Olivia Munn: A Birthday Haiku.

No matter how old

You still look better than me

When I was your age.

Seven Deadly Spots on the Human Body

Here’s a weird one that I was thinking about the other day. When I was a kid, my dad and I used to watch professional wrestling together. Went to some live shows. Even had one of them spit on my shoe.

But this isn’t about that. I’ve outgrown wrestling. Seriously. I haven’t had a friend put me in a figure-four leglock in at least 24 years.

See, back in the day, USA Network used to have Sunday programming that featured a show called All American Wrestling at 11am Eastern time. And that was triumphantly followed by the totally awesome Kung Fu Theatre at noon.

Kung Fu Theatre was usually on in the background as I acted out the wrestling moves I had just seen on my dad. I do remember one or two of the movies though. There was that one with the brothers with the really long ponytails that they used as weapons. And there was one with a girl and a fan (or was that just from the videogame Yie Ar Kung Fu?).

Anyway, the movie I want to focus on featured a crazy old man who was teaching some sort of orphaned dude the secrets of Kung Fu so that he could exact revenge on the evil warlord who murdered his family. Pretty typical plot for those movies.

The cool part was the old man detailing the “Seven Deadly Spots” on the human body and showing the kid how you could immobilize someone by utilizing these body locations. I’m not sure if I remember them all correctly, but I know at least four of them are from the film. My dad and I still laugh about this list…

1. Temple
2. Philtrum
3. Armpit
4. Liver
5. Solarplexus
6. Groin
7. Big Toe

Look, I can understand the temple. The skull is thinnest at that point, right? And punching someone in the philtrum can jam their nose cartilage up into their brain (urban legend?). The armpit has lymphnodes that I guess can cause a lot of pain. Maybe? A liver shot actually can lead to internal bleeding. A fist to the solarplexus is gonna knock the wind out of you. And the groin shot is a much-loved tradition of Home Video Submission Shows. Plus, it makes a man cry.

But the Big Toe? Really? What’s a punch to the toe gonna do? Make you bend over, grab your foot, and do that “heavy breathing through clenched teeth” move that you orchestrate when you get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and accidentally stub your toe on the cat?

We all know that hurting the knee will just make your opponent go into that hilarious Crane pose from Karate Kid. I guess the guys from Cobra Kai should’ve aimed a bit lower to take out Daniel-san.

The Big Toe. Protect it or die.

…

As a brief aside, if anyone knows the name of the movie I’m talking about, PLEASE let me know. I’ve been looking online but can’t find anything.

Olivia Munn: Haiku Memories

Dear Olivia

Stop winking at me on screen

My wife gets jealous

Comics For Sale!

Hey there, lurkers. I’m just dropping in to say that I’m exorcising my comic book collection and you could benefit from it!

I’ve listed 37 auctions on eBay. Bid on something. Own a piece of my life. Become one with deadbeatJONES.

Claim your piece of my pop culture childhood HERE.

Flashing Back to Innocence.

When I was probably 12 or so, I got a television for my bedroom.

I know that isn’t a HUGE revelation for today’s prepubescent cell phone holders, but back in the day, that was a BIG deal.

My grandmother got one of those original video cameras…y’know, the kind you practically needed to hoist on your shoulder and hold with two hands just to get a fuzzy shot of your dog pissing on your slippers? Well, she let me borrow it for a while and I was able to rent videos for my viewing pleasure.

Around the time I was 14 or 15, the local 7-11 started a video rental aisle (Not too long after this, the local 7-11 ceased to be. Coincidence? Yeah, probably.).

I don’t really have any revelation to make here. Just wanted to give a preamble for one of those “writing exercise” lists that I spoke about a while back.

So, without further ado, here’s my list of Movies I Remember Renting From My Local 7-11 When I Was A Teenager:

Hiding Out

Can’t Buy Me Love

Chopping Mall

Class of Nuke ‘Em High

Fraternity Vacation

C.H.U.D.

Dead Ringers

Action Jackson

The Principal

Surf Nazis Must Die

Summer School

Hamburger…The Motion Picture

Stewardess School

Private Resort

Rappin’

Johnny Be Good

A Night in the Life of Jimmy Reardon

Evidently, my formative years were buffeted by horrible scripts, awful acting and unbelievable amounts of cheese. Perhaps that explains my current level of cynicism. Or my fascination with pop culture.

