This time, it's an AOL search.
For the term "Lori Beth Denberg" weight.
See for yourself.
As perfect as this is, it unfortunately leads to an archives page and my page came up because of two separate posts related only in that they both refer, whether directly or indirectly, to morbid obesity. But still. Too perfect.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
The Right Choice
This is much less funny than I had in mind. Based on a story The Fork told me. I think it's funny if you picture it being acted out in a funny kind of way.
An elderly woman, Shelia, and a man in his mid-twenties with long, greasy, curly hair wearing baggy clothes that make him look like a teenager, Adam, walk down a brick walkway up to the front door of a large house in a lightly wooded neighborhood. Shelia walks uncomfortably and looks around her. Adam sulks a few steps behind. Shelia takes a breath, walks up the steps at the front of the house and adjusting her light jacket, rings the doorbell. Adam remains at the bottom of the stairs. A young woman in her late twenties or early thirties, Meredith answers the door.
MEREDITH: Hello. Can I help you?
SHELIA: Yes. Is Aaron home?
Before Shelia has finished her question, Aaron, in his early thirties, wearing a doctor’s coat with a stethoscope around his neck, makes his way to the front door, pushes back Adam, walks past Shelia, pushes Meredith out of the way of the door, turns around, and slams the front door quickly, staring coldly at Shelia.
SHELIA: Oh.
MEREDITH: What was that?
AARON: (walking quickly away from the door into the kitchen) Nothing. Don’t worry about it.
Shelia knocks timidly on the door with the door knocker. It rings loud and hollow in the large open room just inside the house.
MEREDITH: She’s knocking again. I’m answering the door.
AARON: (shouting) Don’t answer that door!
MEREDITH: Would you just calm down? Why can’t I answer the door?
AARON: (shouting) Don’t answer it!
Shelia knocks again, this time quicker and with more force.
MEREDITH: If you don’t tell me why I can’t answer the door, then I’m going to answer the door.
AARON: Just don’t answer it!
MEREDITH: I’m answering it!
AARON: (rushing back into the front hall from the kitchen) It’s my mother. Please don’t answer the door.
MEREDITH: Your mother?
AARON: Yes. Now please. Please don’t answer that door. Please. Don’t answer the door.
Meredith stares back at him with her hand on the knob.
AARON: Don’t answer the door.
Later, the two men and the elderly woman are sitting around Aaron’s kitchen table. Aaron looks down at the table tapping his fingers. Shelia shifts uncomfortably in her chair.
ADAM: So I’ve been showing it around anyway. The guy at Central Comics says he likes it and says he’ll show it in the local artists section. I mean, he doesn’t have one yet, but he’ll make one.
Meredith walks over to the table with three cups of coffee, handing one to Shelia, Adam, and keeping one for herself.
MEREDITH: So Shelia, how are you?
SHELIA: I’m doing OK. I just retired.
MEREDITH: Oh, that’s nice.
SHELIA: Yes.
(pause)
SHELIA: May I ask you a question, dear?
MEREDITH: Sure.
SHELIA: Excuse me if this seems forward…but who are you?
Meredith chuckles.
MEREDITH: That’s a perfectly fair question. My name is Meredith. I’m your son’s fiancée.
Shelia’s eyes widen.
SHELIA: Oh my.
MEREDITH: I’m sorry you didn’t know that. I guess—I’m sure Aaron meant to tell you—
AARON: (short and angrily to Meredith, not looking at his mother or Adam) We’ve been engaged for almost a year, I think I would have found the time to tell her if I wanted to.
MEREDITH: Don’t take that tone with me.
Aaron sighs.
SHELIA: So where did you two meet?
MEREDITH: Well I was a receptionist at the office where Aaron works. He’s a pediatrician you know.
SHELIA: Yes. I’ve seen his name on the sign at his office when I drive by it.
AARON: And you never dropped by even once.
SHELIA: If I dropped by, you would have turned me away.
AARON: Don’t you think I know that?
MEREDITH: Please, Aaron, can’t you be civil?
AARON: No, honey, I can’t be civil. This woman wasn’t exactly civil to me.
