Hmmm...

Some of you may have read the interview I did last year with ex-GoodFella Henry Hill. Or maybe you didn't. Either way, here's somebody who DID read it;

To: goodnight_tonight@yahoo.com
Subject: "GOODFELLA'S" Henry Hill's wife "KELLY HILL"
Date: Sun, 30 Jul 2006 23:29:48 -0500

Jeremy, Kelly Hill is ready to tell it all, of her life and all the ups and downs for 22 plus years living with Henry Hill. Kelly Hill has filed for divorce recently and Henry Hill always let her know that to keep her lips sealed, well the time has come, and Kelly has a numerous amount of things to tell the world what kind of hell she lived through, and a few good times. Would like to know more call 308-XXX-XXXX. Thanks!!!!!!!!

Huh, something tells me this chick has more to talk about than "Sunday Gravy."
Would anybody like to see such an interview here on the planet? Talk amongst yourselves.

One thing's for sure... I'm definitely calling that number. More later...

Blogger SUCKS!

For those of you who have been wondering where I've been, let me just say this; I haven't been anywhere. The reason I haven't been updating this blog the past two weeks is because Blogger hasn't been working properly... yet again. Every time I think it's getting better, it gets worse. I wrote a post just two days ago about how the Detroit Tigers being the best team in baseball is a sure sign of the apocalypse. (I mean, really, the best record in the majors, even after the all-star break? What the fuck is going on here?) But when I tried to publish said post, Blogger kicked me off and sent my post into purgatory, never to be seen again. I got so disgusted, I logged off and cracked a beer. And then I cracked a few more. Then, I fell asleep. Bah, maybe I should move this blog someplace else. Hell, Blogger won't even let me upload pics most of the time, and I know some of you are just DYING to see images of my Sea-Monkeys. Well, maybe not...


But speaking of Sea-Monkeys, I think one of my females is pregnant. I saw this weird growth at the base of its tail, which got me excited at first because I thought maybe I had a genetic mutation on my hands. (Sea-Monkey freaks? Co-o-o-o-ol.) But after doing some research, I found out that the "growth" is actually an egg sac. You know what this means? It means that some Sea-Monkey stud got laid, in my very own room no less. I'm not sure how I feel about this... I don't like the idea of a Sea-Monkey smugly swimming around thinking he's better than me because he knocked up a chick. But then I figured that at least SOMEBODY got lucky in my room, even if it was just a three-eyed shrimp.

Well, I'm gonna try and publish this post... we'll see if it actually works this time.

"Sorry, Wrong Number."

I have hundreds of phone numbers memorized, all floating around in my over-sized cranium. I still remember phone numbers that people gave me when I was in fifth grade, if you can believe that shit. The only trouble is, half the time I don't remember which number is for which person. One time I went to call a friend of mine to make plans for the karaoke bar that night, and I dialed one of my ex-girlfriends by mistake. THAT was a fun conversation, let me tell you. She was actually happy to hear from me, because we hadn't talked in over a year--even though we'd had the typical, "Let's still be friends" conversation when we broke up. Yeah, everybody says that, but nobody actually MEANS it, do they? She kept me on the phone a good half hour, babbling on about her new job, boyfriend, etc. As for me, I couldn't wait to get off the fucking phone. I kept wanting to throttle-punch myself in the nuts for dialing her number in the first place. I couldn't believe I thought her number was my friend Matt's number, but you know, they say alcohol kills brain cells. Sure, I could just buy a cheap phone book and write all of the phone numbers down, but what fun would that be?

So, last night (after eight beers) I decided to call my friend Ross. He's been on tour with his band for the last few months, but they're supposed to get back in town this month so I thought I'd drop him a line. But when I dialed what I thought was his number, some black chick answered, so I figured I'd fucked up. I couldn't see why a black chick would answer Ross' cell phone, unless he's dabbling in some "sweet brown sugar" these days...

Now, I could have said, "I'm sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number." But that would have been mature, you see, and I NEVER go the mature route. So, the conversation went like this;

WOMAN: "Hello?"

JEREMY THE LONER: "Uh, hi, is John there?"

WOMAN: (Impatiently) "You have the wrong number."

JEREMY THE LONER: "Yeah, is Alan there?"

WOMAN: "Who is this???"

JEREMY THE LONER: "This is Roberto."

WOMAN: "Well, YOU HAVE THE WRONG NUMBER!"

JEREMY THE LONER: "Oh, okay." (pause) "Is Frederico there?"

WOMAN: "Man, KISS MY ASS!" (click)

I never did get a hold of Ross. Maybe I DO need to buy a fucking phone book...

Red Baron Woes

I love those damn "Red Baron" brand pizzas. I buy one or two of them almost every time I go shopping; they're quick, not too expensive and they go great with cheap beer. Unfortunately, they're also a bit temperamental. The last two pizzas I attempted to bake went horribly awry...

See, I like to buy the "self rising crust" style pizzas Red Baron makes. I like this kind because the crust actually tastes like crust, and not like the cardboard box the pizza comes in. Not long ago, I had a pizza in the oven for a few minutes when I started to hear a strange "hissing" sound. "Hmmm, that's odd," I thought to myself as I headed into the kitchen. Well, to make a long story short, my pizza was (for lack of a better word) melting. The crust had sagged down through the oven grates while cheese, sauce and toppings were dripping on the bottom of the oven; this explained the hissing sound I heard. It also turned out to be the cause of the three small fires burning merrily in my oven. Well, the pizza was salvaged... but just barely. I have no idea how I got it out the oven with getting horribly burned, but I somehow managed. However, the blackened pepperonis had fused to the bottom of the oven... and they were pissed.

