Live. Thanks again to Christoff.

First Three Albums of the Day - Wednesday
-Van Morrison - Astral Weeks-Howlin' Wolf - How Many More Years (I couldn't find a picture of the album, so I just put a nice picture of Chester Burnett himself up here)-Kings of Leon - Because Of The Times
First Three Albums of the Day - Thursday
-Cream - Disraeli Gears-Wolfmother - Wolfmother-The Impressions - The Greatest Hits (By the way, if you haven't yet discovered The Impressions -- the Curtis Mayfield version, not the Jerry Butler version, although that ain't bad either ("For Your Precious Love" is an all-time great from the Jerry Butler years) -- and you like '60s soul, then I highly recommend this CD. There's not a bad song on it. They are Rock and Roll Hall of Famers, after all.)

The End of an Era

After further contemplation, I have decided to amend my Lenten sacrifice. Instead of giving up beer and fried food, I will be giving up drinking (alcohol) during the week (Sun-Thurs) and fried food. I came to this conclusion as I was walking home from Rocks last night at almost 2 a.m. (for the second week in a row). The night started out innocently enough with a nice game of bar trivia. Since we had 11 people, we split up into two teams: Tim Hardaway Hates Kevin (Kevin being the guy who runs trivia) (comprised of me, Jester, Christoff, Remus, and the Brothers Weeser*, minus Greg of course) and Now Britney's Curtains Match the Carpet (or some other vague, sophomoric reference to the lack of hair on both her head and vagina) (comprised of Gregerson, three of his friends, and Myers). Kevin unfortunately changed the name-that-tune round so that it is no longer worth a point for the title and a point for the artist. Now it's a half a point each. This severely diminishes the point total of any team I am on. Nonetheless, THHK held a lead or a share thereof for most of the first five rounds, and NBCMTC was close behind. We were up one point going into the final round, and ended up tying for third, with NBCMTC edging us out for second, meaning they got to choose a round for next week (Seinfeld, by the way). Then it was discovered that the first place team had like 30 people, so they got DQ'd, meaning that NBCMTC not only got to choose a round for next week, but they also got the first place prize of 25% off their tab. Bastards.

It was at this time when I convinced myself that I should probably stay a little longer. Jester went home, severely unhappy that I was not accompanying her (and rightfully so). But it was Gregerson's birthday and, at the time, it was going to be the last time I would drink beer for a month and a half. Not that I needed a reason, but it never hurts to have one or two. So Gregerson and I rolled some Silver Strike while Dan Weeser* watched. Next thing I know, it's 1:40. I'm an idiot. I wasn't kidding last week when I said that I continuously and consciously fail to learn from my mistakes. Once again, Jester, sorry. With the help of Jesus, I shall change my ways. At least until Easter.

Tomorrow night will mark the end to a thrilling chapter in my life (and at least four or five of your lives), with the airing of the final episode of The OC (which RULES). As George Harrison and Mike Ditka independently once said, "All things must pass." I haven't been doing a good job of The OC updates as of late, mainly because I'm too distraught. Hell, trying to cope with The OC's absence has forced me to drink until the wee hours of the morning during the week.

Feeling nostalgic, I began to think of why The OC has plummeted in the ratings, forcing its untimely and unfortunate cancellation, and I have come to but one conclusion: There are no evil characters or characters with ulterior motives like there used to be, and all the formerly evil characters who are still on the show became less evil. Here's what I'm talking about:

Luke. In season one, this water-polo-playing, preppy bully was the perfect Roberto Duran to Ryan Atwood's Sugar Ray. Luke dated Marissa, who was spending more and more time with Ryan, and Luke was a giant asshole, getting into numerous fights with Ryan and eventually sleeping with both Marissa and Julie Cooper (I actually respect the shit out of that aspect of him). Then, for no other reason than finding out his dad loves penis, he goes from hated motherfucker (literally!) to friends with Ryan, Marissa, and to a lesser extent Seth, and then he to Portland with his gay dad.

Summer. She used to be a typical class-conscious Newpsie bitch you loved to hate, until some underfed comic book geek remembered verbatim a poem she had read aloud in grade school. Then again, she also used to be a complete dunce, and she got into Brown, so go figure.