MEREDITH: Well I don’t even know what you mean by that because you’ve refused to talk about her all the time I’ve known you. Why don’t you just come out with it! She seems like a perfectly nice woman, let’s get these issues on the table so we can work them out—
AARON: (bitterly, obviously trying to hurt her) Do you think you made the right choice, Mom?
SHELIA: (voice shaking) Aaron, please—
AARON: No, Mom. I want to know if you think you made the right choice. (his voice gradually changing to a whisper) I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me what you think about the decision you made. Did you do the right thing? You’ve had almost twenty five years to think about it. Did you make the right choice.
Shelia looks up proudly, her eyes welling up with tears and her lip quivering. Aaron nods and gets up from the table, walks upstairs, and slams a door. Shelia pulls a handkerchief from her purse, blowing her noise and dabbing her eyes.
SHELIA: We were in Thailand for a family vacation on the day the tsunami hit. We were all swept up by the waves. My husband and our eleven year old daughter were carried away by the waves and I never saw them again. At one point, I was holding on to the banister and my five month old cradled in my right arm and I was holding on to Aaron’s collar with the other. He was seven. I couldn’t hang on and I couldn’t climb. I was going to slide into the water so—I had to let one of them go.
MEREDITH: Oh my God. The baby.
SHELIA: The baby was Adam. I let go of Aaron.
Meredith gasps.
SHELIA: Well he survived, somehow. And he never forgave me.
MEREDITH: Oh, God. Shelia.
Meredith rushes to her side.
SHELIA: A mother never wants to see a child die. I thought I lost two that day, plus my husband. I would have lost all three and died myself if I hadn’t chosen.
AARON: (in the doorway) You let go of me.
SHELIA: Aaron. Oh God, when will you forgive me?
AARON: If it were up to you I would have been dead!
SHELIA: You know that’s not true! If it was up to me your father and your sister would be alive!
AARON: So how do you like my house? I put myself through med school, set up a practice, and bought this little thing. You like it? And you let go of me that day. You chose the fat comic book “artist” who you are supporting with your social security checks. Do you think you made the right choice?
SHELIA: (quietly) He had his whole life ahead of him. It wasn’t fair—
AARON: Fair? I had friends! I had a best friend, his name was Darryl. I had a girlfriend, her name was Jessica. I had a dog, his name was Rufus. I had a teacher, her name was Mrs. Kennilworth. He had nothing! He was nothing! And you just dropped me in the water. Watched the water lap over my little baseball cap and I just drifted away. Holding your little bundle of promise. And look at what he’s become! What pride you must feel when you wake up every morning to see this thing sleeping in the same place he’s been sleeping for years! So did you make the right choice?
An elderly woman, Shelia, and a man in his mid-twenties with long, greasy, curly hair wearing baggy clothes that make him look like a teenager, Adam, walk down a brick walkway up to the front door of a large house in a lightly wooded neighborhood. Shelia walks uncomfortably and looks around her. Adam sulks a few steps behind. Shelia takes a breath, walks up the steps at the front of the house and adjusting her light jacket, rings the doorbell. Adam remains at the bottom of the stairs. A young woman in her late twenties or early thirties, Meredith answers the door.
MEREDITH: Hello. Can I help you?
SHELIA: Yes. Is Aaron home?
Before Shelia has finished her question, Aaron, in his early thirties, wearing a doctor’s coat with a stethoscope around his neck, makes his way to the front door, pushes back Adam, walks past Shelia, pushes Meredith out of the way of the door, turns around, and slams the front door quickly, staring coldly at Shelia.
SHELIA: Oh.
MEREDITH: What was that?
AARON: (walking quickly away from the door into the kitchen) Nothing. Don’t worry about it.
Shelia knocks timidly on the door with the door knocker. It rings loud and hollow in the large open room just inside the house.
MEREDITH: She’s knocking again. I’m answering the door.
AARON: (shouting) Don’t answer that door!
MEREDITH: Would you just calm down? Why can’t I answer the door?
AARON: (shouting) Don’t answer it!
Shelia knocks again, this time quicker and with more force.
MEREDITH: If you don’t tell me why I can’t answer the door, then I’m going to answer the door.
AARON: Just don’t answer it!
MEREDITH: I’m answering it!
