The fact that the wifebot was in a show recently meant that I was at a Theatre a lot over the last three weeks. This is something I’ll rarely complain about. I love the vibe, passion and energy that flow freely at a theatre when a show is up. Strangely the audience was usually made up of older adults.
(Strange in that it wasn’t the traditional plays being performed.)
I rarely miss a show of hers and this time was no different. I was at every single performance even the preview show. This means a lot of time around actors and directors, which for me is always a little strange. I dig them; it just always feels a little weird.
This also (generally) means I’m going to field the “you’re a playwright?” or “what are you writing over there?” questions. You can throw in the paranoia that I’m writing what they are saying or writing about them.
Now I’ve been known to steal conversations and clearly there is overheard Ohio but come on people. Not everything is about you. One night I was talking to an actor and they asked why I didn’t submit to the fest.
(And that is a story of my idiotic messing up of the deadline.)
As I talked over my glass of complimentary wine a dude who had been eyeing me as I wrote made his way to where I was sitting. As I returned from the wine table/my conversation he asked if I was going to be sitting there again. I told him he could have that seat as I was gonna walk around a bit.
He frowned and said “I was hoping you’d have a seat with me. I’d like to ask you some things.”
Jimi: Fuck that shit can’t you see I was working on some writing?
Or
Jimi: Sure why not.
I sat. He peered at me.
Him: I heard you’re a playwright.
Me: yeah.
Him: How does one go about becoming a playwright?
Me: Write plays? I mean I found my passion there and see things on the stage now.
The conversation went on from there. Mostly about how, what and why I write plays. He asked if I could talk about the play I was working on with him.
You may or may not know that the play I’m working on is a struggling playwright (ha ha) who gets dumped, fired, and rejected on the same day. He gets drunk and wants a simpler time. He remembers (and longs for) the time fondly when he was young and had an imaginary friend. His friend’s name is Percy T. Whale and yes he is a walking talking whale. He wishes for him and he returns. The problem? Percy is a drunk, annoying jerk who only causes trouble.
So I tell him this and he starts to get into it. He‘s asking questions and throwing out suggestions. He asks if I’ve considered letting someone writing a scene or two for me.
(Uhm?)
As the conversation continues it seems more and more like he’s hoping I’ll ask him to collaborate with me. Luckily Lindsay came and I was saved. The next week an older lady heard I’d seen every show—I help out the theatre doing whatever I can—and asked me why. When she found out that my wife is an actress and I’m a playwright she began asking questions.
I talked all the while hoping she’d ask me how I became a playwright.
Origin of a playwright:
When I was twelve I hated reading and loved math. I wanted to grow up and do something in the math field. One day while walking around and solving math problems in my head I came across a dog. I went to pet it and it bit my arm. I passed out.
When I woke up I was in the hospital and the doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong. I had a fever and just started writing and writing plays. I wrote until the fever went down and I’ve been a playwright ever since.
She didn’t ask but that will be what I tell the next person.
I know. I know another cheapy post with a poem. Those of you who hate poetry I’m sorry. I’m working on some new posts and hope to have one up this weeked–or at least something. Until then have a great Friday and again any thoughts (good or bad) welcomed.
Sundays with Ginsberg
Pockets and pockets filled with pills.
We dined on tables, made of trash cans turned upside down;
to see the truth in everything. Poems and cognac covered the ground.
We ate our weight in chicken wings and
left finger shaped BBQ stains on the couch
oozed with bodies as the sun rose and slept crept in the window
witches were drawn in ashes. I named mine Piqué.
It started a chorus of boos and murmurs. She was the bell of the ball
-ed up condoms became art. And when my wife called I almost always took it.
This is a review of the Best Coast show.
I promise. Sort of.
Well you’ve probably read me enough to know what the case is. This is a review of the Clovers/Male Bonding/Best Coast show that took place at the Grog Shop last night.
Technically.
I was there. I will review it but really this is a show that will be discussed in terms of the things (read conversations) I heard. There are no pictures except for poorly drawn ones that I probably won’t post. Actually I lie there is this:
The only picture I took last night. It is of Admiral Ackbar with Stiller #2. After the show sitting at the bar I pulled him out (and the Admiral Ackbar too—Heyooo!) and stood him on the bar. John K who enjoyed the sentiment made the “It’s a trap!” cup soon after.
I’m getting way ahead of myself.
