Back On The Bottle!

Actually, that's not quite true. If you want to get technical about it, my drinking yesterday had nothing to do with bottles; it was done strictly from aluminum cans. Twelve of them, to be exact. I started drinking midway through the day while the Red Wings game was on, and I didn't stop until I passed out sometime after midnight. Hell, the way the Wings have been playing lately, I needed alcohol just to get through the game. I know that the majority of the country doesn't give a fuck about NHL hockey, seeing as how shit like water polo matches kicks its ass in the ratings, but I need my hockey fix. Too bad the Wings are basically polishing up their golf clubs right now, getting ready to piss away yet another post season. The captain Steve Yzerman deserves better. This is probably his last year playing hockey, and he's such a decent, classy guy. If I were a chick, I'd totally do him.

*Ahem*
(Don't worry, I haven't turned gay or anything. My love life sucks, but it ain't THAT bad, people.)

You know, I once swore that I'd never become a blogger... and we all see how that worked out. Also, along those same lines, I swore I'd never get into MySpace, either. Well, I guess nobody should pay attention to ANYTHING I say, because I'm on there now, too. And I keep getting grief from people because I refuse to add any "friends" to my account. "Why don't you have any friends???" I get asked roughly fifty times a day. "Because I don't fucking want any," is invariably my response. See, as it is now, anybody who finds my personal MySpace account has to specifically look for it; and I LIKE it that way. The people that have been sending me e-mail are people that genuinely want to talk to me, not people who saw my name on someone else's buddy list and thought to themselves, "Hey, I vaguely remember that asshole." It seems SO important for people on MySpace to have a huge list of friends. Why? I don't know... maybe it makes them feel more loved or something. Maybe they're insecure and want to show everybody how many "friends" they have. Well, I have no need to feel loved, and I have no need to show everybody that I'm more popular than they are. That shit seemed stupid to me even when I was back in high school, you know?

I was thinking about making a separate MySpace account for "Jeremy the Loner," though. Not for existential reasons or anything like that. I just figured that I'd create the account, let people add me as a "friend" and get everyone the hell off my back--while still keeping my more "private" account on the side. Or maybe not. I don't know. I'm too dehydrated to think clearly.

Look for another edition of 80's Movie Spotlight in the near future. I've gotten some pretty interesting nominations thus far, so keep sending them.

Thursday Night...

...and all is not well. Fucking computer is pissing me off. I'm taking a few days off, and since I have no real social life, I decided to do some writing today. Blogger keeps kicking me off every time I try to download a pic, plus the goddamn computer is just being slo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ow-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w!!! I could jog a mile faster than this fucking thing can load up a website like, say, Yahoo. And that's pretty bad, considering I'm horrendously out of shape. Now I'm all pissed off. And if that weren't enough, check out this e-mail;

From: "Wayne Luzzo" Wayne_Luzzo@msn.com
To: goodnight_tonight@yahoo.com

yo wats up ur hooooooooooot

Hmmm, something tells me this e-mail wasn't meant for me. At least, it fucking better not be. Every time I think I've gotten the last Melissa Midwest e-mail, another one comes in. You know, hot or not, I'm starting to regret interviewing that chick. It's depressing to see how many pathetic, horny assholes there are in this world. I mean, I might very well be one of them, but at least I don't harass people with horrifically written e-mail. What are these guys thinking? Do they think she's going to e-mail them back and say, "Ooooh baby, it turns me on to know a stud like you thinks I'm hot. My new goal in life is to blow you some day in the near future. Until that day, I'll be masturbating furiously in anticipation."


Now, the picture to your right is Melissa Midwest... and I assure you, I look NOTHING like that. It's a good thing, because if I did I'd never leave the house. Nope, I'd be too busy staring in the mirror, feeling myself up and bellowing, "Holy shit, am I fucking HOT!!!" Sorry about the dirty pic. No, scratch that... I'm not sorry. This is my blog, and I like boobies and hot girls. So deal with it.

So, Wayne, in answer to your e-mail, let me respond in language you can understand:
"Yo wayne, whut up dawg ur fucken stoooooooooooopid."

This guy is practically begging for people to fuck with him... so be my guest, dear readers. Let him know how foolish he is.

