Am I the only one who loves movie previews? I remember as a youngster having to sit through what seemed like endless previews in order to watch Oliver and Company or the Land Before time. I hated previews, so much so that in cutest bright-eyed 8 year old boy voice, I would look up at my loving father, who was holding my popcorn and Id ask (God, this is so cute), "Daddy, when is the fucking movie gonna start?" He would smile that loving fatherly smile, muss with my hair, and say, "Son, shut the fuck up and eat your Sno-caps." And that, my friends, is the best advice anyone has ever given me.
It is only within the past few years that I've really come to appreciate a well crafted movie trailer. It can illicit from moviegoers the same emotions that the movie itself is expected to: anticipation, suspense, tears, laughter, and thrills. Its only genuine movie magic that can make me turn to my buddy next to me and exclaim, "Wow, that new Wayans brothers movie looks great!" Just kidding. There’s a difference between magic and miracles.
They should make an entire movie out of just previews. And I don’t mean Ebert and Roper. No commentators, no thumbs up, down, side wise, diagonally. Sit on those thumbs, bub. Just gimme more previews.
What’s the best part of the movie trailers? The narrator’s voice! That deep, gravely and totally unmistakable, and somewhat eerie voice. If I had that voice, I'd narrate everything! Everyday life would be so much more profound. For example, in the middle of a dinner date, I'd reach out, grab my dates hand, and say, “One man...on a mission.... to conquer the odds ....struggling to find the girl of his dreams.....and get her to take her clothes off..... Coming soon to a bedroom near you: My Naked White Ass. Rated R for Ridiculousness."
Conversely, am I the only one who hates commercials at the movies? Last weekend, they had a commercial for KY personal lubricant before the movie. What the hell am I suppose do with this information? I'm trying to watch the movie but can’t get the phrase "warms on contact” outta my head!
Am I the only one who hates being asked to give money to charity at the supermarket? I'm not talking about the Salvation Army at Christmas time. I mean as I’m at the register. I've just spent $100 on Diet Pepsi, Cottage Doubles and Skippy Peanut butter, when they come out with "Would you like to donate a dollar to help kids fight cancer?" Ah, damn! You can't say no without feeling like a total asshole. But I think I’ve come up with the perfect response: "Sure! Why don’t you gimme the name and address of a kid with cancer and I'll go to their house and take them out for ice cream." It's much more personal and would really raise the spirits of the kids. I guarantee you they will not break out the phone book. Just shows you that these companies aren't as dedicated to fighting cancer as they want you to think.
Hey, speaking of kids.....
Am I the only one thinks Anne Geddes is out of her mind? She's the lady who photographs babies enveloped in flower petals, in baskets, and other creepy shit. And what's worse is that the babies all look dead. People are so worried about pedophiles on the internet and hangin around schoolyards, but no one seems to be concerned about her. This woman is seriously disturbed and needs to be stopped. No one, not anybody, should have such a sick fascination with children.
On a related note, am I the only one who finds these baby dolls that look like real babies to be the creepiest fucking things ever? Again, you buy materials to make bombs and the Feds tag you as a terrorist, but if you buy one of these freaky ass dolls, no one bats an eye. I think these people need to be watched a bit closer.
The same with every college girl who has posters of little half naked boys and girls kissing. The RIAA was cracking down on every college kid who downloaded a Backstreet Boys song, but no one was alerted to the fact that many of these same people have soft-core child pornography hanging on their walls! What is the attraction?! I like my porn the old fashioned way; 2 girls, a horse, and a midget. God Bless!
Am I the only one who both hates & loves Sonic? I'm not sure if I hate them because they take up my valuable time advertising their wares on TV here and there isn’t a sonic with 400 miles. Or maybe I love them because over the years they've etched permanent space in my brain, now known as my medulla oblon-Sonic. Is it faulty marketing? Or perhaps genius? I haven’t figured that part out yet.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Sunday, August 20, 2006
If I Were Famous
First off, I would not get married. At least not to a celebrity. It never lasts. I don't know if it's the hectic schedules, or the egos, or perhaps just the pressure of being a celebrity and having to appear accessible to pretty much the world while having so many details of your life scrutinized by so many. Regardless, no celebrity wife for me, though I would certainly date them. I'd have whirlwind romance after romance, but they would all end the same way: in dramatic fashion involving a car chase, an escaped Panda from the San Diego zoo and a structure fire.
