ATLANTA – Do you want to contribute to a organization that will offset your carbon footprint? Do you want to feel like you’re doing something good for the environment while you scoot around the globe on your Lear Jet? Do you want to do this by merely scribbling a lot of ones and zeros on a check to clear your conscious?
Don’t think contributing to a wind farm or a solar panel park is going to scrub your soul from the greenhouse effect. Instead you need to send me that check because I’m an offsetting machine. I don’t do too much to be a carbon monster. I work out of my house so I’m not wasting four hours commuting. I do a lot of shopping online so I don’t even burn that much energy going to the mall. My wife complains that I keep the house too cold in the winter and too hot in the summer. I’m your conservation companion. Your money will be going to the best cause in the world – me!
If you sent me over $100,000, I’ll make sure we plant lots of flowers in our three square feet of front lawn. Did you know that a single daisy can reduce the damage caused to the atmosphere by Donald Trump’s methane emissions? The more money you send me, the less I’ll do. I’ll even only exhale half as much. Every little CO cutback counts. If Bill Gates wants to send me $10 million to offset the damage he caused by promoting Vista, I promise to stay in my house an entire week (but not on consecutive days).
You have to send cash because a check means I’ll have to go to the bank and that’ll work against my tiny carbon footprint. Wait, cash would be bad since I’d only want it in twenties and that’s a lot of trees that need to be shredded to create those sweet bills. Best thing to do is send me a gift cards to various stores. Yup. So drop by Target and get me a $10 million gift card, Paul Allen.
Any money raised over the $10 million will be donated to the fund to stop Angelina Jolie from adopting children. Why exactly does this woman really need that many kids to drag through airports? How many arms does Brad Pitt have for baby holding? This is not a low profile family. Each kid gets brazenly exposed to the harsh world of the tabloids. They’re hunted by hundreds of filthy animals with telephoto lenses. Imagine going from a small Vietnamese orphanage to the cover of US Weekly? It’s just not healthy. I feel bad for Shiloh Jolie-Pitt (or is it Pitt-Jolie) since with the latest addition to the family, she’s stuck with another older sibling. Who wants to wake up and discover the new kid has leapfrogged you in the “hand me down” rankings.
STARLITE MEMORIAL
It is with a sad heart that the Party Favors announces the passing of Bob Groves (1952 – 2007). You might not know him, but if you’re a regular reader, you’ll recall the praise heaped upon the Starlite Drive In Theater in Durham, N.C. Bob owned and ran this wonderful place. Last summer I pledged to only see films at the Starlite instead of the major chains. I wanted more than the antiseptic people moving experience of Carmike. The Starlite was joyfully rough and tumble. The asphalt was potholed. Bathrooms were extra cramped. During the day, the place was a gun shop. He had a sign declaring that he wouldn’t sell weapons while the movies were running. Perhaps this was to insure nobody got shot for putting their had in the wrong popcorn bucket. This was an authentic drive in experience and not a Crackerbarrel recreation.
The bliss arrived in the concession stand line when you bit into the hamburgers. It was fresh ground beef – not frozen patties – that they slapped on the grills. Mmmmmmm. When was the last time you looked forward to having dinner at the movie theater? Bob was a great host. And he was always there so I could ask him what was coming up. Last summer there was one film that I had to see at the Starlite: Snakes on a Plane! And he booked it. While Samuel L. Jackson battled the reptiles on the screen, in the sky above we saw passenger jets on their way to nearby RDU International. It was poetic. And a cherished theater going memory.
I found out about Bob’s passing when checking the theater’s website to see if he was running Grindhouse. That double feature screamed Starlite. To see Rose McGowan’s machine gun gam through the steamed up windows…. The extra sad news is that Bob was the sole owner and operator so the fate of the Drive In is up in the air. Hopefully a fan with more spending cash than me will continue Bob’s good work in the community. Although if I get the $10 million “carbon” cash, I’ll be willing to buy the place. Are Drive-in theaters considered “green friendly?” We aren’t wasting energy to heat and cool a large indoor space.
I will miss Bob Groves. Years from now, people will brag about how they saw movies at the Starlite instead of the multiplex. Here’s hoping that Bob has pulled into heaven’s Drive In and is sharing a corndogs and onion rings with Sam Arkoff and Claudia Jennings.
If you want to know more about Bob Groves, visit: http://www.saveourstarlite.org/index.html.
THE CURE TO WHAT?
Anyone else disturbed that The Secret DVD has a woman claiming that she cured her cancer by watching funny movies? What? David Spade and Rob Schneider can cure cancer? Can the secret in ending this horrible disease lurk in the frames of Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo? She doesn’t even give a complete list of every movie she watched to defy death. That’s just wrong. It’s a frickin’ tease. What does a better job: Monty Python and the Holy Grail or Larry the Cable Guy as The Health Inspector? Can Woody Allen’s Stardust Memory fight back the mutation better than Radio Days?