I'm starting to wonder if some website linked to my anti Donald Trump article. Even though the column is several months old, e-mail keeps coming in about it. Here's one that came in just the other day;

Date: Fri, 21 Apr 2006 19:59:58 -0700 (PDT)
From: "Warren Peace" warrenf_peace@yahoo.com
Subject: Trumps house of wings (Trumpin')
To: goodnight_tonight@yahoo.com

J the L;

I fucking hate that egomaniacal douchebag Donald
Trump, too. Did you see SNL's bit on "Donald Trump's
House of Wings?" Funny, but didn't go over the top
enough. You may have spent too much time of the web
page, but rock on.

I also hate Carson Kressley from the "Queer Eye"
designer show (I could care less if he's gay - I hate
him anyway).

And the top 3 guys I hate the most (the father, son
and holy ghost): George Bush, Dick Cheney and Karl
Rove. Fuck those corrupt assholes straight to hell.

Best wishes,

Warren Peace

It's nice to know that I'm helping spread anger throughout the net. It warms my cackles. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some hockey to watch--but before I go, here's another picture of Melissa Midwest for you all. You're welcome.



Damn, that's hot. Yowza.

The New Column...

... is finished, and it should be on the main page before the night is through. I already mentioned that it's 80's related, but this pic should make the subject of the column pretty clear. If only the article itself was as cool as this picture...

I don't even know why I'm writing a promo for the column. Do any of you give a shit? Probably not. Hell, I wonder how many people who frequent this blog even bother to read my columns. The lost souls who come here probably don't find my writing all that funny. It's my fucking life that's funny--in a sad, pathetic way. But hey, I needed to write something for the page. I haven't had any booze all week, so I needed SOMETHING to occupy my time, didn't I?

Oh, one last note about Julia from Russia... she sent me a picture of herself today, which I downloaded with great curiousity. And wouldn't you know it? She's really, really cute. She digs me. She's single. She's 26. And she lives on the other side of the fucking planet. In other words, it does me absolutely no good at all. So, while you're all laughing at me about this, I'm going to head to the corner of the room, curl up into the fetal position and sob uncontrollably. See you all later.

Another "Beer Free" Sunday

"Here I am, feeling like a fucking fool
Do I react the way exactly she intends me to?
Every time I think I'm off the hook,
She makes me lose my cool
I'm her machine
And she can punch all the keys,
She can push any button I was programmed through."

-Billy Joel

I wish I could say I've been too busy to write lately, but that would be bullshit. No bullshit here on this blog. Just bitching. (NOTE TO THE READERS: On AOL, the word "blog" is still being flagged on the spell check. Get with the times, you corporate fucks.) On the plus side, I'm about to unveil a brand new column! It's going to be a semi-regular column, just like Classic Broad of the Month used to be--and just Classic Broads, this column will be yet another way for me to obsess over 80's pop culture. I'm not sure why I'm so obsessed with the 80's. I didn't exactly have an idyllic childhood, trust me. Maybe I just miss my old parachute pants. Who knows?

On a different note, here's an interesting story for you all; I actually talked to Julia the other day (aka "My Russian Fan"). This marks the first time I ever gave my phone number to a reader of mine. I don't plan on making a habit out of it, but I figured that it would be okay in this instance. For whatever reason, she really seemed to want to talk to me--and who am I to turn that down? Besides, I kept having visions of Kournikova dancing through my head...

Unfortunately, Julia forgot to take into account the time difference between Michigan and Russia, so my phone rang at 7:00am. I was a little annoyed, seeing as how I had just managed to doze off less than two hours before, but it was all good. It turns out that Julia is an English teacher, so she spoke the language like a pro. Plus, I thought the Russian accent was kind of hot. I kept complimenting her on her English, saying she spoke the language better than a lot of the people who live here. She laughed at that, thinking I was joking. I wasn't.

I really did enjoy talking to her, though, and it was a bit surreal. Having grown up under the shadow of the bomb during the peak of the Cold War, I never anticipated that I would one day be chatting with a Russian girl at the crack of dawn. She was so sweet, telling me what an "honor" it was to speak to me. Seriously, how many women are going to tell you something like that during the course of your stupid, pointless life? I wish more single American women had her attitude. I wouldn't even know what to do with myself, you know?