AARON: (rushing back into the front hall from the kitchen) It’s my mother. Please don’t answer the door.
MEREDITH: Your mother?
AARON: Yes. Now please. Please don’t answer that door. Please. Don’t answer the door.
Meredith stares back at him with her hand on the knob.
AARON: Don’t answer the door.
Later, the two men and the elderly woman are sitting around Aaron’s kitchen table. Aaron looks down at the table tapping his fingers. Shelia shifts uncomfortably in her chair.
ADAM: So I’ve been showing it around anyway. The guy at Central Comics says he likes it and says he’ll show it in the local artists section. I mean, he doesn’t have one yet, but he’ll make one.
Meredith walks over to the table with three cups of coffee, handing one to Shelia, Adam, and keeping one for herself.
MEREDITH: So Shelia, how are you?
SHELIA: I’m doing OK. I just retired.
MEREDITH: Oh, that’s nice.
SHELIA: Yes.
(pause)
SHELIA: May I ask you a question, dear?
MEREDITH: Sure.
SHELIA: Excuse me if this seems forward…but who are you?
Meredith chuckles.
MEREDITH: That’s a perfectly fair question. My name is Meredith. I’m your son’s fiancée.
Shelia’s eyes widen.
SHELIA: Oh my.
MEREDITH: I’m sorry you didn’t know that. I guess—I’m sure Aaron meant to tell you—
AARON: (short and angrily to Meredith, not looking at his mother or Adam) We’ve been engaged for almost a year, I think I would have found the time to tell her if I wanted to.
MEREDITH: Don’t take that tone with me.
Aaron sighs.
SHELIA: So where did you two meet?
MEREDITH: Well I was a receptionist at the office where Aaron works. He’s a pediatrician you know.
SHELIA: Yes. I’ve seen his name on the sign at his office when I drive by it.
AARON: And you never dropped by even once.
SHELIA: If I dropped by, you would have turned me away.
AARON: Don’t you think I know that?
MEREDITH: Please, Aaron, can’t you be civil?
AARON: No, honey, I can’t be civil. This woman wasn’t exactly civil to me.
MEREDITH: Well I don’t even know what you mean by that because you’ve refused to talk about her all the time I’ve known you. Why don’t you just come out with it! She seems like a perfectly nice woman, let’s get these issues on the table so we can work them out—
AARON: (bitterly, obviously trying to hurt her) Do you think you made the right choice, Mom?
SHELIA: (voice shaking) Aaron, please—
AARON: No, Mom. I want to know if you think you made the right choice. (his voice gradually changing to a whisper) I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me what you think about the decision you made. Did you do the right thing? You’ve had almost twenty five years to think about it. Did you make the right choice.
Shelia looks up proudly, her eyes welling up with tears and her lip quivering. Aaron nods and gets up from the table, walks upstairs, and slams a door. Shelia pulls a handkerchief from her purse, blowing her noise and dabbing her eyes.
SHELIA: We were in Thailand for a family vacation on the day the tsunami hit. We were all swept up by the waves. My husband and our eleven year old daughter were carried away by the waves and I never saw them again. At one point, I was holding on to the banister and my five month old cradled in my right arm and I was holding on to Aaron’s collar with the other. He was seven. I couldn’t hang on and I couldn’t climb. I was going to slide into the water so—I had to let one of them go.
MEREDITH: Oh my God. The baby.
SHELIA: The baby was Adam. I let go of Aaron.
Meredith gasps.
SHELIA: Well he survived, somehow. And he never forgave me.
MEREDITH: Oh, God. Shelia.
Meredith rushes to her side.
SHELIA: A mother never wants to see a child die. I thought I lost two that day, plus my husband. I would have lost all three and died myself if I hadn’t chosen.
AARON: (in the doorway) You let go of me.
SHELIA: Aaron. Oh God, when will you forgive me?
AARON: If it were up to you I would have been dead!
SHELIA: You know that’s not true! If it was up to me your father and your sister would be alive!
AARON: So how do you like my house? I put myself through med school, set up a practice, and bought this little thing. You like it? And you let go of me that day. You chose the fat comic book “artist” who you are supporting with your social security checks. Do you think you made the right choice?