Does it just have to be a movie? What about reading funny columns on the internet? Can the “Party Favors” cure cancer under The Secret‘s treatment plan? I bet this column could cure cancer better than a dozen screenings of Adam Sandler’s Eight Crazy Nights.
DON’T LOOK AT ME
Why is Dennis Hopper telling me about retiring? Here’s a guy who over the years has probably shaved years off peoples’ lives. Do you think anyone survived hanging with Dennis and matching him on drug intake during production on The Last Movie? I don’t think those folks need a retirement plan so much as a treatment for coma recovery.
If anything Dennis Hopper should just be telling us, “How the hell did I live this long?”
Nothing makes those anti-drug PSAs look foolish than Dennis Hopper making commercials. How exactly can we see drugs as leading us to the road to ruins when Dennis Hopper is now in charge of your retirement dreams?
What was the Drug Czar smoking when he signed off on the animated ad with the guy who smokes pot and ignores his talking dog. If your dog talks, you are smoking more than just pot. And if I read the PSA right, this guy could listen to his talking dog if he quit toking? Back way from the bong, Drug Czar.
WHO NEEDS RADIO?
Why are commercials better for discovering music than the radio? I’ve grown addicted to the bouncy ditty behind the HSBC – or is it HBSC? – ad. I don’t even know what this company is called or does because I’m hypnotized by the woman singing. And that woman is Leslie Feist. The band is Feist. And the song is “Gatekeeper” off their Let It Die album. Although I’ve been told the version in the ad is from Open Season, a remix CD. She’s got the swankiest guitar riffs since Max Eider’s Best Kisser In The World. She’s got a voice that should be serenading James Bond during his seduction scene.
Speaking of Bond, EON will be nuts if they don’t cast Ray Stevenson as either Bond’s cohort or foil in the next film. Stevenson is the reason I watch Rome on HBO. He’s got the best bloodlust expression on TV. When his Titus Pullo pulls out the sword, he has the look in his eye that would cause a stuntman to piss in his pants with fear that Ray’s going for the deathblow.
Ray has the same physicality to his performance that Daniel Craig’s delivered in Casino Royale. Even if Ray is the head henchman of the super-villain, when he tangles with Craig, the audience is going to think it’s an even battle on the screen.
CINEMAX AFTER LARK
How can a film called Kinky Kong on Cinemax not star Misty Mundae? And has anyone made a DVDA movie called The Four Riders of the Orifiocalypse?
LICK ‘EM, DANNO
Anyone else addicted to the first season boxset of Hawaii Five-O? Jack Lord storming around the islands with Danno, Chin Ho and Kono has been a constant scene on my TV. What gets me most about the show is the various guest stars. The best was Gavin MacLeod as Big Chicken. Who knew that Captain Stubbing and Murray Slaughter could be the creepiest guy in a tropical jail? The DVD’s clarity brings out the constant sweat covering his bald head. Wonder if Gavin had flashbacks to “The Box” episode when he guest starred on Oz? How would Jack Lord deal with a prison riot with Vern and Chris flipping a coin for his ass?
While watching the Five-Os, I kept having the overwhelming urge to see Jack Lord on a postage stamp. Actually there needs to be a set of TV crime fighters being offered for airmail. Besides Jack Lord, the set should include James Arness, William Conrad, Raymond Burr, Dennis Weaver, George Peppard, Telly Savalas and Robert Stack.
Would you not want to stick these men onto your mail? You are probably wonder why there are no women in the list. A person has to be dead to appear on a stamp. Angie Dickinson, Angela Lansbury and Cagney and Lacey haven’t gone to the big booking room in the sky. Neither has Philip Michael Thomas, Richard Roundtree and Cheech Marin. But they can be kept in reserve for future, Great TV crimefighters stamps.
Please join me in my effort to get Jack Lord and other TV crimefighters on our stamps. You can write your plea to:
Citizens’ Stamp Advisory Committee
U.S. Postal Service
475 L’Enfant Plaza, SW
Room 4474EB
Washington, DC 20260-2437
Because of the self-adhesive nature of modern stamps, you won’t be able to lick McGarrett. He’s going to stick to your mail until its delivered.
GIMME THE ROCK
The Basketball Hall of Fame needs to induct Dick Vitale. The man has a passion for calling the game. You can say he’s as annoying as Howard Cosell, but Dickie V doesn’t hide beneath a rug. The man altered the way a sportscaster relates with the fans. Some guys play along with the crowd to make good television. Vitale absorbs the energy of the fans. He’s like a player who gets his second wind from the home crowd stomping out Queen’s “We Will Rock You.”
Because of the crypto-creepy voting method of the Basketball Hall of Fame, it’s hard to plead a case. The fact that Bobby Knight and other great coaches have written testimonials for Vitale should let these gatekeepers understand that Dick has elevated the game with his enthusiasm. Maybe they don’t want to vote him in for fear that Dick’s acceptance speech will go longer than Liz Taylor’s rambling moment at the Golden Globes. Dick needs to promise he’ll keep it down to six hours.