Like that is the end of the night and I haven’t even discussed the beginning.
You know the sex that took place beforehand. I’m just kidding.
Or am I? No really I am
Or—I know I know shut up and get on with it before you all leave.
Hello?
Anylamejoke before the night could begin we had to move the car from where it was. As we walked over to it a lady in an overalls shorts combo thing stopped us.
Lady: I’m gonna keep it real. I just got out of the Cleveland Heights jail cell. I just want a few bucks so I can get a beer and a cigarette. I’m just keeping it real you know what I’m saying.
The wife gave her a buck. I think.
On our way to the Grog Shop this happened:
Girl 1: “Remember the time we stole that wheelchair?”
Girl 2: “Yeah that was when we were stalking Dennis Kucinich”
We met Pelvic Joann out front and before we could get an old black dude said “Hey how you doing?’
Old black dude: Can I sing something for you?
Me: I dunno can you? (I’m such a dick.)
Wife: No. (The whole time she never looked up from twitter on her phone.)
He proceeds to give a mumbled low (if not somewhat creative) rap about Halloween. We headed in and there were a few minutes before the first band (Clovers) was to take the stage. As the lovely ladies I was with ordered the drinks I listened to the crowd.
A digression: I never saw so many people holding PBRs before. It was like every other person had one. Also someone was drinking wine at the grog shop? Really?
Apparently I should have worn v neck whit tee’s and skinny jeans. This conversation actually took place.
Guy in trucker hat: Dude. What is this band again?
Hipster in skinny jeans: Best Coast.
Trucker hat: What kind of music?
Skinny jeans: Hipster rock/pop.
Trucker hat: What the fuck is hipster rock.
Skinny jeans: A normal rock or pop show but you know by hipsters.
Trucker hat: Why do I hang out with you?
Now normally I may have sympathized with the trucker hat dude except it was a Budweiser trucker hat and he kept lifting up his shirt (you know “nonchalantly”) when chicks passed. Oh and he tried this line on a chick who was trying to snap a pic of her friend and herself: “You’re too pretty for a picture like that. You need someone who can capture that beauty.”
Anylameguy Clovers had a long set for an opening act at the grog. They weren’t too bad either. They had some catchy stuff but nothing that stood out too much. Number one problem with them was never said one word to the audience—other than “thank you”—at the end.
The next band Male Bonding was billed as a punk band but really did not come off as all that punk. I kid you not skinny jeans also at one point called them “Hipster Punk.” I left his area then. They too were not bad but not really memorable either. They tried a little more stage presence but couldn’t muster much.
The crowd surged for Best Coast. They played their known stuff and mixed in other (not as good—too harsh?) pieces too. The show was fast paced and hustled along. This was also because of a lack of interaction and connection, other than an awkward bit about her cat that has seizures. Best Coast came off a little heavier than what I had heard. I dug that.
I had no real connection to the band (other than liking what I had heard prior) and chose to not fight the crowd and stayed back. I scribbled some poetry in my book while letting the music and words float to me.
A strange but cute (I love you wifey!) blonde chick in an odd dress asked if I wanted to dance. When I politely declined she offered me some water. I don’t get it either. The whole time this was happening on twitter:
@Clevelandpoet (me duh!): @grogbrit now if I’m at the @grog_shop shouldn’t you be? If only for the fact that I am.
And eventually her hilarious response:
@grogbrit: @kittenkaboom @clevelandpoet – god, how do i explain? spastic girl running around, blue sweater, jeans, little heels? write that on my grave about 14 hours ago via web
Now unbeknownst to me (I couldn’t get my twitter to work—that sounds bad) I was actually chilling right next to the lovely Brittany for most of Best Coast. After the show we got her replies and eventually asked John K to help find her.
Or the wifey scared John K by saying Grogbrit! Then grabbing him by the shoulders and saying it again. He was like “what happened!” and then when explained pointed her out.
I must say the highlight of the evening was finally meeting her. I say this not just because there were free drinks involved but because she was way awesome! There had been several attempts that always fell through. This time was a success and good times.
Hooray for twitter.
Wait what was the point of this post again? Who knows but check out @overheardohio to see the funny shit that is heard daily.
The following takes place at the Lou Barlow and the Missing Men show at the Grog Shop. It really has nothing to do with the show itself. That post will come later. The story is about a guy. A guy who clearly thinks he is smooth with women but most clearly is not. He was as generic normal looking as the next college guy hitting up a show at the grog shop.
