Tagline: “Death, Taxes, and Movin’!”
Starring: Joe Pesci
and Dane Cook
Plot: Two aging widowers find themselves unable to live in their memory-filled apartments in the Italian streets of their native Brooklyn (with some dynamic character work from Mr. Williams as Giussepe Pepperoni), so they decide to move together….TO FLORIDA! After a harrowing week on the road where they meet a number of crazy characters and have one boating accident and also flip their car over in the woods and then drive it offf a cliff (whoops!) and also do some skydiving and end up at a frat party where they don’t belong but it gets wild, the two men arrive at Sunnyglade Farms, an active community for vibrant seniors. But they realize their trouble has only just begun when they meet Sunnyglade Farms’ manager, Biff Dudester (Dane Cook). He’s sasssy and a real sassafrass with so much sass and he sasses them all the time, but eventually the two old men teach him that he doesn’t know everything just yet, and also they fall in love with the same old lady and fight over that and one of them dies.
Also, I’m moving. Suuuuucks.
As usual, Mr. West has his finger on the pulse.
Seriously, I am so sorry.
Sorry, Baby Carriage Industry Fat Cats, but Kanye West HAS CALLED YOUR BLUFF:
Um, I really like Kanye West. I think that he is a good rapper and that his music is really fun to listen to and is refreshingly positive. And I think that his blog is funny and weird and I find it surprising that he (or whoever actually writes his blog) is willing to present a public image of himself that is unabashedly obsessed with unstreet things like sofa design, tiny backpacks, and houses shaped like suitcases. All of that being said, Mr. West, seriously, no homo on hating this baby carriage so much that I don’t even get it.
Look, I know that I’ve been changing my mind a lot lately. First I reversed my initial claim of wanting a full, detailed write up in ljers4eternity and decided that I wanted no mention of my death on the internet. Now I have to reverse that position again. Well, not exactly a reversal, but definitely a philosophical shift. When I die, I do not want to be memorialized on some blog, instead, I will usher in my physical death by becoming pure energy, entering the mainframe and becoming Cyberchrist, and my birth cry will be the ringing of every phone on the planet.
Lawnmower Man, you guys. We almost forgot! He is the one that we blame for ALL OF THIS.
Well, now what?
Grammy-winning singer/songwriter John Mayer has dropped “blogger” from his list of hobbies. He had taken to posting musings on ex-girlfriends and the importance of designated drivers and the MacBook Air, but no more.
I’ll never forget his hilarious yet insightful post about how he wanted that one expensive watch really bad and then he got it! YES! Yknow, blogs get a lot of shit for empowering people to share intimate details that should be kept private, or to overestimate the value of their opinions in the public discourse, but I think we can all agree that when it came to wanting a really expensive watch so bad because you saw someone else who was famous wearing it and then finally after some mild searching you were able to find it, that John Mayer was a scholar and a poet and a clown.
OK, listen. I’m going to try again, because it’s the only thing I’ve ever asked of you, and you babies are being so difficult that I want to shake you into a coma while your parents are running errands. You need to start listening to the Best Show on WFMU as I have told you COUNTLESS (+/- 3) times, and as a scientist I have found that the easiest way to get people listening to the show is to start with some Philly Boy Roy and then eventually move out of the race car bed of Philly Boy Roy and into the big boy’s bed of the whole show.
So, are you strapped in? You got your helmet on?
Here is a recent call from Philly Boy Roy.
BEST SHOW ON WFMU. Get with the program.
I’m starting a new feature today. It’s called “Fucking Liars.” It’s self-explanatory.
“I always think that when I’m on my deathbed I don’t ever want to remember what any movie made at the box office. But I know I will remember that one grip’s face or that caterer who made an amazing grilled-cheese sandwich.”
???Charlize Theron (EW via VultureBlog)
That one grip’s face? Shut up, you fucking liar.
Well, unsurprisingly enough, it’s Heathcliffe Ledger day on the internet, so it seems silly of me to do my important work TAKING DOWN BIG ONLINE MORTGAGE ADVERTISERS. That can wait until tomorrow. It really is the new sadness, right guys? Who thinks this will add new gravitas to The Dark Knight and therefore should shut up and kill themselves? But also I read this:
In the wake of Heath Ledger’s death, President Bush postponed a White House event scheduled for this afternoon in the Roosevelt Room, where he was due to launch an ad campaign aimed at preventing prescription drug abuse.
WHAT? I’m sorry, what I meant to say was WHAAAAAAAT? Whoops, that’s the President of the United States, and not just any President of the United States but the one who it is being reported today released at least 935 false statements in the lead up to his war (hey Iraq, why so serious?) What is Bush doing? Sitting in some silk-lined room of the White House watching Three Feathers over and over on one of these, thinking about the time he told his father he loved him and put a gun to his head just like Heath did in that one movie where you got to see Halle’s tits (make me feel gooooood). “This can wait,” Bush tells one of his trusted advisers. “The people need more time.”
Why so seriously, President Bush, go about your fucking business. You’re bad enough at your job as it is. What’s next? Flying in Air Force One over SOHO? Get it? Because of Katrina? Which is another thing he was shitty about? That guy’s an asshole (new idea for 2008).
Meanwhile: Heath may have passed, but awesome messages of insane hatred survive [LINK].
Heath Ledger, you guys.
I can’t figure out which of my initial thoughts makes me feel more horrible about myself:
Why So Dead?
Yup, that’s really terrible, but look:
Off my jock, Ledger!
See you in heaven soon, Mr. Ledger, when I kill myself over this terrible homepage.