SHELIA: (quietly) He had his whole life ahead of him. It wasn’t fair—
AARON: Fair? I had friends! I had a best friend, his name was Darryl. I had a girlfriend, her name was Jessica. I had a dog, his name was Rufus. I had a teacher, her name was Mrs. Kennilworth. He had nothing! He was nothing! And you just dropped me in the water. Watched the water lap over my little baseball cap and I just drifted away. Holding your little bundle of promise. And look at what he’s become! What pride you must feel when you wake up every morning to see this thing sleeping in the same place he’s been sleeping for years! So did you make the right choice?
FIRST POST OF 2005!!!
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Friday, December 31, 2004
Shrimp Products: BLOWING UP OUT OF CONTROL MAD CRAZY ETC.
Two more Google hits. One for the search
"bowflex commercial" grandmother
I did the search myself but I can't find my site anywhere on the results, but at one time I was apparently coming up for "bowflex commercial" grandmother. I don't know who this grandmother is, but if she's the grandmother of that punkass who thinks he's better than Jared, then IT'S ON, GRAMMA.
The other was from
Pictionary shrimp
I'm still on the front page for this one. Number six. Here's the page that came up from the search for Pictionary shrimp. Check it out for a blast into Shrimp Products' illustrious past, including the post in question that brought my page up.
NOW THAT I THINK ABOUT IT UPDATE: Who searches for Pictionary shrimp? Is someone looking for ideas of what a shrimp looks like while in the middle of a tense game of Pictionary?
ANOTHER ONE UPDATE: I'm on page two for a Google search of...wait for it...Garbasail! Woo!
"bowflex commercial" grandmother
I did the search myself but I can't find my site anywhere on the results, but at one time I was apparently coming up for "bowflex commercial" grandmother. I don't know who this grandmother is, but if she's the grandmother of that punkass who thinks he's better than Jared, then IT'S ON, GRAMMA.
The other was from
Pictionary shrimp
I'm still on the front page for this one. Number six. Here's the page that came up from the search for Pictionary shrimp. Check it out for a blast into Shrimp Products' illustrious past, including the post in question that brought my page up.
NOW THAT I THINK ABOUT IT UPDATE: Who searches for Pictionary shrimp? Is someone looking for ideas of what a shrimp looks like while in the middle of a tense game of Pictionary?
ANOTHER ONE UPDATE: I'm on page two for a Google search of...wait for it...Garbasail! Woo!
A conversation with God
Hey God. Can you hear me? It’s me, Chris. Oh, wait. Should that be “it’s I?” Should I drop the contraction altogether? Does it matter? I guess it probably doesn’t matter. You’re all forgiving, right? Omni-something? Benevolent is it? Yeah, so sorry. I’ll just get on with it.
You know the universe is a complicated place. I guess I just have a few questions. Like why do bad things happen to good people? Well, I guess that isn’t the biggest of my concerns. Why do bad things happen to me would have to be number one. Yeah, so why do bad things happen to me?
Well, sure, I know there are people better than me. But let’s be honest here. I’m sure you get that first question all the time, but you just know they’re actually thinking “Wah wah, boo hoo, look at me, I’m so sad, why me?” Well of course you just know, you know everything. That’s another omni. Do you really want the pretense of charity and caring about other people when you know I’m just in it for myself? Honesty is the best policy, right? Is that one of yours? No, yours are all “shalt not.” False witness against thy neighbor! Got it. I don’t know what number that is though. I only know number eight is stealing because there was this Simpson’s episode where—well, never mind.
I mean I understand the whole free will thing. I like that; I’m going to be honest. But can’t there be free will where I get what I want? There has to be a way around free will. I’m not asking to, like, control people, you know? Just a little more power in your realm. For example, let’s take that flowerpot that fell on my head yesterday. I couldn’t do anything about that. But let’s say I build up enough good points over the course of the week. Shouldn’t I be able to avoid the flowerpot? Would that put such an irrevocable rip in the universe? Would particles start disintegrating all around me because a potted plant hadn’t crashed down on my head? The gates of Hell would just open up and unleash a flurry of bloodthirsty demons on the world had I not received a flowerpot to the cranium. Must have been vital to prevent the delicate fabric of creation from being torn to shreds by forces of chaos and darkness, I assume.