Eventually, I'd get sick of famous women, so I would have to get hooked up with someone out of the spotlight, such as a truck stop diner waitress with a cute little bun in her hair who wears horn rimmed glasses and snaps her gum real loud like while shouting, "Where them damn pancakes, Otis?!" Otis, of course, is the gruff and greasy, but loveable, owner of the diner. Forget about Otis.
Secondly, I'd manage my money well. When I hear of some celebrity squandering away all their money and winding up broke, I can't help but laugh. Many of these idiots have millions thrown at them and the piss it away while the average Joe (or Ryan) will probably never see a million dollars in their lifetime, but somehow often manage to make it work. I would not have lavish homes on every coast, but rather a modest home with a few optional features as gifts to myself. I'd have a nice car or two, but my lifestyle would not necessitate a fleet of expensive automobiles. Most importantly, I would make wise investments and save my money. That way, when after the fame and legal expenses (see below) are gone, I'll be able to reap the benefits of smart financial planning.
Now we know how much people get crazy over the pics of expectant mothers and celebrity babies. I would not disappoint. As a practical joke, I would have my wife fake a pregnancy and then when she "gave birth" I would let the paparazzi photograph me with our "baby", which would actually be a monkey in a diaper. But, I would not acknowledge that fact, which would leave people wondering, "Um....does he realize..?" Yes. Yes, I do. His name is Ralph and he's got his daddy's smile. And he throws poop.
Moving on: Theres always a constant battle between the paparazzi and the celebrities. You always see these celebrities covering their faces or acting like they don't want their pictures taken. Fuck that. Take my picture. In fact, let me just give you some. Here's me throwing a football on the beach on vacation, here's me looking all aloof, yet intense GQ style, or getting out of my car with my lastest love interest. I would follow the paparazzi around. Need another picture of me? Wanna stake out my house? I'll be on the lawn posing for photos and handing out autographed 8x10s. The paparazzi would eventually have no interest in me and have no choice but to focus on the important stuff, i.e. which Biblical character or fucking piece of fruit the lead singer of Coldplay is gonna name his next kid after.
Now, as a celebrity, I would also give back to the community.
I would use my celebrity to get Perfect Strangers and MTVs The State released on DVD. You can thank me later.
I would also use my celebrity and the fame and money associated with it for good. I'll let Bono, Angelina Jolie and all those other pompous Hollywood assholes parade around starving African nations with their Gucci, Prada, and Vera Wang, and act as if somehow they can identify with the plights of the needy. I'm not that arrogant. Here's what I would do:
I would help authorities solve crimes. I would go along on police rides, interview witnesses, interrogate suspects, and analyze forensic evidence in a makeshift crime lab in my basement. Ryan L: musician/actor/criminal profiler. It just sounds so good!
Lastly, but very importantly, I'd kill someone. I wouldn't necessarily murder anyone, but I'd be directly or indirectly responsible for someone elses death, enough so that charges would be brought against me. This would probably be towards the end of my career, when my albums aren't selling as well, or the movie roles arent coming in as readily. Perhaps my gum-chewing truck-stop waitress wife would be found dead at the bottom of the stairs. Clichéd? Yes. But it's just an idea. Anyhow, a celebrity trial is always a crowd pleaser and I'd milk it for all it was worth. I'd have entrance music like I was a wrestler and it was the main event at Wrestlemania! I'd enter the courtroom to "Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns N' Roses. Then I'd flex and point at the prosecution and say "What ya gonna do, brother, when these 24-inch pythons run innocent on you?!!" My defense attorney would be like my manager and he would distract the judge while I hit the Prosecuting attorney with a steel chair. And then I'd body slam him into the Spanish announcers table and sign autographs for the jury.
