Saturday Bullshit

I keep seeing "celebrity look-alike" collages all over the place these days, and as such, you know I had to play along. If you haven't seen them, it works like this; you upload a picture of yourself into the program at MyHeritage, and it uses face recognition technology to find out which celebrities you supposedly most resemble. I'll say one thing for the site--they are somewhat generous with the "matches" and they'll try to convince you that you're much better looking than you actually are. I put a picture of my roommate in the program, and one of his matches was Mark Harmon. Ri-i-i-i-i-ight, and I'm Brad Fucking Pitt. Anyway, for the morbidly curious among you, my results are below;




I guess there's worse things in this world than to be told you look like David Hasselhoff. Hell, it might even get me laid if I ever go to Germany. Usually when people tell me I look like a celebrity, the name most mentioned is John Candy, but that's only because I'm a fat guy that makes people laugh; plus, it's pretty much a foregone conclusion that I'll die much too young...

By the way, my interview with Mandy Lynn is finished. You can check it out HERE, or just go to the main page. You might even want to check out her MySpace, using the nifty little banner featuring Mandy's toned butt below;




Well, it's Saturday night, so I'd better log off. After all, I've got a whole lot of nothing to do tonight.

It's Too Damn Early To Be Alive

Today was supposed to be my day off.

Yep, I was supposed to still be in bed right now, staring at the ceiling and not sleeping, just like always. Even my cat is looking at me right now as if to say, "What the hell are you doing out of bed?? Shouldn't you still be tossing and turning, pining away for what's-her-name??" Well, as it turns out, things have gotten pretty backed up at work lately, so I suggested tweaking the schedule a bit so we can get more productivity time. How was I to know they'd take me seriously? Most of the time, nobody listens to a fucking thing I say. Now here I am, getting ready to leave for work before 6:00am. My brain won't even start functioning for at least three hours...

That's what I get for opening my big, stupid mouth.

Kenny Rogers: Billion Seller

So, I'm at work today, listening to this middle-aged woman drone on and on about how much she loves Kenny Rogers. The worst thing she could have done was let me know what a big fan she is, because now I make disparaging remarks about Kenny every chance I get. Not because I have anything against Kenny, mind you, I just like to push this woman's buttons... and I'm good at it.

Anyway, she's babbling on about Rogers and she makes a remark about how he's sold "a billion records."

"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "Did I just hear you say 'billion'?"

"Yeah," she says. "I have this interview with him where he says he just got a diamond/gold award thingy for a billion records sold."

It took a minute for all of this to sink in. Obviously, this woman knows absolutely nothing about RIAA sales certifications, or what constitutes a "gold" record" and a "diamond" record. But I couldn't believe that she was trying to say (with a straight face) that Kenny Fucking Rogers has sold a billion records. Not a million, mind you. A billion. As in a thousand million. She actually believes this!

I tried to talk some sense into her by putting things into perspective. "Umm... if you took ALL of the records from The Beatles, the Stones, Michael Jackson and Elvis Presley and combined the sales, you still wouldn't have ANYWHERE NEAR a billion."

"No, this is just for ONE of his records," she insists.

I almost fell to the floor at this point, because the immense stupidity of what she was saying was staggering. It's bad enough to think that Kenny Rogers (or anyone else for the matter) could possibly sell a billion records in the course of a career. But to believe that one particular Kenny Rogers album sold a billion copies... well, that's just fucking hilarious. I mean, just think about it; Jacko only sold a measly 50 million copies of that piddly little Thriller record he released. I guess Kenny made Jacko his bitch, huh?

I started laughing uproariously at this point, which REALLY pissed her off. "You're just like my damn brother!" she says. "You both think you know everything, but you don't know shit!!"

"Maybe not," I said, still laughing. "But I DO know that Kenny Rogers hasn't sold a billion records."

"YOU DON'T KNOW SHIT!!" she sputters in rage. "I'm finshed talking with you about it!"

Well, at least something made me laugh today.