Cloudy With A Chance of Boner.

Sometimes the weather is HARD to predict.

ZING!

Never Mind, Hitler.

Regarding that last post: I apologize for getting all emo. Turns out the situation isn’t as dire as it seemed. I’ll be getting unemployment after all. In fact, I may be able to live at the expense of the state for up to a year!

So…now I can go back to talking about homophobic beauty pageant contestants, Earth Day and this:

and this:

and this:

and this:

and this:

and this:

and this:

and, in some sort of bizarre double-meme ironic twist, this:

The Near Future of deadbeatJONES.

As some of you may know, I recently lost my job. I think I may have mentioned it once or twice. Unfortunately, I do not qualify for unemployment benefits either…blame it on the Byzantine process that the state of Pennsylvania puts you through…or the fact that I was unemployed for most of last year too…but what it all boils down to is that I, ironically, did not make enough money to qualify for unemployment. I was too poor to be poor.

Funny.

My wife returned to full-time work about a month ago, after being unemployed herself for nearly a year. Sadly, she isn’t making as much money as she used to and with only her salary coming in, we still fall nearly $1500 short of just paying the bills every month (that doesn’t count gas, food or any surprise expenses). My two sons are too young (even if you add their ages together) to go out and find meaningful employment. And I’m in some sort of job-finding limbo right now.

I’ll be able to reapply for unemployment in July, but our monthly deficit may not let us keep our house that long. Joy.

So, I decided to drag out a couple screenplays I had written years ago, polish them up and see if I could network a bit and try to sell them. Luckily, a few of my college pals are doing well out in LA-LA land and, long story short, one of them offered to read one of my scripts.

That being said, blog posts will be few and far between (or, most likely, completely nonexistent) here at DBJ headquarters for the next few weeks as I rewrite and reformat my screenplay in hopes of impressing someone somewhere at some time.

And, hopefully, this activity will distract me from the guys who will soon be showing up to repossess our house. I hope they don’t let the dog out. She tends to run away.

Wish me luck!

On Bad Hip-Hop, Musicals, D&D and British-Like Humour.

Every once in a while, I go through my CD collection and wonder why I bought two-thirds of the stuff I have. I spend more time trying to choose what music to listen to while I work out than I do actually working out. I keep thinking I should choose a CD that I know all the songs on, but as I peruse the endless shelves of jewelboxes I realize that those gems are few and far between. For the most part, my collection is filled with albums purchased because I liked one song…or I liked other groups on the same record label…or I read something about the group that intrigued me.

Well, yesterday I decided to drag out the boxes of actual vinyl that the wife and I own. I was completely blown away by our combined resources. If you sat this collection in front of a total stranger and asked them to describe its owner based solely on the contents within, I can’t help but think that the stranger would describe us as “weird” and/or “possibly deranged.”

My wife’s part of the collection is filled with respectable stuff like The Smiths, The Cure, Black Flag, Sex Pistols and The Replacements while my shitty contributions include The Village People, Queen, Flock of Seagulls and ridiculous amounts of horrible hip-hop singles like this:

FUN FACTS: The K-9 Posse featured Eddie Murphy’s younger brother Charlie, best known for getting bitch-slapped by Rick James. And the only good thing about this song is the Eric B & Rakim sample in the chorus.

I also own this on vinyl:

The song opens with a pretty cool sample of dialogue from West Side Story and a great bassline, but after that it’s all downhill. The flipside of “Play it Kool” was titled “Ugly People Be Quiet” and the follow-up single was called “Find an Ugly Woman.” How did these guys not hit it big?

I don’t know why I got off on this strange tangent, but now I’m laughing my ass off. I miss the days of Whodini and Steady B, Mantronix and the Boogie Boys, MC Shan, Davy DMX, Original Concept. I could go on, ’cause that’s how I roll…or used to…sort of…alone in my bedroom.

And now I just lost every single reader of the blog because you’re all sitting there thinking, “Cracker, please!” Maybe you’re right. Let’s talk about things white people like. How about musicals? Goofy white people love themselves some musicals.