(I’m pretty sure he practices fist pumping in the mirror.)
AnyJerseyShoreReference I was in the men’s bathroom when I first encountered the tool young man—oh who am I kidding he was a tool. I was at one of the three urinals making a sissy (ha take that wife!) and there was another guy at another one.
Side note: The grog means bathroom is set up so that there are 2 urinals on one wall and a 3rd directly on the opposite wall. Here crappy drawing to confuse and horrify you:
So keep that horrible paint shop chicken scratch in mind. So Douche O’Tool saunters on into the bathroom. There is a guy washing his hands and (as said before) two urinals being used. I’m at urinal A and there is a skinny dude at Urinal C. Now the quarters are close but unless you are precious (bad form peter) or fat bastard you can get in there easily. You know in and to the urinal without you know touching another dude and becoming gay because of it. He says:
O’Tool: Woah! A line in here what is this the woman’s room?
(No line not sure what he was talking about.)
O’Tool: I’m not going to that urinal and that guy is at the sink or I’d pee there.
At this point someone comes in and O’Tool says to him:
O’Tool: You see that chicks tits?
Guy: No, who?
O’Tool: Some chick out there.
So now I go to wash my hands and he runs to the urinal and pees. As I finish and leave he zips ups and hurriedly squeezes past me. As he does a girl is rounding the corner to go to the ladies room. She is wearing a cool Dinosaur Jr. Tee:
He stops her as she reaches the door.
O’Tool: That’s a dope shirt.
Chick: Thanks.
O’Tool: That’s a shirt that says “date me” all over it.
Chick: No thanks.
(She pushes door open.)
O’Tool: Hey mebbe we can xchange digits?
Chick: I don’t know about that.
O’Tool: Oh. You want me to wait out here?
(She goes inside the bathroom)
Yeah that actually happened. And yes I actually stopped to listen to this—pretending that I was texting someone—because I knew O’Tool wouldn’t let me down.
As I mentally prepared myself for the next lecture at Cleveland Museum of Art I have to (decided to despite being horrible at it) chronicle I realized that I never reviewed the last one. I know (I know) the uproar was crazy but fear not because here it is.
There was something different about this lecture. We got there with about 10 minutes (or so) to wait. The room was pretty filled (more than the other lectures) and people kept coming in. It was louder in there as people chatted and laughed. There were the few regulars, which I suppose include the wife and me. There was the old guy with the crazy hair, the slow question asker and the “doesn’t know how to give a compliment” guy. This time we weren’t the youngest in the crowd because there appeared to be some students and a few children. There was a buzz in the crowd—though mostly the sound of chatter you get with a bigger crowd. The bigger crowd could only mean two things.
1. Egyptian shit is cool
Or
2. Lauren is way popular.
Yes the rizza was in attendance. I believe the conversation that lead to the three of us attending went like this:
Rizza: What is the next lecture about?
Me: The Egyptian Collection in 2010: New discoveries, new perspectives.
Rizza: OMG. Putting it in my calendar now.
As we waited for it to begin I prepared for it by asking myself several important questions. Such as:
Does he/she resemble someone in a movie?
Does he/she make me think of random unrelated movie scenes?
Does he/she have an accent?
Do I look good in that picture (the lovely Alicia snapped a pic with her phone)?
Not too bad—the wifey looks way cute.
The first obstacle to get over was the fact that he did not resemble anyone from any movies. Even worse
there were no movie scenes coming to mind. Oh well steady the ship and just follow your notes. The man giving the lecture was Lawrence M. Berman, consulting curator of Egyptian Art. He has quite the long title (That’s what she said!) He left us for Boston.
Boo! Hiss! Get out of here with your Chowdah! Just get in that Cah of yours and leave.
Oh wait he’s a curator and not a baseball, basketball or football player. Never mind then. These were all literal notes I wrote down. I think I was about to do a little drawing of a bean when he said:
“It amazes me to think” and then paused. This was written with a chuckle in my notebook with a “Yes!” next to it. Another difference between this one was he was the only speaker to drink.
And slur.
Heyooooooooo!
That’s not true he didn’t slur. Seriously though he wasn’t drunk and was very good. I’m sure it was just water in there. I for some reason did chronicle the sips he took for some reason.