Oliver. Classic first-two-seasons-style character. Wild, unpredictable, gun-toting, and head-slapping, Oliver was a recovering pill popper who wooed Marissa by making virgin mojitos, pretending he wasn't still popping pills, and telling Marissa that he had a girlfriend (who didn't exist). He was the kind of lying, all-is-fair-in-love-and-war, mentally disturbed nut job that made people tune in every week, hoping that Marissa would see past his façade.

Julie. She used to be the Queen Bitch of Newport (an actual title I just made up). She was conniving, adulterous, and cold-hearted. Then one day she turned into someone who cared about things other than herself and money.

Zack. While not evil per se, he did make a good run at Summer, providing Seth with worthy competition for Summer's affection.

Caleb. That man would not rescue a drowning baby if it was right in front of his face, even if it was his own.

Alex. She wasn't evil, but I think the show could have used more really hot teenage lesbians.

That dude who had that stag flick Julie was in. All he wanted was to extort a little money from Julie in exchange for the promise to keep Julie's vagina off the big screen.

Trey. Ryan's brother was your typical Chino scumbag, never able to keep his head above water or his life together, and always pulling Ryan into hairy situations that usually resulted in fists flying or cars getting stolen.

Jess. Hateable, but bangable at the same time, Trey's saucy tart girlfriend was nothing but trouble, providing a formidable Nancy to Trey's Sid.

Dean Hess. Has there ever been a more disagreeable character in the history of television? I think not. Dean Hess was a gigantic dickhead whose cock-chugging ability was unmatched. And he was banging Taylor Townsend before that was the cool thing to do (i.e., when she was still a dastardly bitch – see below). While I was happy to see him fall, I would have rather it been at the hands (read: fists) of Ryan.

Charlotte. Played by Jeri Ryan, Charlotte was a fake alcoholic who tried to scam Kirsten out of a whole bunch of money. Her motives were unclear for her first few episodes, which added to the intrigue. Plus, I thought maybe she might start up a lesbianic relationship with Kirsten, which helped pique my interest.

Volchok. Eastern Bloc vampire surfers are rarely not evil. He was a complete scumbag – the kind of guy who would purposely shit his pants in front of his girlfriend's mom. He was also the kind of guy who would kill a delicate flower like Marissa Cooper. Oh how I wish he comes back for the final episode so that Ryan can finally pummel him, with the show ending with an '80s-sticom-style still shot of Ryan, covered head to toe with Volchok's blood and holding Volchok's severed head in one hand, looking at the camera with an impish smile and a lighthearted "oopsy!" shrug.

Caitlin. She tries to be evil, but she just comes across as a brat who needs a speech pathologist.

Johnny. He was not evil himself, but man was his hair something straight out of hell. Of all the people to die on The OC, I was most happy to see him go.

Taylor. She used to be a psycho, conniving, untrustworthy bitch trying to pry Seth and Summer apart, kind of like the female equivalent of Oliver. As noted above, she was even getting tagged by Dean Hess, which I'm assuming was a threesome, since he chugs cock 24 hours a day and since Taylor is rather kinky. Eventually, she turned into the pleasantly neurotic boy toy we know and love today.

I'm sure I'm forgetting a character or two. By the way, what the fuck ever happened to Ryan's baby with Teresa? I'm hoping this final episode features a brooding two-year-old with superhuman strength who brings Johnny back from the dead for the sole purpose of rekilling him.

Page 47

In the past two nights I've caught up on the last 5 episodes of The OC (which didn't feature nearly enough Bullitt). The most important development in the show is that Taylor Townsend's ex-husband Henri-Michel (who bears a strong resemblance to former Northwestern guard Mohamed Hachad) wrote a steamy novel entitled "A Season for Peaches," loosely based on his sex-filled courtship of, and marriage to, Taylor. You may recall that "peaches" was Henri-Michel's pet name for Taylor's tah-tahs. "A Season for Peaches" gets translated into English and is a huge hit in the US.

Apparently page 47 involves an act of sexual deviance that is particularly scandalous and notorious amongst the readers, although its contents are never revealed. Here's what we do know: it happened in public, possibly in the Chunnel, it may be illegal, and it involved some limberness on Taylor's part.