The Detroit Tigers

How fun, the Tigers actually made the playoffs this year for the first time since 1987. I'm happy for them, but in a way I'll miss "the worst team in baseball." I used to enjoy watching the Tigers in those not-so-long-ago days, because they were like a metaphor for my own life. They'd get their asses whipped almost every night, but they'd always trudge back out there the next day. Even in the rare instances where they'd manage to get a lead going, it was entertaining to sit back and watch them find a way to blow it. Even the sports writers were at a loss to describe how bad this team was; they'd use words such as "woeful," "struggling," "sputtering," and (my favorite) "hapless" to define the Tigers, but eventually they started running out of negative adjectives. I went to see a game at the stadium a couple of seasons ago, and the stands were almost completely empty less than 48 hours after opening day. The Tigers didn't even come close to scoring that day, and never got past first base. (Gee, that sounds like me.) At the end of the game, the small smattering of fans still in attendance booed the team and left in disgust. See, that was MY team. Those were my guys. A scruffy bunch of losers.

Now, a few short years later, they have a shot at going all the way. I mean, don't get me wrong; nobody's picking these guys to head to the World Series, but you never know. Nobody ever expected them to get this far, either, least of all me. But I'm not sure the Tigers are going to be the same for me anymore, because I'm not sure I can relate to a team that actually wins. Maybe I'd better become a Lions fan. They seem to be in no danger whatsoever of winning a game, not even accidentally.

Congratulations Marc and Cindie

Special congratulations are due for my friend Marc, whose wife Cindie gave birth to their first child yesterday, a girl they named Madalyn Lorraine Walentowicz. Wow. I've known Marc for a number of years, and this is some pretty heavy shit. Five years ago, this guy could barely tie his shoes without fucking it up; now he's a responsible husband and parent. When I consider things like that, it gets me to thinking that maybe one day I could settle down and get married. Maybe I could start a family myself someday... but then I get my head out of my ass and think, "Start a family? You can't even keep your Sea-Monkeys alive, you drunken schlub!" Besides, I like the fact that people just assume they can't count on me for anything. (Puts a lot less pressure on me, you know?) I can't imagine being the father to a baby, having it look up and me and say, "Daddy," knowing that its entire life is in my hands. I have enough trouble running my own life, thank you very much. No sense in me fucking up somebody else's.

I think Marc is up for this, though, and I'm happy for him. Congratulations to the entire Walentowicz clan. And as for Marc, I say this; say goodbye to the life you once knew and say hello to fatherhood. I think you'll do just fine, buddy. A hell of a lot better than I would, anyway...

Meet Mandy Lynn

The girl pictured at the right is Mandy Lynn, Playboy model and Hollywood up-and-comer. Some of you may have seen her on MySpace as well, where she's a self-promoting machine; plus, her bikini clad profile pics make nice "Top 8 eye candy" for lonely men who like to showcase attractive women on their profiles in a vain attempt to impress people. ("See?? I told you I have a social life! Look at all of my MySpace hotties!") Of course, Mandy is... uh, on my friends list too... but that's different. I'm not sure how it's different, but it is. I openly talk about my lack of a social life, so I'm not fooling ANYBODY.

The thing is, I agreed to interview this woman and I have absolutely no idea of what to talk to her about. I'm also worried that interviewing her will turn into another Melissa Midwest situation, where horny, moronic guys start bombarding me with laughably bad love letters, thinking my e-mail address is a direct link to Mandy;

"hey mandee jes wanted to say ur hot gurl!!111 i'm 6 feet 5 in with rok hard abzz well holla back sumtime sweetee xoxoxoxo"

Actually, the previous example is a slight exaggeration--most of the e-mail I get in that vein isn't quite that charming or well-written. I swear to God, if all guys are as pathetic as the dudes who mistakenly send me love missives, it's hard to believe that 85% of the female population aren't lesbians...

Harmony

Hello, baby hello
Haven’t seen your face for a while
Have you quit doing time for me,
Or are you still the same spoiled child?

Hello, I said hello
Is this the only place you thought to go
Am I the only man you ever had,
Or am I just the last surviving friend that you know?

Harmony and me
We’re pretty good company
Looking for an island
In our boat upon the sea
Harmony
Gee, I really love you
And I want to love you forever
And dream of the never, never, never leaving harmony

Hello, baby hello
Open up your heart and let your feelings flow
You’re not unlucky knowing me
Keeping the speed real slow
In any case I set my own pace
By stealing the show
Say hello, hello

Harmony and me
We’re pretty good company
Looking for an island
In our boat upon the sea
Harmony
Gee, I really love you
And I want to love you forever
And dream of the never, never, never leaving harmony
Never leaving harmony
Harmony, harmony, harmony, harmony, harmony..."