He brought up his first slide (2nd sip.) I didn’t make any notes on this slide—why would I? Afterlife was in the back row of 4 objects and I’ve seen the afterlife be shown in the background of more than few pieces. Did I make a note of this? Not really instead I noted: “I wonder if the afterlife gets to 2nd base often back there.”
Then there was the Striding statue of Minnifer (1936).
The 3rd sip brought us a comment about Indiana Jones. The slide brought this note: “I love that scene when the dude does the whole flashy routine with the scimitar only to be shot by Indy.” Followed by “Indy hates snakes yo!” and no there were no snakes on the slide.
Fourth sip in.
This note is not necessarily in order of the lecture: there was also a slide of grave sites that made me note “Looks like a giant peanut butter cookie.” I’m not quite sure why. It was more of an aerial view if I remember correctly. Then he read from a diary (possibly Anne Frank’s? Not likely but I don’t really know any other famous diaries) I know I know that was horrible. It was actually the diary of the people doing the dig/archiving and what not.
Notes on this include: Boring—who writes these things? They thought they were so cool with their facts and figures and drawings. Not one person died or betrayed someone in the diary.
5th sip. He said huge, enormous, bigger, and large a lot. Ladies you know who you want to party with. They always say once you go curator…
….you get your ass educated.
What the hell?
Oh oh a Google maps joke! See Egyptian artifacts can be topical. And it’s about this point where he appears to remind me of Woody Allen. (Don’t ask)
There were relics from the Tomb of Nyankhnesut. Some slides of plowing and flute playing but not in the sexual way. (It was important to note in my notes that it was not sexually) Things really picked up with A 3300 year old tomb being rediscovered at Saqqara. It went 125 years (if I’m reading the chicken scratch I wrote correctly, because I’m too lazy to search to find out) since it’s discovery.
Vizier Mereruka, who was married to the King´s eldest daughter. In time, Mereruka became the high priest of Teti´s mortuary cult. Then in an hour long special on ESPN the tomb announced itself and will soon be playing for the Miami Heat.
Oh that joke hurts so good.
During this part he was much more excited (that’s what she said) than the other speakers. You can feel his passio—
Oh oh he said “star gate” he’s going to get sued!
That was literally how my note looked. It came (twss) in the middle of the previous sentence.
6th sip He went on to “Shipwrecked Sailor” slides. The story is of a sailor that gets shipwrecked (who would have guessed?) on an Island and is soon visited by a serpent. Basically picture Tom Hanks minus the volley ball and dancing. The serpent gets this note: Cobra Commander with a beard.
I was interested in the “Paint Box of Vizier Amenemope”
Dude was like the Chief Justice of a supreme court if he was stapled to Voltron. I believe the explanation of this was the fact that he had several “jobs” or “roles” rolled into one thing? I really dug this slide and had just recently spent time looking at in the actually gallery.
My doodle:
Real one (from the wonderful CMA site. Visit them!):
Colors: red (desher), green (wadj), blue (khesbedj and irtiu), and 2 blacks.
Notes in section include: Master of secrets. Overseer of city and Even Kings have paint boxes. A lot of Ooh and ohhs being murmured: See previous note about partying with curators.
Went on to some slides of Model Cheetah Skins. They were 8 ½ inches long with painted spots. Statues often wore cloaks—you know like in Mannequin? Much was discussed about Ra—the Sun God. Way back up there one was a High Priestess of Ra.
Okay let’s try to bring this home as gently as possible because the last notes go like this:
Ah in this slide 2 baboons sing Rage Against the Machine to the Sun God. This should be a story of creation. Oh it ended with about 8 sips in case you cared. The lecture was very interesting and I don’t do it just—good lord if you thought I was trying then all hope is lost!
Some notes not used:
Should conclude his lecture with a naked finger biting child or naked finger biting god/boy.
Howard Carter (finder of artifacts) related to Gary Carter? (HOF Catcher)
Made of metal—Like a smaller Decipticon.
Priest of Ra—Wu Tang Clan bitches!
Mr. Toomy—(Langolier joke needs to be thought up)
Today would normally be Post it Note Tuesday. Then I woke up and went outside to get the paper. The Plain Dealer that should have been out on the front steps. You know the paper that some ass clown was now off reading. Thieves! I will kill you MoFo’s. How dare you steal my Wednesday paper?