JEREMY THE LONER: "Can I buy you a drink?"

HOT SINGLE WOMAN: "It would be an honor for me."

JEREMY THE LONER: "Um... you'll have to excuse me. I think I'm about to have a panic attack."

I can't say THAT'S ever happened, but then again, I'm way too insecure to approach an anonymous woman at a bar and blurt something out like that--not even after five Long Island Ice Teas and two pitchers of Molson. Maybe I should go to Europe and try it there--they might dig losers like me on the other side of the world. Maybe I could even find a country that's so backward, the women there think I'm a hottie. You know, a country where you could take 50 American dollars and live like a king for a year.

Aw, never mind.

Anyway, I'm almost done with that column I mentioned before. If you happen to actually give a shit about such things, keep an eye on the main page.

Insomnia and Howardshrine: The Book

Yet another sleepless night here in Loner Land.

Yeah, yeah, you're all probably sick about hearing about my lack of sleep (along with the rest of my bullshit). Man, I wish Karen were here right now; on more than one occasion, I've fallen asleep with my head in her lap as she ran her fingers through my hair. It's rare for me to be comfortable enough with someone to fall asleep on them, but God, I love that woman's lap... and she always smells so good. It's too bad for me, though, because she's out of state right now, so I can't sleep. Maybe I need a new bed. Or maybe I just need someone else besides me in it. Ahhh, but that goes without saying, doesn't it?


I was thinking last night about how I should paint a mural on my bedroom ceiling, or maybe attach a flat screen TV up there--and that wouldn't be a bad idea, seeing as how I spend so many hours every night just staring at it. If this shit keeps up, I swear to God I'm going to down a bottle of whiskey and wash it down with some Nyquil. I'll have no trouble getting to sleep then. Of course, waking up may prove to be a bit tricky. At this point, though, I'm so fucking frazzled that I really don't care if I wake up or not, just so long as someone takes care of my cat Monte for me. Good-bye, cruel world... and I'll see you soon, Satan. I'm sure you have a place of honor reserved for me down there, right next to the one you have set up for Anna Nicole Smith. Get it? For me, hell would be an eternity spent listening to that dumb broad prattle on and on and on and...

Ahem.


Just the other day, I received an advance copy of Howardshrine: The Book in my mailbox, written by none other than DP's own Doc Sante. He's been working on this thing forever, and I would describe the final product as the fruition of one man's magnificent obsession with his idol, one Howard Stern. I wasn't really sure what to expect when I took a look at it. I knew that a good part of the book consisted of Stern-related interviews that can be found right here on Dean's Planet, but the book is far more than recycled interviews--at just under 300 pages, it's literally packed with hundreds of photos, Stern guest autographs, personal momentos and naked women. You could definitely waste a few hours just leafing through the thing, whether you dig Howard or not. The whole package looks great, and I can tell that a lot of care went into the countless layouts found within. Nice job, Doc, I was impressed.

Oh, and I'm in the book, too... well, a little, anyway. My DP interview with GoodFella Henry Hill can be found on page 54. I also wrote the foreword, which is an assignment I took on only after Dean turned it down. (He claimed he had no idea of what to write for such a thing.) I wasn't really sure what to write either, as I am, at best, a casual Stern fan. But I took a whack at it one night while drinking beer last summer, and I'm pleased to say that Doc deemed it worthy of his opus. I'm not sure I did such a great job, but I'll admit that I was kind of jazzed to see some of my stuff in print. You Stern fans should definitely check it out. For more info, you can visit Doc's site at www.howardshrine.net. There's a link there where you can download preview pages of the book and all kinds of good shit. In fact, you can go directly there if you want;

http://www.lulu.com/content/268650

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go kill myself. Think I'm kidding? Yeah, well, we'll see, won't we? See you on the other side, fuckos.

Conflicted

I don't know who I am anymore. But there's got to be more to life than this.

"When I was young,
It seemed that life was so wonderful
A miracle
Oh, it was beautiful, magical.
And all the birds in the trees,
Well they'd be singing so happily
Joyfully, playfully watching me.

But then they sent me away
To teach me how to be sensible
Logical, responsible, practical.