Pac-Man Fever Songs

As the final nail in the Buckner & Garcia coffin, I have a link that may interest some of you. Click HERE to access free MP3 files of the entire Pac-Man Fever album, courtesy of Blaine from highscoresarcade.com. Keep in mind, these are the original 1982 recordings of the songs and NOT the shitty late 90's remakes that Buckner & Garcia are currently hawking on their forgotten website. (See, CBS owns the rights and they wouldn't allow the original recordings to be re-released. Maybe they're embarrassed.)

I downloaded all of the songs last night, and despite my personal feelings for the pompous dickheads who recorded them, I still love the tunes. You should have seen me rocking out to Defender last night, beer can in hand and disturbing the neighbors with my boisterous singing. It probably has more to do with childhood nostalgia than it does with the overall quality of the music, but I digress. It's impossible to be objective about things that you grew up with; that's why I can still watch old He-Man cartoons and thoroughly enjoy them.

Hopefully, Buckner & Garcia will learn a valuable lesson from all of this; don't alienate your fanbase, you dumb fucks. Especially when one of your jilted former fans (me) has thousands of readers who would probably rather get your songs for free, as opposed to paying for them...

Thanks again, Blaine. You rule.

Teach Your Children Well

So, I'm coming back from the grocery store today, carrying bags loaded with healthy, manly things like beer and peanuts. Unfortunately, I happened to be walking into the apartment complex just as a school bus was dropping off a shitload of kids. These were young kids, in the age range of 5 to 10, and they all eyed me warily. One little girl (who looked to be in the first grade or so) was heading in the same direction as I was, and her parents must have warned her to steer clear of big, ugly, strange men such as myself. Good for them. Indeed, as soon as she noticed that our paths were about to intersect, she got a panicked look on her face and hauled ass down the sidewalk. It's not like I was giving her the evil eye or anything. In fact, I acted the same way around her that I always act around kids, which is to say that I completely ignored her.


She ran about twenty paces or so, and then looked over her shoulder to see if I was still coming. When she saw I was, she took off running again. I had to really strain to keep from busting out laughing and calling out something like, "Hey, kid, wanna see my magic puppet???" Sure, it would have been pretty funny, but I didn't want to have to explain to the cops later on that I was just making a joke and I'm not a child molester or kidnapper.

There's really no reason for me to share this story, other than to point out that I'm happy that I haven't lost my ability to terrify children on sight. May I never lose this beautiful gift...

Echoes Of The Past

How many of you are old enough to say you ever had Pac-Man Fever? (Or another, lesser-known affliction known as Donkey Kong Elbow?) How many of you are old enough to remember when arcades were all over the place, and not just confined to your local mall next to the Starbucks? Chances are, those of you who do remember are pushing 30... and that's me being kind. If, however, you're pondering the question, "Who, or what the fuck is Pac-Man?" please get the hell off my blog right this instant. I told you how I feel about assholes who try and make me feel old, you goddamn walking embryos.

Anyway, as for the rest of you ancient fucks, the names Buckner & Garcia just might ring a bell. Aside from being the musical geniuses (*snicker*) behind the classic 80's jam Pac-Man Fever, they also hold the dubious honor of being the first "celebrities" to ever have a run-in with yours truly. Here's an old column of mine that you might have missed. If you haven't read it, you might want to check it out before going any further. Go ahead. I'll wait.

Okay, now check out this e-mail that I received just last night. It's good to know that I'm not the only one who had to endure this whole, sordid "dying mother" scandal;

From: "Pac-Man Fever" pacmanfever@sc.rr.com
To: goodnight_tonight@yahoo.com
Subject: Buckner & Garcia
Date: Tue, 12 Sep 2006 19:38:43

Hi there,

I just finished reading your article about Buckner and Garcia and your requesting an interview from them. This is too funny - I had the EXACT same thing happen to me when I requested an interview from them as well.