Oh wait. These days really do blend together. I had fully expected to do some. I even scribbled some down on actual post it notes last night. I had about 6 of them written in my autistic chicken scratch. Yes I meant to post some-a few whining/ranting about writing. Something happened late last night/early this morning that changed that.
The wife and I made the whoopee—I know you have two questions right now.
Made “the whoopee”?
And
Do I think it’s Thursday and so I’m busting out a tmi post?
Yeah I don’t really have an explanation for “the whoopee.” I guess it was to soften the blow of telling you we had sex. I now it is Tuesday and I know it’s not Thursday because I haven’t read the Wednesday paper yet. No more questions and turn that camera off!
Anypapertellsmewhatdayitis this post is what happened after the squeaking bed action. The fun finished about 1:45am or so. I’ll spare you the start time of the sexy shenanigans. Flash forward to sometime after 4 am. I woke up from a weird dream that started me thinking about the play I’m trying to fix. As I lay there thinking to myself about plots and characters weirdness happened.
First our kitty Rasputin who was sleeping above the wife’s head on her pillow began to stir. He got up meowed at me and pushed his head into my hands. After maybe a minute of petting him by my side he decided to crawl over me. As he did his nail grazed my leg and he slipped trying to get over me. Finally he paused for a second on my stomach and then slowly slipped off the bed to the floor and out the bedroom.
It was about this time that my wife began to stir in her sleep. I don’t know what happens to her when she sleeps but she seems to be disturbed a lot. She sort of groaned in her sleep and I rubbed my hand over her head and in her hair. I always feel that maybe I can comfort her quietly and softly and it’ll help her. Sometimes this appears to work and sometimes it appears to trigger her talking/moving in her sleep. I dunno. I just feel bad and can’t help but attempt to comfort her.
Anyschmoop she sat up and mumbled something. I rubbed her leg and told her to lie back down. Next thing I know she’s trying to climb over me. I’m all “finally she’s gonna sleep sex!” Oh that joke is so wrong. Then bam right into my leg goes her toe nail. She hovers over me on my stomach and I tell her to go back to real sleep. She says something about following Rasputin and then slides off of me onto the floor. She stands in the bedroom doorway for a second. Our kitty comes back in climbs on me and plops down by my feet. Then the wifey turns around says something I don’t understand and then climbs over me. She stops on me again says she’s stuck and sort of laughs before climbing off me and back to her side of the bed. Then she goes right back to sleeping normally and peacefully. As she is getting ready for work she half remembers it and asks if she climbed on me.
I of course ponder telling her that she forced me to have sex with her as she rode me.
So not all that recently there was a twitter account started for all the wonderfully crazy and weird things that are heard in Ohio. I’m all about this. I mean sure this came from coming across the overheard in New York site, which is truly funny.
The only thing is New York isn’t the only place people say stupid, crazy, oddball and hilarious shit. So that lead to the creation of @Overheardohio. You don’t need to be from Ohio to enjoy it. So give it a clicky and follow you know you want to.
Anyheard this was going to be a post back in Jan but I sorta forgot. Here are my top 5 from the year 2009.
5. “Sometimes I just sort of puke. You ever?” –Short haired girl sitting @grog_shop bar.
4.”is it gay we walk the dog together” guy1 in flannel to guy2 in flannel
3. “when I woke up there was a band aid in my panties. I’m not sure what that means.” young blonde girl on cell phone
2.”if you were a dinosaur you’d be a bitchosaurus rex” skinny emo kid to chubby emo kid at the bus stop.
1. “That was before. Your weiner made it cost more” cashier to a man on why the price was higher than he had originally said.
There you go the fake top 5 though really there are a ton of great ones. If you’re in Ohio and hear something send it over.
Work! (grunt)
What is it good for?
Absolutely nothing!
Okay well that isn’t exactly true but it was fun to say.
If you search the dictionary for the word coworker you’ll see it defined as a douche bag Fellow worker; colleague. They can be average, smart, fun, boring, nice and or mean. You can like your coworkers. Coworkers can be friends, people to share in the horribleness that is whatever work you do—or they can really suck and add to the horribleness.
I’m mellow enough that I’m pretty much going to get along with everyone. I choose to rock the boat in my own creative ways, not in snippiness or fighting with coworkers. For the most part the people who work at the store are nice enough. That being said I wouldn’t consider a large majority of the people I work with acquaintances let alone friends. I guess that happens. I mean you can’t be friends with everyone. What troubles me is the high amount of people there that I simply out and out don’t like. Now don’t get me wrong I’m friendly (even when some of them rarely are) whenever I see them. It bothers me that I really don’t like a grand majority of them.
