I heard Adam Sandler's "Thanksgiving Song" while I was driving into work today, which is significant for two reasons.
Actually, in the grand scheme of things, it's not at all significant. If it was, it surely wouldn't be posted in blog format, but I digress.
The first reason is that I was actually driving to work, something that I never, ever do. A thought crossed my mind as I fiddled with the radio station and the temperature knobs: "Fuck the Metro."
The car didn't smell like vacant boredom and armpits like the Metro does, especially in the mornings.
There weren't any women jabbing me with their six bags, or any men fooling around with their Palm Pilots, looking up just often enough to reveal that they aren't actually doing work, just passing the time.
Of course, I did have some impatient asshole tailing me, using every light change as an opportunity to honk wildly because I didn't get off the line fast enough.
Hey buddy, if you're that concerned with the speed of your commute, you should have opted for something other than the Hyundai. Like my two second reaction time is really getting in the way of all that excess horsepower you've got brewing under there.
Sometimes you just can't win, I guess.
But that doesn't mean you can't have fun. I like to reward people who have a thorough knowledge of their automobile's horn placement by slowing down and really appreciating their technique. After all, it's not often that you can observe a master craftsman at work.
I then pray (well, not pray so much as just really really hope) for an electrical short in their car. Not the type that simply silences the horn. The type that shorts the horn, radio, blinkers, fog lights, gauges, and door locks.
And sends a sharp jolt of electricity from the horn button rendering the user temporarily impotent.
Which brings me back to Adam Sandler. And the "Thanksgiving Song," which is a comedy classic. (Jimmy Fallon, take some fucking notes.)
The "I can't believe Tyson gave that girl VD line" still makes me laugh out loud. Today, for instance, it caused me to momentarily jerk the wheel to the left, into the path of oncoming traffic. Good times.
Say what you will about Sandler's brand of comedy (or you can type it in a blog that no one reads), but he put together a hell of a run in the early to mid 1990s. SNL, his "They're all Gonna Laugh at You" CD, Billy Madison, Happy Gilmore -- good stuff with a long shelf life. Hell, you could walk into any room right now, toss out a line from any of these, and someone, somewhere in the room could toss one back.
Ok, maybe not a room at a MENSA meeting, but that's neither here nor there.
So what the hell happened? This morning I heard the "Thanksgiving Song," but last night I caught the last 15 minutes of "Little Nicky," and, uh, wow it was awful.
I hope it at least allowed Harvey Keitel to pay off his gambling debts, or whatever the fuck else he owed that made him take this job. Now get back with Tarantino!
So Sandler's clearly lost a good 8-10 mph off his fastball. Actually, he was never a "fastball" comic. Eddie Murphy threw heat back in the day, Chris Rock does now. George Carlin has been for a long time.
We'll say Sandler was more of a curveball kinda guy, but now he's lost the ability to bend it. He used to be Barry Zito. Now he's Eddie Harris from "Major League."
So the question is: Does he realize it? He's got to, right? There's no way he can watch Billy Madison then Little Nicky back-to-back then think, "Man, these are both
hilarious. I've really grown as an artist."
A couple of caveats:
1. Most of us never know what it's like to toss a curveball like that. He's throwing big benders that start at the letters and end at the knees, while the rest of us are either bouncing them in the dirt or serving up batting practice.
2. The rest of us will eventually lose the bite on our shitty
pitches. It just so happens we won't do so at the local cinema in the form of a heavily-hyped movie in front of the whole country.
Still, he's gotta wonder what's going on, and if he'll ever be able to reach that level again.
Or maybe he just counts all his money.
You know what? I think "male pattern baldness" is a really silly term.
To me, that implies that there are other
baldness patterns out there, but you never hear about them. We're pretty much stuck with The Monk
(a circular bald spot in the back of your head), The Mongo
(a creeping hairline that extends the forehead to drive-in movie screen proportions), and The Horseshoe
(you get this one, right?).
Male pattern baldness would be a lot more fun if some other random patterns were thrown in the mix, like The Swirl
(Imagine a swirl ice cream cone, but with hair. Now I've ruined soft-serve for you. Good, buy real ice cream.), or The Box
(Think "Kid" of Kid 'n' Play fame. All hair from the sides is lost, with only an 8'' flattop leftover.), or The Starfish
(Hair recedes until only five radiating lines are left.).
That would spice things up a bit.
Also, I'd enjoy the irony of ridiculing a guy unfortunate enough to have The Box, cause, let's face it, if you have The Box, that's the only box you're getting.
This is the beginning.
And you were here to witness it, how cool.
It's like a birth, except no one's holding a video camera to tape his wife's pregnancy while secretly stealing glances at the other pregnant woman across the room.
Also, there's more demerol.
And less mess.