I am the editor for a site called the High Scores Arcade, which tracks scores for arcade and pinball games and hosts lots of media type fun things to download or play. I started an interviews section, and interviewed Donald Hayes, an 11 time world record holder for classic arcade games. I decided to try to interview Buckner & Garicia because I love their music and thought they would appreciate some publicity for their classic and new work. I wrote Jerry Buckner and never got a reply, so I called him at the number on his web site. He said he'd "love to do an interview and would call Gary to schedule a time for this afternoon". He never called or Emailed me, so I waited a couple of days and called again. Surprizingly enough, he was "taking his mother to the doctor" that morning, and said he'd "get with Gary to make some times next week that they could both be available and would Email me the times so I could pick one". I never heard back from him again.

Ironically, I had planned to promote their new format on their site to buy the songs through PayPal for $.99 each. Instead, just like you said, I posted links to all of the songs from the Pac-Man Fever album in the Media section of the site so that everyone can download them for free. I guess they really didn't need the exposure after all, and the songs you can download from my site are the '82 versions and not the crappy '99 versions they're selling.

Interestingly enough, I am a police detective by profession, so interviewing people is my livelyhood. I'm sure it would have been a very positive interview and would have brought some great exposure to them. I loved your article on your site though, and thought I'd share this with you.

By the way, I know exactly who Louise Robey is - her cover of "One Night in Bangkok" kicked Murray Head's ass.

Blaine Locklair
Editor, High Scores Arcade
www.highscoresarcade.com
editor@highscoresarcade.com
"Recognizing Players Worldwide"

Ahhhh, it's funny how things have a way of repeating themselves, isn't it? I like this guy Blaine, even though his name isn't really a name and is actually "a household appliance." (Sorry. I'm just chock-full of 80's references this morning.)
I always knew Buckner & Garcia were idiots, and this just proves my point. Thanks for the e-mail, Blaine...

Another Early Tuesday (After Another Sleepless Night)

-Once again, Blogger is pissing me right the fuck off. It hasn't allowed me to post pics in the past day (hence the boring layout of my blog recently), and I keep getting error messages up the wazoo. I got an e-mail from former Dean's Planet blogger Nosy Snoop the other day, and she told me the reason she doesn't write for us anymore is because she fucking hates Blogger. Right on, sista. I'm about at my wit's end at this point; and I'm not entirely sure they aren't fucking with me on purpose for talking shit about them...

Wait a minute... now pictures are suddenly uploading again. DAMN YOU, BLOGGER! QUIT WITH YOUR MIND GAMES ALREADY!!!


-Speaking of "talking shit," I did an experiment last week on MySpace. I sent out a shitload of friends requests to a number of celebs, from people as diverse as The Cowsills to Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. Not surprisingly, most of them approved me right away--probably not even bothering to check my profile first in most cases. But guess which two celebs DENIED me? Yep, none other than Jessica Simpson and Paris Hilton, the subjects of my infamous Young, Sexy and Stupid column I wrote quite a while back. (I still get e-mail on that column, believe it or not.) And again, it COULD be a coincidence that neither one of these ditzes approved me... but it's funny though, because they each have thousands upon thousands of "friends." Why deny me personally, unless they think I'm an asshole? I mean, Jessica approved the official Dean's Planet MySpace, yet she denied me. Hmmmm... Sometimes I wonder just how many people out there are actually reading my mindless bullshit...

(Interesting postscript; Simpson recently deleted her MySpace account. Guess who else did? Debbie Gibson. That's right, I said "DEBBIE!!!")

-The Sea-Monkeys are starting to frighten me. You know, I've read plenty of information about these tiny swimming freaks, and everything that I've seen so far claims that they're gentle, passive creatures. I'm not so sure. I recently likened the situation in the mini tank as being like Friends, only with salty water and algea. Now I'm thinking it's more like Lord of the Flies. One Sea-Monkey just up and vanished... POOF! Just like that. I've found no telltale corpse floating near the bottom of the tank, either. I've also noticed Sea-Monkey babies swimming around in there from time to time, but for whatever reason they never make it to adulthood. Now, people will tell you that Sea-Monkeys eat ONLY algea and shit like that--but I don't care what they say, because I'm convinced these little fuckers are savagely killing and eating one another. Darwin's theory of natural selection is taking place in my very bedroom as we speak.

Who's next to bite it? Is it me???

A Jeremy The Loner Podcast...?