I guess by now everyone knows that there’s going to be a Spider-Man musical. And that the guys from U2 wrote the music for it. And that the plot involves Peter Parker twirling and running away from other bouncy dudes in leotards. You remember that part of Spider-Man 3 where Tobey Maguire got all emo and had a stupid(er) haircut and danced and sang? Yeah…it’s gonna be like that, except with wraparound Bono shades and a bunch of hungry African kids singing the background parts.

The latest word is that Green Day are creating a musical based on their “theme” album American Idiot. I guess that’s a better idea than basing it on Dookie, which was all about drug use and masturbation. However, I can’t help but feel old thinking about Green Day staging a musical. You know how the Rolling Stones continue to tour even though they all died over a decade ago and are kept alive solely by draining the lifeforce from their audiences? I don’t want to live in a world where Billy Joe has to suck upon the souls of the Hot Topic crowd.

Oh wait, yes I do. I can’t stand those fake goth weirdo kids.

On a completely unrelated note, the other co-creator of Dungeons & Dragons, Dave Arneson, passed away after battling cancer for years (Gary Gygax, his former business partner, died in 2008). I guess he failed his saving throw. ZING!

This makes me sad. First of all, he was the same age as my father. Secondly, he was one of the people responsible for helping me “protect” my virginity for years. And thirdly, the dude that created Pokemon still breathes the same air as me. That’s just not fair.

You know what else isn’t fair? The fact that ABC will probably end up canceling Better Off Ted. Is anyone else watching this brilliant show? Yeah…that’s the problem. The show is shot in a single-camera format and the main character constantly breaks the “fourth wall” to talk directly to the viewers. Take the funny parts of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and imagine them making love in a sweaty threesome to The Office and a live-action version of Futurama and you still won’t begin to understand what I’m telling you.

Better Off Ted is about one of those companies that makes things no one realizes they need. Like BASF and 3M and NASA and Apple. Ted is the head of Research & Development at Veridian Dynamics. And the plotlines of the episodes revolve mostly around an “item of the week” that has been created by the company…from cow-less meat to weaponized pumpkins to itchy office chairs to racist motion detectors.

There’s a level of humor here that isn’t comfortable for typical American audiences. There’s no one getting tagged in the nuts. Nobody falls down. Not a single instance of men belching or commenting on their own clichéd laziness. I like to call it humor with an extra “u,” as in the British style of humour where you actually have to think for a second instead of just blindly laughing like a drunken hyena.

And that’s why it won’t last an entire season. Americans don’t like to think. That’s why we continue to buy Jonas Brothers albums and Uggs. It’s why things like the Carls’ Jr. Double Western Bacon Cheeseburger exist.

Two Charbroiled All-Beef Patties, Two Strips of Bacon, Two Slices of Melted American Cheese, Crispy Onion Rings and Tangy BBQ Sauce on a Toasted Sesame Seed Bun.

Makes your mouth water, doesn’t it? Well, believe me, it makes your ass water afterwards too.

I don’t really have a point to make today. But honestly, how many of you read the title and thought I was going to have any sort of cogent discussion on all of those disparate topics? I’m only human (and a white guy (and American))!

I Once Got Busy In A Burger King Bathroom.

Fame, as they say, is fleeting. And yet, infamy (which is like fame’s evil eyepatch-wearing soap opera twin) is forever. Our society’s constant drive for immediate satisfaction does not excuse failure easily. Slip up and you will be trampled by the endless herds of sheep trying desperately to grasp the mythical golden ring.

My wife and I were talking about my career the other day, which easily led us to the topic of failure. Funny how the conversation just naturally turned that way, isn’t it? Anyhoo, I was telling her how I didn’t understand what happens to people who spend their entire adult lives in one specific career, then get caught beating their kids or embezzling from the charity they work for or publicly cheating on their wives or whatever. I mean, those people don’t get a second chance. Once there’s a photo of you being led out of your office in handcuffs, the job search becomes infinitely more difficult.

Then I started thinking about the redemption allowed of certain celebrities. We humans, as a people, have a deeply rooted desire to help other humans. However, that desire only extends to people who we see as better than ourselves. The people who provide our entertainment and who we live vicariously through are afforded a certain level of immortality when it comes to failure. People are inherently forgiving. They’re also inherently stupid.