All right, all right, I’m being sarcastic. I apologize. There’s no need for that. But do you see what I’m saying here? Now I acknowledge I don’t have the same perspective on the world that you do. There’s no question about that. But I would have to guess that give or take a flowerpot, the universe would be able to sustain itself. A flowerpot being tossed off the roof of a thirteen-floor building, careening to earth, and landing squarely upon my head just doesn’t seem like one of those earth-shattering events caused by the hand of God to ensure order and goodness prevail. But then what do I know.
That’s not my only gripe either. I hate to complain, blah blah blah, gift of life and free will and whatnot better than Paradise, etc. But seriously, do we really need insects? I mean really need them? I’ve always suspected that whole “pollination” thing they teach us in elementary school was a scam. But that’s for another column. Really, though, even if we pretend pollination is real, is it really necessary? Couldn’t you work something out up there? I don’t know, little flying seeds? No blood sucking or flying around the head. Like little heat seeking missile things. I have a lot of these kinds of ideas. I’ll write them all down if you want me to.
Could we get some real, indisputable guidelines for admission into Heaven? I mean we have the Christians, the Muslims, the Jews, the Scientologists—where is a confused deist to turn? Jesus the only way to Heaven? Expensive training sessions to free clusters of extra souls from our body? Take out as many infidels as possible? Give us a little help down here. I’ll be honest with you. I want to get into Heaven, but I’m not about to go the extra mile to be a good person if it’s not getting me any advantages. Hey, who wants to, I don’t know, honor their mother and father if they don’t have to? That’s not for me, you know? I see morality the way I see eating healthy. I’ll do it if I have to, but until I hit, say, seven hundred pounds, I really don’t see the point.
That brings me to a semi-related point. How in God’s name (err, sorry) did Jared Fogle become a celebrity? The guy loses some weight losing sandwiches and all of a sudden he’s a superstar? The big pants are a freaking cultural icon! Isn’t there something wrong with this picture? Doesn’t this strike you as a little odd? How am I supposed to believe in a just and loving You when this guy is making more money endorsing sandwiches with a giant pair of pants than I’ll make in a lifetime?
Well I have to go. I have to get down to the soup kitchen. All right, so that was I lie. I’m really just going to sit around and—well, you know.
You know the universe is a complicated place. I guess I just have a few questions. Like why do bad things happen to good people? Well, I guess that isn’t the biggest of my concerns. Why do bad things happen to me would have to be number one. Yeah, so why do bad things happen to me?
Well, sure, I know there are people better than me. But let’s be honest here. I’m sure you get that first question all the time, but you just know they’re actually thinking “Wah wah, boo hoo, look at me, I’m so sad, why me?” Well of course you just know, you know everything. That’s another omni. Do you really want the pretense of charity and caring about other people when you know I’m just in it for myself? Honesty is the best policy, right? Is that one of yours? No, yours are all “shalt not.” False witness against thy neighbor! Got it. I don’t know what number that is though. I only know number eight is stealing because there was this Simpson’s episode where—well, never mind.
I mean I understand the whole free will thing. I like that; I’m going to be honest. But can’t there be free will where I get what I want? There has to be a way around free will. I’m not asking to, like, control people, you know? Just a little more power in your realm. For example, let’s take that flowerpot that fell on my head yesterday. I couldn’t do anything about that. But let’s say I build up enough good points over the course of the week. Shouldn’t I be able to avoid the flowerpot? Would that put such an irrevocable rip in the universe? Would particles start disintegrating all around me because a potted plant hadn’t crashed down on my head? The gates of Hell would just open up and unleash a flurry of bloodthirsty demons on the world had I not received a flowerpot to the cranium. Must have been vital to prevent the delicate fabric of creation from being torn to shreds by forces of chaos and darkness, I assume.
All right, all right, I’m being sarcastic. I apologize. There’s no need for that. But do you see what I’m saying here? Now I acknowledge I don’t have the same perspective on the world that you do. There’s no question about that. But I would have to guess that give or take a flowerpot, the universe would be able to sustain itself. A flowerpot being tossed off the roof of a thirteen-floor building, careening to earth, and landing squarely upon my head just doesn’t seem like one of those earth-shattering events caused by the hand of God to ensure order and goodness prevail. But then what do I know.