Just the other day, I decided to try my luck again and make another pizza. This time, I figured I'd be "smart" about it (yes, the quotes are intentional, for reasons you'll soon see). To condradict the "melting" problem I'd had before, I laid aluminum foil over the grate in the oven and laid the pizza directly on top of it. Why not? People wrap potatoes in foil all the time and put them in the oven, so I knew this would work out perfectly fine. Right? Right...???

WRONG. Several minutes after the pizza went in, I noticed some curious dark smoke wafting into the living room. When I went in to investigate, I found a rather disburbing scene. The oven was belching more black smoke than my deceased, Lucky Strike smoking grandmother, God rest her soul. The charred pepperonis from the previous pizza were once again ablaze at the bottom of the oven. As for the new pizza, it was sitting quietly on top of the aluminum foil; but it looked NOTHING like the pizza I had put in to bake a few short minutes before. The pepperonis were curled and singed, but the crust remained doughy and cold. Even worse, the entire pizza had somehow taken on a metallic sheen, like it was trying to fuse with the foil and create a new species... or maybe a Robo-Pizza, or whatever. It was fucking bizarre. The cheese actually had a silvery look to it! I'm not sure how that happened exactly, but it didn't look too appetizing. I like plenty of shit on my pizza; pepperoni is fine, as are mushrooms, ham, sausage... hell, even the occasional green pepper doesn't bug me. But I must say, I've never thought of aluminum as a suitable pizza topping...

So now, my pizza is ruined, I have a fire to deal with and the entire apartment is engulfed in black smoke. I have no idea why the smoke alarm never went off, but I was really glad when it didn't. (Heh, that's not a sentiment that you see every day, is it? "Thank God my smoke alarm isn't working properly!") Needless to say, I went to work without having lunch.

By now you're probably wondering why I told you this story. Well, that incident was one of the highlights of my week, which should tell you just exactly what kind of week it's been.

And HEY, Red Baron people! You assholes owe me a fucking pizza... and a clean oven, too.

Holiday Weekend

Blah.

Even the 4th of July sucks now, people. I remember from years past the good times I used to have doing foolish things on that particular day. There was that one 4th of July a few years back when my friend Juan and I terrorized the city with a bag of illegal Mexican fireworks and a case of warm beer; we just walked around, causing random mayhem and drinking WAY too much cheap beer. Because, you know, alcohol mixed with dangerous Mexican fireworks is a great Rx for summer fun! What's a few missing fingers in the grand scheme of things?

No such fun this year. The "highlight" of the long holiday weekend for me was seeing Superman Returns with Tanz. Having loved the first two Superman movies, I was really geeked about seeing this one--especially when I heard that it was going to be a continuation of the orginal story that I dug so much. But I knew I was in trouble when within fifteen minutes of the movie starting, I was shifting restlessly in my seat and thinking, "I probably shouldn't have ordered the large drink." By the time Superman was flying at super speed and heading over to foil Lex Luthor's evil plan, I was thinking, "Christ, how long is this fucking movie, anyway??" I don't remember that happening when I watched the first Superman movie, which is also pretty damn long. It's like the Gone With The Wind of comic book movies, but I loved every second of it. So what's changed here? Me? Or is it true that they simply don't make 'em like they used to? I prefer to believe the latter, although the older I get, the more I realize that I'm among not the target audience of modern Hollywood. Give me good characters and a good story over pretty explosions and special effects any day of the week.

Without going into the problems with the movie (which are numerous and varied), let me just say a few things; casting can make or break a movie, and in this case it broke it. The cast LOOKS great, and Kate Bosworth is definitely more fetching as Lois Lane than Margot Kidder ever was. (Although she's at least a decade too young to play the role.) Brandon Routh looks like Christopher Reeve, and I guess that was supposed to be enough... it isn't. And don't get me started on Kevin Spacey's sour, bland Lex Luthor...

On the plus side, I got to see the movie for free. On the minus side, that's more than two hours of my life that would have been much better spent killing brain cells with beer, as opposed to just boring them to death. Tanz wrote a review for Dean's Planet which is on the main page as we speak. Be warned, however, that there are plenty of spoilers. I think it's also safe to say the he enjoyed the movie about as much as I did...

Here's something from the "Shut Up And Stop Whining, We Still Read Your Shit" department;


From: "Cristian Padilla Osses" kristian396@hotmail.com
To: goodnight_tonight@yahoo.com
Subject: i read you blog
Date: Sun, 02 Jul 2006 05:07:55 +0000

hi there, I do , I do read your columns, this note is to answer to
your question in your blog , I think it's just right to do so since I have
been very entartainted by your writings, first of as you may have noticed I
am from a non English speaking country so forgive my mistakes, but anyways
i do understand what you write about , the bitterness and the tone of your
writings and sometimes i do not fully agree with all you have to say
but I respect your point of view , the important thing for me is to let you
know that down in Chile there's a guy who just found out about you a week
back and has read almost everything you have written so far and enjoyed and
laughed sometimes to tears with your words.


take care and keep them coming.

Ahhh, my overseas readers... where would I be without them? I do tend to get pretty lax with my writing from time to time. I need to work on that. It's just that I'll go to write something in the blog and I'll think, "Aw, nobody wants to hear about this petty bullshit." But hell, isn't that the whole point of having a blog?? To write about stupid shit?

I swear to God, I am going to write a new column, too...