Tanz brought up the idea to me, and I must say it intrigues me. How about doing a live podcast every week or so, in which I can grab a bottle of red-eye and spout my bullshit to enraptured listeners all over the globe? We were thinking that Dean's Planet could host it, or sponser it, or whatever. (I don't know how the hell this shit works.) Tanz and I have some history in doing shows together, so this wouldn't exactly be a new thing for us. I mean, it is new in the sense that we're only used to the wacky world of public access TV, and not doing shows live on the net. To tell you the truth, I'm only vaguely aware of what the fuck a podcast is...

I don't know if this is going to happen, but I'm game if we can get it together. Give me the damn mic.

They Don't Know About Us...

I still have the old '45 of this Tracey Ullman song stored away in my record collection somewhere. I used to love the video, too, and I recently got a copy of it on DVD. (I friggin' love VH-1 Classic, man!) I always thought the third verse made particular sense for me, especially that part about, "When they look at you, they don't see what I see." Kinda makes you wonder... can anyone ever look beyond the facade you put out and see the "real" you? Probably not. At least not in my case.

But I do tend to go for women that are "bad" for me; and much like the lyrics say, I'm not smart enough to listen to other people who've tried to "wisen me up," so to speak. I'd like to think I wouldn't make the same type of mistake again... but one look at a pair of beautiful blue eyes and a dazzling smile makes my common sense go right out the window. God, it sucks to really, really want something you can't have. And I'm not talking about money this time.

"You've been around for such a long time now
Oh baby, I could leave you, but I don't know how
And why should I be lonely every night
When I could be with you
Oh yes, you make it right
And I don't
Listen to the guys who say
That you're bad for me and I should turn you away

'Cause they don't know about us,
They've never heard of love

I get a feeling when I look at you
Wherever you go now, I wanna be there too
They say we're crazy, but I just don't care
And if they keep on talking, still they get nowhere

So I don't
Mind if they don't understand,
When I look at you and you hold my hand

'Cause they don't know about us,
And they've never heard of love

Why should it matter to us if they don't approve
We should just take our chances while we've got nothing to lose

Baby
There's no need for living in the past
Now I've found good lovin,' gonna make it last
I tell the others, 'don't bother me'
'Cause when they look at you, they don't see what I see

No, I don't
Listen to their wasted lines
Got my eyes wide open and I see the signs
'Cause they don't know about us
They've never heard of love
No, I don't
Listen to their wasted lines
Got my eyes wide open and I see the signs

'Cause they don't know about us
They've never heard of love."

The Big "Fix-Up"

In the course of the past week, I've had not one, but two friends of mine offer to set me up with a woman that I'd "really hit it off with." The reason for this mystifies me. I've made no remarks about WANTING to be set up with anyone, nor have I expressed exasperation about my current social status, which is "lonely asshole." But you know, perhaps desperation is something that seeps through your pores, much like sweat... and if that's the case, I can only assume that I reek of it.

I'm not against the concept of blind dates persay, as least where it pertains to someone else. But I'm definitely not a "blind date" type of guy myself, mostly because I try to put myself into the woman's shoes. I think to myself, "If I were a single woman on a blind date, how would I feel if I saw Jeremy the Loner walk in through the door?" To avoid putting the woman (not to mention myself) through that awkward spectacle, I just choose not to get involved. That way, I won't have to watch her expectant smile cool a few shades once she realizes that I'M her date; and I won't have to listen to her fumble excuses as to why she "can't stay out too late" and how she "has to work early tomorrow morning." Meanwhile, I'd just be sitting there, sighing to myself. "Check, please."

Now, before you "maternal" type women out there start flooding my inbox with, "Aw Jeremy, don't be so hard on yourself" and start feeding me a bunch of bullshit about how I "just need some confidence," let me just say this; yeah, I'm single. It doesn't particularly bother me, and if it did I would actually be LOOKING for someone... and I'm not. The thing is, it's hard for me to meet a woman that's smart, funny and willing to let me undress her. But believe you me, when I do find such a woman, I'll get her acclimated to my hideous appearance and meaningless life, and then, BAM! I'll make my move!

She won't know what hit her, the poor broad.

Meet The Creeps: Volume 2 Review

Amazingly enough, I finally got off my ass and wrote a column. Check it out HERE.


I suck at writing reviews though, so be forewarned...