ROLL THE HALL
VH1Classic ran the raw live feed of this year’s Rock N Roll Hall of Fame ceremony for the first time. Who knew this event ran so long? It was like being stuck in the drive-thru lane at Taco Bell. These guys made the Oscars look speedy.
The saddest moment of the night was the induction of Van Halen. Why does the R&RHOF have a boner for Velvet Revolver? Instead of striking a deal for David Lee Roth to come out and rip apart “Jump,” we get these losers destroying “Ain’t Talkin’ ‘Bout Love.” Scott Weiland needs to get back on the drugs cause he’s got the twitches. It was so f’n painful to watch. Why did the Hall have to screw us out of Diamond Dave? Did he want a flamethrower, Bridget the Midget and the Donkeyshow? Cause they should have given it to him. Last year Velvet Revolver stunk it up as they inducted the Sex Pistols and they brought them back? And their induction speech sounded like they copied it from the Wikipedia. Only Sammy and Michael Anthony showed up for the hardware. What was the point? Anthony didn’t even bring up his Jack Daniels bass. What should have been a great moment in debauchery turned into a lounge act for Sammy’s Cabo Wabo club.
R.E.M. should still be waiting three more years before getting voted into the club. But at least Eddie Vedder gave a real speech about the band and how they mattered to him. He reminded us what really attracted us to R.E.M. all those years ago – the basic fact that we hadn’t a clue what Michael Stipe was mumbling on Chronic Town. But during Stipe’s long winded list of thank yous, we heard every word. And amazingly enough one name skipped was Jefferson Holt, their old manager. He was the inspiration for the only R.E.M. line that I’m willing to quote: “Jefferson, I think we lost.” It was sweet that during their performance, they stuck to the old stuff and avoided any material that Warners pays $16 million per album to dump into the marketplace.
Patti Smith was a joy to behold on stage. She was so sweet when she talked about her mom’s favorite song and broke into “Rock N Roll Nigger.” That’s my mom’s favorite Patti Smith Group song. A shame on the Hall of Fame for not inducting the complete Patti Smith Group. Without Lenny Kaye, she’s getting into the Poetry Hall of Fame. Plus Lenny put together the Nuggets compilation that brought together the double album of the greatest garage rock of the ’60s. The Hall A-holes put Sammy Hagar into the Hall with Van Halen. Why no love for Lenny? At least R.E.M. and Patti got their jab on the weirdness of the Hall’s voters when they finished the night with the Stooges “I Wanna Be Your Dog.” Why no Iggy, Wennerdog?
Next year better be Todd Rundgren and Iggy Pop, jerks. And the next time I see Velvet Revolver at the ceremony, it better be part of the Groups that Suck and Broke Up montage.
BREAK THIS
Don’t rent National Lampoon’s Spring Break thinking it’s merely 70 minutes of dumb entertainment from the folks who brought you Pledge This and Van Wilder. Instead of just being a low budget dorkfest, it’s merely National Lampoon trying to do a sophisticated Girls Gone Wild. A majority of the exposed breasts in this “documentary” about college kids getting wasted belong to playmate Nikki Ziering. It’s like she’s making an audition tape to take over Julie Strain’s hosting activities. Her boob job looks pretty painful. She really should get them adjusted. They looks like stale Jell-O domes.
Nikki’s boobs have nothing on the softballs inserts on the girl who lifts up her tanktop at the end of the video. They look like twin aliens punching through her chest. You’re never too young to become a plastic surgery disaster.
Most of the co-eds are just seen flaunting their butts in bikinis at National Lampoon sponsored pool parties. The DVD would be good for parents who need an excuse as to why they’re not handing over the AmEx card so Princess can spend a week in Cabo. Do you really want to know how your daughter won that special t-shirt? Can you handle the sight of her popping balloons by dropping onto a guy’s crotch?
Here’s a little warning – no matter how cute you think it is, after a body shot, do not have the girl squirt the lime onto your eyeballs.
OUCH!
Another thing you shouldn’t squirt onto your eyeballs is Tim and Eric’s Awesome Show, Great Job. This is Wonder ShowZen for people who have to copy their mom’s answers when filling out customer surveys. I’m guessing the green screen effects qualifies it as animated enough for Adult Swim, but it’s dead boring. The good news is that this show has allowed Tom Goes to the Mayor to no longer be my least favorite Adult Swim series.
What’s extra sad watching the show is knowing that Bob Odenkirk is behind this project. What happened to Bob? He was great on The Ben Stiller Show. I even forgive him for introducing David Cross to America on Mr. Show since that HBO series was funny. But there is no excuse for Tim and Eric’s Awesome Show. Nobody is going to be cured of a split ends watching this show.
VICE IS NICE
If you drop by the estate over the next few weeks, you will be forced to watch Miami Vice since Best Buy is selling the seasons 3 & 4 boxsets for $50 total. Behold the power of Tubbs with a beard!
Comments: None
Leave a Reply |