That’s not my only gripe either. I hate to complain, blah blah blah, gift of life and free will and whatnot better than Paradise, etc. But seriously, do we really need insects? I mean really need them? I’ve always suspected that whole “pollination” thing they teach us in elementary school was a scam. But that’s for another column. Really, though, even if we pretend pollination is real, is it really necessary? Couldn’t you work something out up there? I don’t know, little flying seeds? No blood sucking or flying around the head. Like little heat seeking missile things. I have a lot of these kinds of ideas. I’ll write them all down if you want me to.
Could we get some real, indisputable guidelines for admission into Heaven? I mean we have the Christians, the Muslims, the Jews, the Scientologists—where is a confused deist to turn? Jesus the only way to Heaven? Expensive training sessions to free clusters of extra souls from our body? Take out as many infidels as possible? Give us a little help down here. I’ll be honest with you. I want to get into Heaven, but I’m not about to go the extra mile to be a good person if it’s not getting me any advantages. Hey, who wants to, I don’t know, honor their mother and father if they don’t have to? That’s not for me, you know? I see morality the way I see eating healthy. I’ll do it if I have to, but until I hit, say, seven hundred pounds, I really don’t see the point.
That brings me to a semi-related point. How in God’s name (err, sorry) did Jared Fogle become a celebrity? The guy loses some weight losing sandwiches and all of a sudden he’s a superstar? The big pants are a freaking cultural icon! Isn’t there something wrong with this picture? Doesn’t this strike you as a little odd? How am I supposed to believe in a just and loving You when this guy is making more money endorsing sandwiches with a giant pair of pants than I’ll make in a lifetime?
Well I have to go. I have to get down to the soup kitchen. All right, so that was I lie. I’m really just going to sit around and—well, you know.
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
A joke I may have subconsciously stolen
I've picked up smoking because I'm suicidal but I'm a procrastinator.
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
"The Life Aquatic" review (many spoilers)
It was good. Not great (immediately anyways) but it was good. Here are my major criticisms (which I should preface by saying I missed the first five minutes or so of the movie).
At times, I felt like I was watching Royal Tenenbaum played by an actor who was ill-equipped to be playing Royal Tenenbaum. Now I love Bill Murray more than anyone, but there’s a reason he didn’t play Royal Tenenbaum. He isn’t right for the part. I think he did a fine job as Steve Zissou, but sometimes, the character just seemed a bit off, like it was half what Steve Zissou should have been or how I pictured him, like the “closet gay” line. That’s a Royal line if I’ve ever heard one and it just sounded odd coming out of Zissou.
Along the same lines, I just thought there were problems with the characterizations in general. Like “The Royal Tenenbaums,” this one felt like Wes was trying to cram too much into one little movie. Maybe it’s just because I took the “closet gay” line to be a funny throwaway, but when Jeff Goldblum said he was “half queer” and started philosophizing with Zissou about being husbands, it seemed like it just came out of nowhere. A lot of the movie seemed like that, sometimes it just seemed like characters were being crammed into situations without being fully developed or into situations that didn’t make sense with their characters.
I thought the shootout scenes were pretty ridiculous, too. I thought the hijacking scene was going to be a dream or something. It was just outrageous.
I really love how Anderson treats death though. The plane crash scene was just stunning, with the waves lapping up against the camera then a few drops of blood splashing up then the ocean just turning red. Wow. But for whatever reason, I wasn’t as moved by Ned’s death as I was by Ritchie’s suicide attempt in “The Royal Tenenbaums.” I don’t know why exactly.
All in all, I’d like to see it again. I was worried it was going to be worse with some of the reviews it’s been getting, so I’m pleasantly surprised. But where was Kumar?
Monday, December 27, 2004
From "Seinfeld"
The Race
(In order to convince his girlfriend Lois and her boss Duncan that he beat Duncan fairly in the big race in ninth grade (though he got a head start), George is pretending he hasn't seen Jerry in years to support his side of the story. The script alone doesn't do justice to the scene.)
[George enters]
DUNCAN: That's what I've always wondered about.
