The week's ending. You need shit to do. Well, fear not. For I have compiled a list of worthy activities and/or ingestible chemicals to help you entertain yourself.
Eat Pistachios: You got pistachios, you got a party. I am extremely adept at prying open even the stubbornest of pistachios. If there's a break anywhere along the ridge, I will jimmy that fucker open to reach the sweet, sweet nutmeat inside. I don't know if this is something you should actually do, by the way. Pistachios may be like mussels, where you should avoid the ones that aren't all the way open, lest you get hepatitis. My research on that, however, may not be ironclad.
Eat Mussels: When you order mussels, what you're really saying to the waiter is, "Hey, I'd like to plow through five baskets of bread."
"London Bombs," by Eskimo Joe: Even I secretly enjoy the occasional sappy ballad. The key is to like ballads played by unknown bands. If Eskimo Joe were as popular as Keane, this song would be totally gay. But they aren't, so that means I'm way hip.
See "Funny People": I did not realize this, but apparently "Funny People" is two and a half hours long. HOLY SHIT! There better be some sort of fortress siege scene in the middle to justify that kind of length. I guarantee you there's an hour's worth of Leslie Mann in there that could easily be cut out.
I like Judd Apatow. He was a writer on Larry Sanders, which is only the greatest show of all time. And he made "40-Year Old Virgin," which was most excellent. "Knocked Up" had about 100 minutes of realistic arguing I'd rather not have seen, which made it the sister film of "Secrets and Lies". But whatever. They guy's a genius, and who I am to say otherwise.
But I'll tell you my problem with Apatow and the state of modern film comedies. They're all introspective. Every Apatow style comedy now is about some immature guy's journey of self-discovery. That's all well and good, but where the fuck are the comedies with some BALLS? I grew up with John Landis' movies, and virtually every movie that guy made acted as a giant middle finger to authority. At the end of a Judd Apatow movie, the guy grows up and the comedy dies. At the end of a John Landis movie, someone plows a fucking car into a grandstand. I tend to prefer the latter.
Patronize Yuppie Tart Frozen Yogurt Shops. "Mmmm, this yogurt is sour and flavorless! Gimme more!"
Hate Simmons' Adoration Of Almost Famous: I can't let this pass. Earlier in the week, Simmons declared "Almost Famous" the best movie of the decade, which is fucking insane. There were three movies alone from 2007 (No Country, Zodiac, There Will Be Blood) that take Almost Famous out into the backyard and zap its gay little heart with a cattle prod. Then he unleashes this nugget:
Now, think about your favorite movies about fictional bands. Give me your top 10. (I'm waiting.) Give me your top five. (Still waiting.) OK, give me one other good one. You can't.
I can. Spinal Tap Spinal Tap Spinal Tap Spinal Tap. If you're talking about rock and roll movies and you can't remember to cite Spinal Tap, you never deserve to have a valid opinion about movies ever again. "Almost Famous" is a fucking sappy, sentimental piece of shit of a movie that goes against everything rock music stands for. Oooh, loogit! They all joined together and sang "Tiny Dancer" on the bus! That's so sweet! Now they're confessing stuff to one another during a plane crash! That's so not contrived! How can you not adore the whimsy of this movie?
"Almost Famous" is a neutered abortion.
Bees: My house is infested with bees. One of them stung my kid. More screaming than the Holocaust. FUCK YOU, BEES.