Once I'm acquitted (using a great lawyer contact that I made while assisting on my police investigations as detailed above), then I'll retire away to a small town to write my tell-all book and die peacefully in my sleep at the age of 94, lying next to the 25 year old blonde model that I'd been dating.
Eventually, I'd get sick of famous women, so I would have to get hooked up with someone out of the spotlight, such as a truck stop diner waitress with a cute little bun in her hair who wears horn rimmed glasses and snaps her gum real loud like while shouting, "Where them damn pancakes, Otis?!" Otis, of course, is the gruff and greasy, but loveable, owner of the diner. Forget about Otis.
Secondly, I'd manage my money well. When I hear of some celebrity squandering away all their money and winding up broke, I can't help but laugh. Many of these idiots have millions thrown at them and the piss it away while the average Joe (or Ryan) will probably never see a million dollars in their lifetime, but somehow often manage to make it work. I would not have lavish homes on every coast, but rather a modest home with a few optional features as gifts to myself. I'd have a nice car or two, but my lifestyle would not necessitate a fleet of expensive automobiles. Most importantly, I would make wise investments and save my money. That way, when after the fame and legal expenses (see below) are gone, I'll be able to reap the benefits of smart financial planning.
Now we know how much people get crazy over the pics of expectant mothers and celebrity babies. I would not disappoint. As a practical joke, I would have my wife fake a pregnancy and then when she "gave birth" I would let the paparazzi photograph me with our "baby", which would actually be a monkey in a diaper. But, I would not acknowledge that fact, which would leave people wondering, "Um....does he realize..?" Yes. Yes, I do. His name is Ralph and he's got his daddy's smile. And he throws poop.
Moving on: Theres always a constant battle between the paparazzi and the celebrities. You always see these celebrities covering their faces or acting like they don't want their pictures taken. Fuck that. Take my picture. In fact, let me just give you some. Here's me throwing a football on the beach on vacation, here's me looking all aloof, yet intense GQ style, or getting out of my car with my lastest love interest. I would follow the paparazzi around. Need another picture of me? Wanna stake out my house? I'll be on the lawn posing for photos and handing out autographed 8x10s. The paparazzi would eventually have no interest in me and have no choice but to focus on the important stuff, i.e. which Biblical character or fucking piece of fruit the lead singer of Coldplay is gonna name his next kid after.
Now, as a celebrity, I would also give back to the community.
I would use my celebrity to get Perfect Strangers and MTVs The State released on DVD. You can thank me later.
I would also use my celebrity and the fame and money associated with it for good. I'll let Bono, Angelina Jolie and all those other pompous Hollywood assholes parade around starving African nations with their Gucci, Prada, and Vera Wang, and act as if somehow they can identify with the plights of the needy. I'm not that arrogant. Here's what I would do:
I would help authorities solve crimes. I would go along on police rides, interview witnesses, interrogate suspects, and analyze forensic evidence in a makeshift crime lab in my basement. Ryan L: musician/actor/criminal profiler. It just sounds so good!
Lastly, but very importantly, I'd kill someone. I wouldn't necessarily murder anyone, but I'd be directly or indirectly responsible for someone elses death, enough so that charges would be brought against me. This would probably be towards the end of my career, when my albums aren't selling as well, or the movie roles arent coming in as readily. Perhaps my gum-chewing truck-stop waitress wife would be found dead at the bottom of the stairs. Clichéd? Yes. But it's just an idea. Anyhow, a celebrity trial is always a crowd pleaser and I'd milk it for all it was worth. I'd have entrance music like I was a wrestler and it was the main event at Wrestlemania! I'd enter the courtroom to "Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns N' Roses. Then I'd flex and point at the prosecution and say "What ya gonna do, brother, when these 24-inch pythons run innocent on you?!!" My defense attorney would be like my manager and he would distract the judge while I hit the Prosecuting attorney with a steel chair. And then I'd body slam him into the Spanish announcers table and sign autographs for the jury.
Once I'm acquitted (using a great lawyer contact that I made while assisting on my police investigations as detailed above), then I'll retire away to a small town to write my tell-all book and die peacefully in my sleep at the age of 94, lying next to the 25 year old blonde model that I'd been dating.
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