And they showed me a world
Where I could be so dependable
Clinical, intellectual, cynical.

There are times when all the world's asleep
The questions run too deep
For such a simple man.
Won't you please, please tell me what we've learned
I know it sounds absurd
But please tell me who I am.

Now watch what you say
Or they'll be calling you a radical
Liberal, fanatical, criminal.
Won't you sign up your name,
We'd like to feel you're acceptable
Respectable, presentable, a vegetable!

At night, when all the world's asleep
The questions run so deep
For such a simple man...

Won't you please, please tell me what we've learned
I know it sounds absurd
But please tell me who I am
Who I am
Who I am
Who I am..."

Happy Fucking Birthday to Me

This morning, at exactly 4:08am, I turned 32 years old.


I was able to mark the occasion just as it happened; indeed, I recall looking at my alarm clock when the exact minute arrived. I wish I could say this was done by design, as a way to reflect on the years gone by in an almost spiritual manner. I wish I could say this, but the fact is, yet again, I couldn't fucking get to sleep to save my life. This is starting to drive me crazy. Just how long can I go on being completely sleep deprived, anyway?? I've thought about downing Nyquil or maybe taking some sleeping pills--but that shit can be habit-forming, and I have enough monkeys on my back as it is...

So, when I finally decided to give up and get out of bed this morning, I was pleased to find birthday greetings awaiting me. From my mom, you ask? Friends? Family? Nope, my first birthday greeting of the day came from one of my cats, who was nice enough to puke all over my bedroom floor. I damn near stepped right in it, but hey, it's the thought that counts, right? I also received a birthday greeting from none other than Eharmony.com. Remember them? I filled out a "personality profile" with them months and months ago, and they've been on my ass to join ever since. I'll say this for those assholes, at least they're persistent.

To be fair, I should also point out that my Russian fan Julia also sent me a nice e-mail as well. It's so nice, in fact, that I'm going to post it. I think I needed to read something like this today;

From: "Julia Tovmasyan" julia-tovmasyan@yandex.ru
To: "Jeremy The Loner" goodnight_tonight@yahoo.com
Subject: Happy Birthday!!!
Date: Mon, 10 Apr 2006 17:24:39 +0400

So, how do you like being 32? Never tried it yet. Well, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY AMERICAN FRIEND!!! In Russia we wish people on birthdays happiness and health. The rest things and desires can be bought. Some of us are very spoilt, you know.
You sounded a bit sad in your articles. You shouldn't be! You are SOOOO talanted and bright. I don't know you personally but I'm sure you are just a great guy with a wonderful sense of humor.
In your blog you write about the show you lead. I didn't find info about it. Tell me what kind of show is it? I'm really very interested in everything you do. Your life is so interesting! I'm sure a lot of people are proud of being your friends, Jeremy. If you give me your tel. number I will call you to wish you happiness and health personally.
Julia.

This girl is a sweetheart, isn't she? I mean, my life is "so interesting?" That's funny. In all actuality, my life is a complete mess, but at least some people find it entertaining. Thanks for the offer for the phone call, Julia, but that's not necessary. Besides, I understand country to country calling can be a bit pricey. Thank you, though, for the birthday wishes. You sound really nice. It's too bad you live about four trillion miles away from me. But isn't that just how my life goes? The women that find me fascinating are always out of my reach; ditto for the ones that fascinate me. Happy birthday to me.

So, in case any of you were wondering what I was planning on doing to celebrate this BIG EVENT, I'll tell you... there was a mini keg of Heineken left over from the cast party the other night, and my friend Marc knew exactly who to give it to. I plan on tapping that baby later on tonight. All by myself, of course.

Sad

It's over.

Thank you, Jennifer, Allyson, Dann and Diane for coming to see the show tonight. It meant a lot to me.

Thank you, John and Greg, for being such good friends and making me feel welcome.

Thank you, Amy Childs, for being such a lovely, lovely, talented sweetheart. Our conversation tonight made me feel a whole lot better, even though I was babbling a lot. You're an amazing person, and I just may take you up on your offer sometime. Getting to know you again was definitely a highlight of this entire experience. Whatta woman.