Of course, this begs the question: what tawdry act of ribaldry did Taylor and Henri-Michel engage in? Here are my guesses:

• Upsidedown felching
• Some sort of reverse spoon position with a very thick cucumber
• A Viennese oyster on the top of a white 1983 Cadillac limo
• Wobbly H with Henri-Michel and Henry Rollins on a flatbed truck with "Liar" by The Rollins Band blaring
• Taylor shaved Henri-Michel completely bald, holding a Gillette Fusion solely with her hoo-ha
• Anal
• The congress of the cow in the backseat of a Smart Car
• A walking 69 on the top of a double-decker sightseeing bus during a tour of Paris
• A lotus while strapped to one of those rotating carvinal knife-throwing circles, topped off by a Cincinnati bowtie
• A T-square while suspended from the middle of the Arc de Triomphe with bungie cords
• I don't know what you would call it -- perhaps "footing" -- but they're both doing it to each other at the same time (up to the ankle)

Feel free to chime in with your own guesses.

Golden Globes

For some reason, watching awards shows doesn't interest me unless they are entitled "The Academy Awards" or "The 1990 American Music Awards" (which I think I may have on tape somewhere at my mom's house). Ergo, I did not watch but fourteen seconds of the Golden Globes last night, all fourteen of which involved Salma Hayek. Nonetheless, I am always happy to read a list of winners the next day. Everything seemed to be in order, for the most part.

Dreamgirls came away as the big winner, taking several major awards. I haven't seen it, but if Eddie Murphy is anything like he was in Raw, then I'm sure I'm in for a treat.

I was glad to see that Alec Baldwin won for Best Actor in a Musical or Comedy in a TV show for 30 Rock, which is probably the funniest new show on TV. If you haven't seen it, do it.

I was glad to see that Borat won for Best Actor in a Musical or Comedy in a film for his portrayal of himself in Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan. It's amazing how different and Westernized he looks now that he's become a star. Apparently he's banging that crazy chick from Wedding Crashers. As he would say, "That's goooood!"

Warren Beatty received the Cecil B. DeMille Award for lifetime achievement in motion picture. Apparently the Hollywood Foreign Press Association forgot about Ishtar. Beatty is so vain. He probably thinks this post is about him. Doesn't he? Doesn't he?

The chick from Ugly Betty won Best Actress in a Musical or Comedy for TV. Interestingly, she snubbed the awards show, probably because of her homeliness. Instead, someone who appeared to be her better-looking sister accepted the award on her behalf.

If the Golden Globes are any indication, Helen Mirren should focus all of her energy on playing Queens of England. Finally, I have hope for my many screenplays:

• Whore of Whitehall (based on the tumultuous and adulterous exploits of Henry VIII's fifth wife, Catherine Howard);
• Worst Nine Days Ever (based on the very short reign of Lady Jane Grey and her subsequent execution; this may be tough, since Jane was 16 when she reigned and was beheaded, but if anyone can do it, Helen Mirren can);
• Bloody Maries with Bloody Mary (a hilarious madcap comedy in which Mary I of England -- played to a tee by Helen Mirren -- accidentally falls into a time portal while trying to figure out the next Protestant to burn at the stake, and she is transported forward in time to a University of Texas tailgate -- before a UT/A&M game no less! -- where she encounters new ideas, difficulty adjusting, outrageous characters, camaraderie, and, ultimately, love, but will her new beau go back in time with her or will she decide to give up the monarchy for beef jerky and armadillos?);
• Larger Than Lace (based on the eating habits of Queen Anne during her later years, focusing mainly on the fact that she was unable to fit into a standard coffin);
• 74 Fucking Years (obviously based on the reign of Queen Victoria); and
• So VICTORIAus (less serious than 74 Fucking Years, this is another one based on Queen Victoria, but this one revolves around her trying to downplay the fact that she pretty much got where she was because of her dad's connections).