I tend to give people nicknames instead of calling them by their real names and work is no exception. The difference being for the most part you only get one for bad reasons.
There’s:
The Myspacer: Stalks me on myspace
Deli McYells-at-me-for-nothingerson: Deli worker who bitched me out one day while I was off the clock.
Eat-e McSkin-Skin: He likes to eat trash and well skin and stuff he picks out of his hair.
The GhostRider: He’s lame and rides a motorcycle.
We’ll focus on two specific cases of outright dislike of particular coworkers here:
Bitches:
Age: Old
Motto: Grumpy is as grumpy does.
Traits: Pee’s a lot. Drinks coffee and “meds” in the coat hallway. Throws groceries.
When she’ll talk to you:
To bitch at you.
She likes you (rare) and wants to bitch about someone else.
Wildcard: She may grunt at you as she passes runs into you on her way to the elevator.
Stitches:
Age: Old
Motto: Go to the bathroom every twenty minutes.
Traits: Yelling. Calling people stupid. Peeing. Snitching.
When she’ll talk to you:
If she wants to call you stupid or tell you that you’re doing something wrong.
She wants to narc on someone else.
There are a few exceptions. A great bunch of genuine people I enjoy talking with.
Things they have in common: Niceness, humor, nonjudgmental etc. Also they don’t (read: DON’T) try to have long bonding conversations with me in the bathroom.
Here we connect to the title—finally—and to another group of the coworkers.
Their names are the Bathroom Bonders! I’ve worked with my share of jerks and strange characters.
The young stalkers, the albino closet gay guy, home schoolers (seemingly never read a book—ever!), horn dogs, possible pedophiles, dude who eats trash it goes on and on. None of these creep me out more than the Bathroom Bonders. Lets clear something up I’m not speaking about people who nod and say “hey” or “what’s up?” or “how ya doing?”. Oh no they ask meaningful questions as we stand side by side in front of the urinal. They very creepily ask (as they shake their junk off) where you live.
These discussions are not limited to the sinks or the urinals. Oh no while I sit on the toilet, safely hidden by the stall walls (so I thought) they’ll gab away. One even went along these lines:
(I am sitting in a stall) Coworker: Jimi! You took my favorite stall! Jimi: oh uh… Coworker: I always use it….is it your favorite stall too?
What is this all about? These are people who will barely nod at me in the store but open up as we sit on the can? What gives? You need to talk? Call a sex hotline. You want to talk? Find me while in the store—I’ll do pretty much anything to hold off work for a few—but leave me be in the bathroom.
By nature I’m not the most social (or wasn’t until just recently). I was never for going to parties or big hang outs in high school or after. When I did the chances were more than likely I’d sit in the corner brooding writing only paying attention to a select few. This often led to more than a few people thinking I was mean or angry all the time. Well times have changed probably quite a bit (and probably for the better) and I’m much more open to talking to/meeting new people. I talk to more people than ever, can have fun and actually be entertaining at parties. I often still end up alone writing but that’s part of my charm.
I’m an odd person to friend. It takes effort on your part because I don’t open up easily or obviously.
Hell my best friend likes to tell people how she had to make me be her friend. It’s true too but once the ball got rolling it was a quick one.
I can and will get close but sometimes it doesn’t appear that way at first. I’m a joker. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that when I was younger I did not have much confidence (in anything but my writing). I’m funny—I like to be funny. Problems can arise because of the fact that about 70 percent of people probably don’t get my humor. I like to poke fun at everyone (including and especially myself) so the closer we become the more you’re going to get ribbed. I’m not out to hurt you and the jokes are never anything mean, only the light hearted kind. You know like making fun of the fact that you totally have a crush on a goofy looking actor on a bad sci fi show.
Ten sucks Linzi!
Okay back to the point. As a group of us hung out something was pointed out and it caught my interest.
We sit around (a lot) and talk about random commercials, movies, tv shows, or just plain made up things (a whole lot!) Now quite a bit of this are funny jabs at one another. The interesting aspect (pointed out by my wife) is the flow the jabs can take. There is an up and down left to right but completely random aspect to them. At one point it’ll be three of us piling on the last one when bam A will turn on b and c and d (previously the jokee) will join in. There is no rhyme or reason. No formula to it, and it can turn on a dime. An example:
*Though based on real life events the proceeding conversation is fictional. The names have been changed to protect the innocent, except for Linzi because Doctor Who is lame. Ha!