Thank you, Marc, for casting me and believing in me, even though I've been a depressed shlub for as long as I can remember. It's good to know that some friends never give up on you, even after you've let them down a number of times. You're a good man, my friend, and I know you'll make a great dad.

Thank you, Mr. Abbott, for trying to make me believe that I still have the "it" factor all these years later.

Maybe it's just the beer talking, but I'm more than a bit saddened to go back to being a loner after several months of friendship and camaraderie. It's three in the morning... and I don't have anybody.

I'll miss all of you, more than you know.

Final Weekend

After getting back to my "real" life all week, it's time once again to do the show again this weekend. Two more nights to go--tonight and tomorrow, that's all. I'm not really sure how the opening weekend went, because I'm WAY too familiar with the material to be objective. One thing I can say is that I'm surprised at how many people who said they were gonna go didn't end up going. Sure, my mom was there... which was more than a bit embarrassing... but mostly I saw just unfamiliar faces, along with a few unexpected ones as well. For the most part, I'm having a good time--in no small part because of the cast parties.

My birthday is coming up in a few days, too, on April 10, just two days after the show closes. When you turn 32, it's not much of a milestone (as in, it's not a nice, even number). So I'm not expecting anybody to really make a fuss over it. Hell, to tell you the truth, I can't remember the last time anybody made a fuss on my birthday. I think I was ten, but I'm not sure. This one girl used to buy me ice cream cakes from Baskin Robbins every year, but she got pissed at me... so chances are, I won't being doing anything special on the 10th. I already know for a fact that I have to work...

Well, I have to get ready to leave for work in a few minutes. (Hence, my cheerful, sunny disposition this drizzly morning.) Maybe I'll get a surprise and see a few of you at the show tonight... if you do go, you'll have no trouble picking me out on stage. Trust me.

More Randomness

So, I'm sitting here surfing the net this morning, reading the news and looking for things to get pissed about when I noticed a story about former Friends star Matt LeBlanc's impending divorce. It made me smile. Completely typical of a Hollywood "marriage," isn't it? He was supposedly dating this woman since 1998, when his show was still hot and he was on top of the world. But now that his stupid Joey sitcom is going straight to Hades, the marriage suddenly has "irreconcilable differences." HA HA HA HA! I can just imagine how that conversation went down;

MATT LEBLANC: "Well, it looks like NBC is tossing my show in the shitheap, just because Leave it to Beaver reruns are kicking its ass in the ratings. I don't know what the hell I'm gonna do now."

GOLD DIGGING WIFE: "Maybe Jennifer Aniston can get you a part as an extra in her new film."

MATT LEBLANC: "Nah, she stopped taking my calls long ago. Come to think of it, so did my agent."

GOLD DIGGING WIFE: "Oh... (long pause) Honey, you've changed. I want a divorce."

This doesn't bother me, though, because I've always found LeBlanc extremely irritating. And I like how their PR people released a statement about the divorce, asking the media to "please respect their privacy during this difficult time." Hmmm, okay... if you're so anxious for privacy, why are you sending out press releases? Isn't it possible to get a divorce and not alert the media?? My parents got divorced years back and I don't recall them notifying the press. Fucking Hollywood bullshit.

On an unrelated note, here's an interesting e-mail that just came in;

From: "Julia Tovmasyan" julia-tovmasyan@yandex.ru
To: goodnight_tonight@yahoo.com
Subject: hello from Russia
Date: Thu, 30 Mar 2006 16:52:36 +0400

Hi! I am Julia from Russia. Like your articles. Thanks for helping me study English with more interest as I read and translate what you write.



Interesting, eh? I like the idea of a chick sitting in Russia, pouring over my columns and trying to figure out what the hell I'm talking about. Although, I must confess I'm somewhat curious as to how some of my phrases such as, "lick the sack" and "fucktard" translate into the Russian language. I'm positive this chick looks exactly like Anna Kournikova, and she's hungering for my loner meat. (There you go babe, translate THAT one!) Thanks for the e-mail, Julia. It's good to know SOME women out there "get the joke," so to speak... right, Danielle???

Well, my show opened last night. I guess it went okay, but there were plenty of little fuck-ups here and there. I'm hoping it goes better tonight. And I'm hoping there's plenty of booze at the cast party. Oh yeah.