Here are a couple good pictures from before and after the awards ceremony:

Paris Hilton showed up, despite the fact that she was snubbed by not being nominated in the Best Actress in a Musical or Comedy category for film for her gritty, surprisingly believable portrayal of wealthy socialite Lisa Mancini (opposite an equally deserving Jason Mewes) in the straight-to-DVD instant classic, Bottoms Up. I guess Paris will just have to resign herself to the fact that the three AVN Awards for 1 Night in Paris may be the only awards given to a film in which she appears. At least she has a sense of humor about it, as evidenced by the fact that her dress is made from a shower curtain. Take that HFPA!

She does exist: Thanks for ruining The OC by leaving. You better look off-guard, slightly scared, and possibly intoxicated. Nice electrical tape dress.

Speaking of anorexia, since when did Ashley Olson turn into an underage, undead, breastless hooker clown from the 1920s who bathes only in talcum powder? Anyone up for a speakeasy? No thanks, how 'bout a Saltine instead? Where are Kate Bosworth and Keira Knightly when you need them? Oh wait, there they are, right behind Ashley. You can't see them because they're turned sideways.

I'm glad to see that Teri Hatcher is completely oblivious to the fact that she is being kidnapped by a French cat burglar. Or is that The Edge?
No, no, sweetie, the invitation was for Sacha Cohen.
With this picture, David Krumholtz left everyone at the Weinstein Company afterparty wondering, "Who the fuck is David Krumholtz and why does his grin suggest that he eats feces?"

Two Weeks of Hell

Sweet mother of God, not having internet access at home for nearly two weeks is about as fun as getting gang probed with a rusty nail by really drunk, unclean aliens. Christoff, you know what I'm talking about. And to make matters worse, the blockage of various websites at work meant no blogging, MySpace, YouTube, online cockfight gambling, or donkey porn for the past two weeks, and I had the pleasure of checking my email only via my phone, which is about as fun as going down on Rhea Pearlman. DeVito, you know what I'm talking about.
Here's what's happened since we last spoke:

• I started writing for Bluff the Donkey, a satirical, Onion-esque online rag that pokes fun at the world of professional poker. It is run by (and 90% of the content is written by) Australian Andrew from my Second City class, and it's updated every other Wednesday. Apparently, it's been gaining popularity among the professional poker community. I will be writing under the name Douglas Spring. Since I know very little about professional poker, my contributions should be interesting, if not completely unintelligible and in no way based on reality.
• Notre Dame got throttled in the Sugar Bowl by LSU, 41-14, once again proving the age-old maxim, "Notre Dame is overrated." I am proud to say that, since 1994, my beloved Indiana Hoosiers have won as many bowl games as the "Fighting" Irish. Of course the fact that Notre Dame undeservedly gets into a BCS bowl every year presents me with a conundrum. On one hand, if they don't go to a BCS bowl, they get their just come-up'ns. On the other hand, if they don't go to a BCS bowl, they are more likely to play a team whose talent is on par with theirs (i.e., less talent than a real BCS team), who will not beat them by 20+ points.
• Ohio State got throttled in the BCS Championship game by Florida, also 41-14. After Florida's 86-60 basketball victory over OSU a few weeks ago, if you would have told me that Florida would beat OSU in football by a greater margin, I would have called you crazy. Granted, I would have given you a big hug and bought you a drink of your choosing, but I still would have called you crazy.
• Darrent Williams? Dead.
• Lily Munster? Dead.
• Al-Qaeda leader in Somalia? Probably dead.
• Saddam Hussein? Really dead.
• EarthLink CEO? Dead fast.
• USC's kicker? Flat dead.
• Creator of Scooby Doo? Read.
• On New Year's Eve, thanks in large part to the intentional combination of Maker's Mark and ginger ale, for once I got to leave a bar early because Jessie was drunker than I was. Sadly, I am unable to hold this over her head on account of the fact that I hold a 651-1 lead in that category. My sole New Year's Resolution is that Jessie repeats said actions at some point in 2007.
• Fox canceled The OC, probably because it was unfair to all the other networks and all the other Fox shows that The OC was so far above and beyond what passes for television in this day and age. First of all, I'd like to thank my many loyal readers for their outpouring of emotional and sexual support in my time of need. The last episode will air February 22. A part of me will die that day, and this year it won't just be because it's the anniversary of the death of Chuck Jones. I'll probably spend most of the day smacking myself in the head, getting hammered and roofied in Tijuana, playing water polo, dropping well-timed sarcastic quips, surfing, getting kicked out of Brown for ecoterrorism, marrying some dude just for his money, shooting my boyfriend's brother, moving to Portland with my gay dad, writing graphic novels, pronouncing words in a fashion that suggests I need the taste slapped out of my mouth (ef that's okah weth yauw), embezzling money from my clients, defending indigent criminals, running a brothel, coping with alcoholism, and kicking the ass of every man, woman, and child who tries to stop me.
• On the bright side, TBS canceled the Megan Mullaly Show, which means that Saved By The Bell is back on TBS each morning from 7 to 8 CST, which means that my breakfasts are once again palatable.
• I got a bunch of new CDs. In addition to some totally sweet classics from Thin Lizzy, GN'R, The Ramones, and Dr. Dre, I also got several recently released (i.e., within the last 6 months or so) albums:
  