JERRY: Well, I . . . [sees George]
GEORGE: Oh, my God, No, oh my God, . . . Jerry!
JERRY: I'm sorry, uh,
GEORGE: George, George Costanza!
JERRY: Oh, George Costanza , Kennedy High.
GEORGE: Yes yes yes This is unbelievable.
DUNCAN: Hi, George
GEORGE: Oh, wait a minute, wait a minute, don't tell me, don't tell me. It starts with a . . . Duncan Meyers. Oh, wow, this is something. I haven't seen you guys in what, twenty years?
JERRY: This is Lois.
LOIS: Hello.
GEORGE: So what have you been doing with yourself?
JERRY: I'm I'm a comedian.
GEORGE: Ah ha, well, I really wouldn't know about that. I don't watch much TV. I like to read. So what do you do, a lot of that "did you ever notice?" this kind of stuff.
JERRY: Yeah, yeah
GEORGE: It strikes me a lot of guys are doing that kind of humor now.
JERRY: Yeah, yeah. Well, you really got bald there, didn't you?
GEORGE: Yeah, yeah.
JERRY: You really used to have a think full head of hair.
GEORGE: Yeah, yeah. Well, I guess I started losing it when I was about twenty-eight right around the time I made my first million. You know what they say. The first million is the hardest one.
JERRY: yeah, yeah.
LOIS: What do you do?
GEORGE: I'm an architect.
LOIS: Have you designed any buildings in New York?
GEORGE: Have you seen the new addition to the Guggenheim?
LOIS: You did that?
GEORGE: Yep. And it didn't take very long either.
JERRY: Well you've really built yourself up into something.
GEORGE: Well, well, I had a dream, Jerry.
JERRY: Well, one cannot help[ but wonder what brings you into a crummy little coffee shop like this.
GEORGE: Well, I like to stay in touch with the people.
JERRY: Ah, you know you have a hole in your sneaker there. What is that canvas?
GEORGE: You know my driver's waiting, I really should get running. Good to see you guys again.
JERRY: George, George, hang on. I haven't seen you in so long.
GEORGE: Ha, uh,
JERRY: I thought we might reminisce a little more. You know Duncan and I were just taking about the big race.
GEORGE: Oh, the big race.
JERRY: Yeah.
GEORGE: Yes, yes,.
LOIS: You were there?
GEORGE: Yes, sure, surely was. Yeah, I'll remember that day. Well I'll never forget it because that was the day that I uh, lost my virginity to Miss. Stafford, the uh, voluptuous home room teacher.
DUNCAN: Miss Stafford?
GEORGE: Yes, yes, you know I was in detention and she came up behind me while I was erasing the blackboard . . .
JERRY: George!
GEORGE: But I digress. Let me see, now. You were standing at one end of the line and I was right next to you. And I remember we were even for like, the first five yards and then , BOOM,...You were gone.
JERRY: Did I get a head start?
GEORGE: Head start, oh no absolutely not.
JERRY: You satisfied? So you see?
DUNCAN: No, I'm still not convinced and I never will be.
LOIS:Why don't the two of you just race again?
DUNCAN: That's a good idea.
JERRY: No, no, no, another race - out of the question.
DUNCAN: I know, you've been saying that for twenty years because you know you can't beat me. You couldn't beat me then and you can't beat me now.
LOIS: Race him Jerry. Race him.
JERRY: All right! I'll do it. The race is on.
(In order to convince his girlfriend Lois and her boss Duncan that he beat Duncan fairly in the big race in ninth grade (though he got a head start), George is pretending he hasn't seen Jerry in years to support his side of the story. The script alone doesn't do justice to the scene.)
[George enters]
DUNCAN: That's what I've always wondered about.
JERRY: Well, I . . . [sees George]
GEORGE: Oh, my God, No, oh my God, . . . Jerry!
JERRY: I'm sorry, uh,
GEORGE: George, George Costanza!
JERRY: Oh, George Costanza , Kennedy High.
GEORGE: Yes yes yes This is unbelievable.
DUNCAN: Hi, George
GEORGE: Oh, wait a minute, wait a minute, don't tell me, don't tell me. It starts with a . . . Duncan Meyers. Oh, wow, this is something. I haven't seen you guys in what, twenty years?