Look, how else can you explain the fact that sane women still attend Michael Jackson concerts and pass out from over-stimulation when he takes the stage? Why does Britney Spears still have a career. And, even though it’s been long rumored that Richard Gere may have enjoyed an occasional rodent in his rectum, the fact is that he’s still a respected actor, activist and father.

Here’s what I’ve figured out: there are two types of famous people. First, there are the people who achieved fame through their work. Whether they were artists or actors, celebrated authors or captains of industry, their fame was accumulated over time and with a genuine sense of accomplishment and a definable amount of talent. Think of Tom Hanks or Ron Howard or Stephen King. Even if you aren’t a fan of these folks, you have to admit that they are famous because they worked hard to earn that fame.

The second group of famous people belongs primarily to the newer generations. Their fame has been accumulated through internet shenanigans, staged events, reality television and pure irony. While they may have exhibited some modicum of talent at one point or another in their lives, the general population recognizes them more for their recognition alone. Sadly, this segment of the famous has become a rather unwieldy list populated by the likes of Paris Hilton, Perez Hilton, Steve-O, Lindsay Lohan, P. Diddy, Kim Kardashian, and the entire cast of The Hills. If you’re “famous” for stapling your balls to your leg and appearing on a televised dance contest, the longevity of your “career” doesn’t look very rosy.

Through extensive scientific research (or ten minutes of random thoughts while waliing the dog this morning), I have determined that subjects from Group 1 can easily move to Group 2, but the vice versa is nearly impossible.

Take, for instance, the comeback of one John Travolta. He had been a rather popular television actor in the late 1970s. He appeared in a few relative hit movies. And he was featured on the covers of various teen-themed magazines. To put it bluntly, Travolta was “the tits.” One movie about aerobics and a couple baby voiceover flicks and his career was in the tank. When Tarantino resurrected Mr. Travolta, his performance was well-met with cheers and kudos.It didn’t hurt that he was kind of fat and didn’t try too hard (see also: Val Kilmer’s guest spot on Entourage).

But then he decided to go all “follow conspiracy theory as a religion” and “dress in uniform and fly my own jumbo jets” and “appear in any role that lets me grow a creepy goatee” and pretty soon he was relegated to Group 2…the rubbernecker side of fame. Others who have fallen into this irredeemable pit of bad choices and overexposure: Madonna, Tom Cruise and the Backstreet Boys.

Like I said, making the jump from Group 2 to Group 1 is nigh improbable. As far as I can remember, no cast member from any season of The Real World has gone on to win an Oscar. Or an Emmy. Or a Tony. Or the lottery. Or a court case. Or even a free scoop at Baskin-Robbins.

I’d put together a detailed analysis of Group 2 to try to explain their fame, but I really can’t stand thinking about those people for any length of time. Bad fashion sense and vocorder sampling shouldn’t be substitutes for humility and integrity, Kanye. All I’ll say is that paparazzi are like vultures…they start circling when they sense the end. And it doesn’t really help matters when you call them up and tell them where you’re going to be doing your grocery shopping that day.

As faithful readers are aware, two of my favorite actors working today are Paul Rudd and Sam Rockwell. How often do either of them show up in the tabloids? Either they have horrible publicists who don’t own calendars or phones, or they let their work speak for them. Both gentlemen have eked out respectable careers that will keep them gainfully employed for years to come. And both men are humble and funny.

Now that I think about it, almost every comic actor working today is absent from the daily barrage of celeb newsploitation. Seth Rogen is not out clubbing all night. Steve Carell has not been arrested for cocaine trafficking. Will Ferrell isn’t beating up prostitutes. Neil Patrick Harris (another miracle comeback whose new bulletproof status even has him widely accepted as a gay man) does not throw furniture out of hotel windows on a regular basis. The only reason Jim Carrey gets media attention is because he’s dating a former Playboy model/trainwreck. Hell, even the boisterous Robin Williams could only get a few TMZ.com mentions in the face of total heart failure!

Maybe if there were more naturally funny people in the entertainment business, then we wouldn’t need all the Group 2 people that we laugh at for other reasons.

But alas, where would we be as a leading nation without the pure earnestness and pathos (and raging STDs) of Rock of Love Bus?