  Boys and Girls in America by The Hold Steady (5 Handrews) – This made many 2006 Top 10 lists (including Rolling Stone, NPR, The Onion AV Club, Pitchfork Media, and Pop Matters) and has drawn favorable comparisons to Born to Run (which is one of my favorite albums), and rightfully so on both accounts. Craig Finn delivers his usual intelligent lyrics and themes, but this album is catchier and more musically interesting than The Hold Steady's previous two, featuring straight-forward rock, several anthems, and solid ballads. Check out Letterman tonight to see them. Favorite songs: Massive Nights, Stuck Between Stations, You Can Make Him Like You
  
  Magic Potion by The Black Keys (3.5 Handrews) – Also on many top album lists, Magic Potion is not as good as 2004's Rubber Factory, but still features the same badass, blues-based garage fuzz rock that I've come to know and love from these Akronians. Favorite songs: Your Touch, Black Door, Just a Little Heat.
  
• A photo of Jessie appeared on page 26 of the January 10, 2007 edition of the Red Eye (the Tribune's free daily paper), during the Red Eye's review of the Kirkwood Bar & Grill (the new IU bar).
• Jessie's main Christmas present to me was a new tattoo. I haven't gotten it yet, as I am still in the process of figuring out what I want to get. Any thoughts or suggestions? Jessie keeps telling me to get an elephant ear on each upper inner thigh.
• Last weekend, a couple of my peeps from D-town came to visit, Holt and Nick. We attended various social events and taverns.
• IU murdered both Michigan State and Purdue, which has no doubt given me overinflated expectations for the remainder of the season.
• Today I was sworn into the United States District Court for the Northern District of Illinois. Judge Pallmeyer presided over my section of the alphabet. She referred to the ceremony as "the closest thing we have to civil religion." I almost laughed out loud in a quiet federal court room.
• With the help of the good folks at AT&T, I am now paying for reliable internet service.

I'm sure I've forgotten several things that have happened over the past several weeks. If so, please alert me via a succinct, well-written comment to this post. Now I begin the task of replying to several hundred emails.

OC Recap and Stitches

I have entered the winter of the Fortnight of Andrew. Last night Jessie and I went to the grocery store. On the way there we were almost t-boned by a Chicago Police officer who was simply not paying attention. Then his buddy riding shotgun pointed out the fairly noticeable black Saab station wagon he was about to plow into. The look on his face when he realized his mistake was priceless. It was the kind of combination of fear, embarrassment, and shock that one doesn't come to expect from a uniformed police officer.

After we got back from the grocery store, we ran suicides and made balloon animals. Then we watch The OC. Last night's episode was pretty good. Since I'm not in the mood for a lengthy recap, here's what you need to know:

1. Summer got booted from Brown until next fall. As a result, she is back in Newport, and now Seth is going to postpone his enrollment in RISD until the fall as well. Once again, Josh Schwartz and McG have managed to conveniently get everyone back to Newport, while pissing off an innocent Providence in the process.
2. That dirty, scapegoating hippie bastard Che shows up in Newport to make amends with Summer, since he got her booted from an Ivy League school and because he's a dirty asshole. He brings his dijereedoo, and actually says to Summer, "But you love the dij'." Luckily for all of us, the dij does not make an appearance. Miraculously, amends are made in spite of the dij's absence, and we find out that Che's dad owns a pharmaceutical company and he has more cash than one of those rappers. Additionally, we learn Che is short for Winchester. Seriously. At least give him a nickname that's a little more believable or mainstream, like Winch, Heste (pronounced "heest"), or Ste. I hope the private family jet that he took home crashed into a cactus field inhabited by rabid jackyls.
3. While attempting to say "lame," Kaitlin says "lahm." Somehow, others her age understand what she meant. This prompts her to throw a raging kegger with such features as kegs and "seven minutes in heaven." The party totally beats out some other uppity hooker's party.
4. Unbeknownst to them, Julie and Kirsten's dating service has now turned into a gigolo service. The Bullitt may or may not have something to do with this. It goes without saying that I love where this is going.
5. Ryan keeps having vivid, '80s-hair-band-video-style fantasies involving Taylor. Nothing yet involving candlewax, tube socks, and the new Fiona Apple CD. It goes without saying that I would love for these fantasies continue. They haven't done anything with leather, pleather, vinyl, or latex yet. For the love of Providence, make it happen Josh Schwartz and McG.

This morning I woke up and had the privilege of driving my lovely wife to work. Later, I met Jester and my dad for some lunch at Catch 35, where I had a delightful Atlantic Salmon BLT, complimented with crab bisque. On the way back home, I held up a German restaurant with an Entertech. Drunk and adrenalized, I went home, took Harley to the vet and had her stitches removed. I'm writing a song about it, which I expect to be released sometime early next March. It's called "Stitches Out My Bitch." Here's a little sample:

Coneheaded dog ain't nothin' but a bitch
Tryin' reach her stomach, tryin' to scratch an itch
All because some vet down in Cincy
Took only one ovary and now Harley's wincy
Stitches out my bitch
Stitches out my bitch
Just today took some stitches out my bitch
One right ovary,
And a little uterus
Stupidass vet left 'em in my bitch

Meanwhile, Holt sent me this chart, which I thought was pretty funny and extremely accurate:

Currently I'm watching The Filth and The Fury while challenging myself to a Nancy Spungen killing contest. Too soon?

Are You OCerious?

As I have no office, there is no Hair Band Friday this week or next week. Word on the street, though, is that the ladies at my new place of employment are clamoring for the chance to attend the HBF Kickoff Party in two weeks, which will feature Jacstosy (in case you forgot, that would be my killer punch made from Jack, Ecto Cooler, and ecstacy, which has been known to release panties faster than Tom Jones).

The Fortnight of Andrew trudges on. Last night, Christoff and I hit BW-3 for some wild, wings, and weck. Harry from the Matt, Jirko, and Harry show on ESPN 1000 was there doing a promotional thing for ESPN 1000. There were various trivia contests for prizes. Christoff's name got called, and he answered two Seinfeld questions correctly, netting him a Monday Night Football coozy -- the very same coozy that I received free at the end of the promotion because they had extra.

The fact that I received something for nothing, while Christoff was forced to answer two very easy questions in order to obtain the same thing did not sit well with me. I tossed and turned all night. At one point I had a dream that I knocked over some kid's plate of birthday cake at an outdoor birthday party and his dad got all pissed off at me. Hey, if your kid's gonna get in my way while I'm trying to get back to my hotel, then he shouldn't have such a big piece of cake on his plate. And some light weightlifting wouldn't hurt either. I woke up at about 5:15 this morning, and didn't fall back asleep until about 6:38. I was overcome with guilt.

I again woke up around 9 to take my coneheaded autistic dog for a walk that I hoped would result in urination and defecation. One out of two ain't bad. When I returned to the apartment, after carrying said dog up the stairs, I was sullen and weary, so I went back to bed until about 11. I love the Fortnight of Andrew.

After a healthy breakfast and a quick glass-blowing session, I decided to watch last night's The OC, which was anxiously awaiting me on the DVR.

Ryan was up all night watching Bollywood movies due to insomnia. Somehow, that is not helping Ryan fall asleep, probably because of some cheery -- yet completely unnecessary -- dance numbers. Who could sleep through that? Taylor is creaming herself over Ryan. Since she is a sex panthress, I think Ryan would be wise to let her manipulate his genitals. For Pete's sake, she "never sleeps more than four hours a night. It's unproductive." That means she likes to do it.