Linzi: Oh yeah and Murder she wrote was such a great show.
Mary Jane Watson: It was. Jessica Fletcher will live on.
Curt Connors: Wait Hannibal Lecter?
Mary Jane Watson: Jessica Fletcher!
Curt Connors: I thought only old people watched that show.
Peter Parker: Old people and stupid people.
Mary Jane Watson: It’s a good show!
Linzi: Well it couldn’t be as bad as your chin strap!
Mary Jane Watson: Yeah is that hair on your face or Velcro.
Peter Parker: Take that strappy!
Curt Connors: Leave my beard alone!
And the cycle continues…. This is what allows the four of us to sit in the back booth of a restaurant for almost an hour after finishing up and getting the check and then outside the restaurant for just as much time.
This post has been a long time in the writing phase or in other words it was left in my blog folder to rot but here it is. Commercials can be really good or really bad. I’m going to focus on the good right now (spoiler alert worst commercial blog coming up soon.) Now these are the best commercials no debating needed (I mean in my opinion of course) that are from between 2006 and last year. Totally separate from the likes of the McDonald’s Filet o’ Fish ad of 2009 that would blow away the competition.
10. Brooke Shields Routan boom.
There’s an epidemic spreading and its hilarity. This commercial wrapped in the guise of a PSA was just the beginning. It was on the bubble but when I read so many nuts being angered by it, I just knew it had to crack my top ten.
9. Espn Monday Night Football Mc Hammer.
ESPN may do many bad things (read force feed us Chris Berman) but they hit the mark with a few of the MNF commercials. How can you go wrong with MC Hammer? It needs to be on here for the “Hammer don’t hurt him” line. Oh and Hammer just so you know it wasn’t my beeper that kept on beeping and beeping.
8. Jack Links Beef Jerky Messing with Sasquatch
One thing is for sure the creators weren’t messing around when they came up with this little gem. The whole set of “messing with sasquatch” ads are great. I went with the old shaving cream on the hand gag one because of its educational value. It can help sure that future generations know a classic way to get their sleep deprived friends. Just make sure if you do that they can’t clothesline you into next week.
7. Warren Wallace “into the wall” GEICO
Now I’m not a fan of racing but this commercial transcends it. This commerical came to win. The kid in it plays the lines beautifully. Well written and at least the gecko isn’t in them. “When it comes to Mike Wallace the story ends with me putting him into the wall.”
6. Mr. T World of Warcraft
Much like with MC Hammer one can never go wrong with putting Mr. T in a commercial. If this was a top ten of video game commercials list this one would beat down the competition. You never know Mr. T “may be pretty handy when it comes to computers.” I do know that I pity the fool who doesn’t think this commercial is funny.
5. Bruce Campbell “hungry like a wolf” Old spice
Bruce Campbell. Nothing more needs to be said.
4. Sony HD tv “I don’t like sports”
It gets points from the get go for use of person in animal costume. The San Diego Chicken and Peyton Manning in one commercial is almost too much to handle. Their bit may end with “Chicken No!” but I’m say commercial yes!
3. N.P.H old spice commercial Neil Patrick Harris. What more can you ask for? This commercial is perscription strength awesome!
2. Berries and cream
Ah starburst makes an appearance. Their commercials are as off the wall as anyones. This is just plain awesome. You want a laugh or just odd looks break out with “I’m a little lad who loves berries and cream”. Brilliant I tell you! “Pardon me what kind of starburst did you just say? Ber…berries and what else?” I wasn’t a fan of the berries and cream starburst but I’m a little lad that loves berries and cream commercial!
1. Skittles singing rabbit
This just may be the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. It has it all. Culture (the opera singing) use of animals, emotion (the pain of losing his skittles) tension (will he get them back?) and even action (running in the rain). Hell even a bit o violence (the rabbit really gets him good).Skittles probably need to be crowned Kings of the commercial world. Now this one in particular gets special treatment for the sentimental value it has (we imitated the bunny all throughout or VACA in Chicago.) It wins mostly because there is a singing rabbit and there will never be a time I won’t laugh when seeing it. Plus the bunny bites him at the end!
Posted by ClevelandPoet 
From the cheap seats 