JERRY: This is Lois.
LOIS: Hello.
GEORGE: So what have you been doing with yourself?
JERRY: I'm I'm a comedian.
GEORGE: Ah ha, well, I really wouldn't know about that. I don't watch much TV. I like to read. So what do you do, a lot of that "did you ever notice?" this kind of stuff.
JERRY: Yeah, yeah
GEORGE: It strikes me a lot of guys are doing that kind of humor now.
JERRY: Yeah, yeah. Well, you really got bald there, didn't you?
GEORGE: Yeah, yeah.
JERRY: You really used to have a think full head of hair.
GEORGE: Yeah, yeah. Well, I guess I started losing it when I was about twenty-eight right around the time I made my first million. You know what they say. The first million is the hardest one.
JERRY: yeah, yeah.
LOIS: What do you do?
GEORGE: I'm an architect.
LOIS: Have you designed any buildings in New York?
GEORGE: Have you seen the new addition to the Guggenheim?
LOIS: You did that?
GEORGE: Yep. And it didn't take very long either.
JERRY: Well you've really built yourself up into something.
GEORGE: Well, well, I had a dream, Jerry.
JERRY: Well, one cannot help[ but wonder what brings you into a crummy little coffee shop like this.
GEORGE: Well, I like to stay in touch with the people.
JERRY: Ah, you know you have a hole in your sneaker there. What is that canvas?
GEORGE: You know my driver's waiting, I really should get running. Good to see you guys again.
JERRY: George, George, hang on. I haven't seen you in so long.
GEORGE: Ha, uh,
JERRY: I thought we might reminisce a little more. You know Duncan and I were just taking about the big race.
GEORGE: Oh, the big race.
JERRY: Yeah.
GEORGE: Yes, yes,.
LOIS: You were there?
GEORGE: Yes, sure, surely was. Yeah, I'll remember that day. Well I'll never forget it because that was the day that I uh, lost my virginity to Miss. Stafford, the uh, voluptuous home room teacher.
DUNCAN: Miss Stafford?
GEORGE: Yes, yes, you know I was in detention and she came up behind me while I was erasing the blackboard . . .
JERRY: George!
GEORGE: But I digress. Let me see, now. You were standing at one end of the line and I was right next to you. And I remember we were even for like, the first five yards and then , BOOM,...You were gone.
JERRY: Did I get a head start?
GEORGE: Head start, oh no absolutely not.
JERRY: You satisfied? So you see?
DUNCAN: No, I'm still not convinced and I never will be.
LOIS:Why don't the two of you just race again?
DUNCAN: That's a good idea.
JERRY: No, no, no, another race - out of the question.
DUNCAN: I know, you've been saying that for twenty years because you know you can't beat me. You couldn't beat me then and you can't beat me now.
LOIS: Race him Jerry. Race him.
JERRY: All right! I'll do it. The race is on.
Tracking the Traffic
My blog has hit the search engines. A couple of people have been directed here from Google (with searches for someone's name I used on the site as well as my name), one from blog-tracking thing Technorati (for my coverage of JFK Reloaded), and now another interesting search. I am result number two on Yahoo for the query "who are the actors in the bowflex commercial?"). I think that it's a question because searches directed to ask.com are directed to Yahoo now.
Of course I couldn't be more pleased about this. I haven't hit the front page of Google for that exact phrase, and of course that’s the big goal, but I'm that glad me ripping into that pompous Bowflex prick is #2 on Yahoo.
I actually saw the commercial today too. If I ever see this guy on the street I am so jumping him.
Of course I couldn't be more pleased about this. I haven't hit the front page of Google for that exact phrase, and of course that’s the big goal, but I'm that glad me ripping into that pompous Bowflex prick is #2 on Yahoo.
I actually saw the commercial today too. If I ever see this guy on the street I am so jumping him.
Sunday, December 26, 2004
Well. It happened.
As I feared, I let an f-bomb loose during a family game at Christmas. I don't know if anyone noticed, but it's possible.
I know people noticed when I told my grandmother to "get the fuck off my case" about eating my greens.
I know people noticed when I told my grandmother to "get the fuck off my case" about eating my greens.
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