Meanwhile, Julie Cooper is banging some 25-year-old kraut that she tries to pass off as her personal trainer. If by "personal training," you mean "doing it." Kaitlin is trying to do her tennis instructor, whose name is predictably Spencer. Julie sees Spencer and decides that German she's humping is the wurst. Kaitlin sees Julie making out with Spencer and is somehow pissed off, even though Kaitlin is 15 and Spencer is 25.

In the State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations, Summer and Che break into a Brown science lab, attempting to free some bunnies that are living a pretty good life. I wish I was making this up, but Che actually brought what I think is a fife to lead the bunnies to the forest. Ecoterrorism isn't cool, especially with a fife. As you might expect, the dean (no relation to that cock chugger Dean Hess) gets wind of the fact that Summer and Che may have been involved, since they are the only two people at Brown stupid enough to do something like that. Both get called before the dean's board separately. Summer admits to the bunny freeing, but denies involvement in other previous idiotic acts of ecoterrorism that Che had committed. Che completely sells out Summer by telling the board that Summer committed said idiotic acts of ecoterrorism that he actually committed. Thus, Summer might get kicked out of Brown. Somehow Che thinks that what he did was noble and a "part of the movement." Che is gay. It rhymes and it's true. There, I said it.

Kaitlin asked Taylor, "Are yaw oka?" Taylor did not smack Kaitlin in the mouth repeatedly until Kaitlin pronounced it, "Are you okay?"

Sandy plays golf with a Texan oil tycoon named Gordon Bullitt (no mention as to whether he is the younger brother or nephew of Lt. Frank Bullitt) played by the guy who so masterfully played none other than Mr. Frank Kapowski on Saved By The Bell, who turns out to be Spencer's dad. Things turn awkward when Julie goes to a benefit with Bullitt, and Kaitlin brings Spencer. That's when we find out their father-son relationship. Meanwhile, Taylor shows up to the benefit in a sexy dress, and Ryan starts dancing with her and making jokes. Then Ryan tells Seth, "I'm not gonna date Taylor" (with "Taylor" annunicated like "Purdue" in "If all else fails, I guess I could always go to Purdue."). Of course Taylor overhears this and has a less than favorable reaction. Ryan says that he has no feelings for Taylor, but Taylor convinces Ryan that they need to make out in order to determine if there are any feelings. On account of the fact that Ryan Atwood cannot be forced into feeling anything, he rebuffs Taylor after they make out. However, Taylor's sex panthressness astounds even Ryan. As Taylor leaves the pool house feeling rejected, Ryan sits down on the bed, says "whoa" (in a manner much less annoying than Joey Lawrence, who, by the way, only succeeds when playing roles where the character's name is Joey). It is then that Ryan realizes that it's only a matter of time before Sandy or Kirsten walk into the pool house to find Ryan and Taylor slathered in edible raspberry KY in a reverse cowgirl with Santana's Abraxas blaring. Meanwhile, Bullitt, who is a total badass, decides to back Julie and Kirsten's dating service, essentially because -- like all Texans -- he has money to waste.

A McDonald's commercial I just saw reconfirmed my intense hatred of mimes. Currently I'm watching a rerun of Love Connection on the Game Show Network, while challenging myself to a laughing contest. Here are the two people that are describing their sex-filled date. Brian Hayden is 23, a carpenter and the runner-up of the 1991 greater Santa Monica Andre Agassi Lookalike Contest, and has never been married. Kelly is a hooker whose hair is similar to that of Gene Simmons. Her hobbies include shaving cats, tennis, and allowing blind dates to choose lingerie for her. She has never been married either.


Apparently things went pretty well between Brian and Kelly. Their "date" ended with young Brian sleeping over at Kelly's house -- I mean, Kelly's bedroom at her parents' house. Nice work Brian. Your mustache is offensive.

"I'm So Tired of Tryin'"

Hair Band Friday is pretty mellow this week, probably because we've been smoking copious amounts of opium. If you've never written a motion for leave to file a third-party complaint with an opium buzz, it's exhausting, mainly because it's hard to type while lying on the floor with no good view of the monitor. At least there are some sweet tunes blasting through my speakers to keep me somewhat alert. The last three songs were "Fool For Your Loving" by Whitesnake, "Visions" by Savatage, and "Sex" by Kix. Speaking of which, Mindi and Bill have been trying to engage in missionary-position sexual intercourse in the corner for the past four hours, but they keep falling asleep. Perfect opportunity for a double deadhorse, in my opinion, but I can barely keep my eyes open, much less find the strength and courage to crawl over there an attempt to do Mindi while trying to find a chick awake enough to put on a strap-on. I would ask Lexi, but she is attempting to fellate a stapler because she doesn't have the strength to stand up, and it's the only thing she can reach. Oh well. We'll rock harder in two weeks.

Last night's The OC was mediocre at best, which means that it was still better than every other show in the history of television except other episodes of The OC. Here's a recap:

1. For the third episode in a row, Ryan was not involved in underground cage fighting. Instead, he got a job at a posh Mexican restaurant, El Pavo Guapo, which of course means "the handsome paver" in Spanish.
2. Seth goes to visit Summer at Brown. During the course of his visit, he walks in on Che playing the guitar naked. Seth leaves Brown telling Summer that he's going to give her some space for a few months, probably because she takes fewer showers now.
3. Taylor Townsend refers to her French husband (who is named -- get this -- Henri-Michel) as a "sexual Jedi." This, of course, begs the question: did they refer to their bedroom as Degobah? Did he initiate sexual encounters with "Love we will make. Resist you would be foolish to do. On hands and knees this time you will be."? Also, if this man's penis were to be chopped off by some towering, black-clad asshole that turns out to be his father, would it be able to regenerate? Also, when Henri-Michel asked Taylor about a new sexual position and she said "I'll try it," did Henri-Michel say, "Do or do not. There is no try."? I'm guessing "yes" is the answer to all questions.
4. Henri-Michel sends his lawyer to Newport to tell Taylor that he will not divorce her unless there is proof that she is unfaithful, due to some stupid French law that is designed to ensure that unhappy, loveless marriages continue indefinitely. Thus, she convinces Ryan to help her out by making out with her in front of this frog lawyer. It works, and Taylor gets her divorce. Intimations are made that Taylor is moist for Ryan. Then again, who wouldn't be? The man can give a girl a screaming orgasm simply by standing within 10 feet of her and wiggling his index finger. Now that is evidence of a sexual Jedi.
5. Sandy goes on a "guy date" with some dude from the PD's office. They go "golfing." I really see this thing going somewhere. I mean, Jason Spitz -- Spitzy -- is sooo funny and pretty easy on the eyes as well.
6. Kaitlin and Julie make a doomed pact, whereby Julie agrees to steer clear of men if Kaitlin agrees to steer clear of trouble. This would kind of be like if K-Fed and David Duke made a pact, whereby K-Fed agreed to steer clear of being the largest bag of douche of all-time, but only if David Duke agreed to steer clear of hating all non-Aryans.
7. Kaitlin gets a fake ID. Julie goes out to a club with some Newpsie trick who's into letting younger men do her. As luck would have it, Kaitlin randomly chooses to go to the very same club where Julie is doing what I think is the lambada (the fordibben dance) with some man half her age. Meanwhile Kaitlin watches, probably thinking to herself, "What is shay doing hare? Thas is so embarrassang."

This leaves us with these startling questions:

1. Will Sandy and Spitzy be able to make it? If so, how many guy dates before they go all the way? Will this somehow spark Kirsten to hit the bottle and become a lipstick lesbian?
2. How many young men will Julie sleep with before her decrepit, saggy vagina finally gets too big for anything less than a horse? At that time, will a sexy new character named Smarty Bones show up at the Newport Stables?
3. Is Summer really going to be a hippie throughout this season? If so, will she be able to stand the patchouli-laced stench of Che's obviously dank crotch?
4. Meanwhile, who will Seth try to do in Newport? Kaitlin? What?
5. When will (not just will) Ryan get bored with not having sex and plow Taylor into submission?