I woke up the other day rather late, and the first thing my Boston friend greeted me with was the mail.
"This came for you."
It was a letter from Corey Feldman. Apparently he's been popping up in the tabloids lately. In fact, it isn't him, it's me. Especially distressing to him were the reports of me eating meat, because he's a vegetarian. It took a fair amount explaining to PETA to keep he and his wife in their good graces.
I sat down at the computer to draft a reply:
Dear Mr. Feldman,
I am very sorry that we look similar. I will do my best in the future to make sure people distinguish myself from you. You must remember that I am a Nobel Prize winning ornithologist, if you conceive my meaning.
Thank you, and good luck,
Mads Olafsson.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Mayor McCheese: FA Community Shield
McDonald's was lead sponsor for today's FA Community Shield soccer game in England, and as their ambassador, I was invited to watch.
The game was played between Manchester United and Chelsea FC. I knew both teams, and was disappointed the two players I knew from both teams weren't there. Didier Drogba didn't play, and Man U sent striker Alan Smith to Newcastle via transfer.
Then things got worse: the game ended on penalty kicks. What the hell is that? Either call it a tie, or end it on the field. You don't see NFL games ended with tires hanging on strings and quarterbacks having to throw footballs through them. You don't see Basketball games ended on freethrow contests. You don't see Baseball games ended on homerun derbys. Come on soccer, get your shit together.
The game was played between Manchester United and Chelsea FC. I knew both teams, and was disappointed the two players I knew from both teams weren't there. Didier Drogba didn't play, and Man U sent striker Alan Smith to Newcastle via transfer.
Then things got worse: the game ended on penalty kicks. What the hell is that? Either call it a tie, or end it on the field. You don't see NFL games ended with tires hanging on strings and quarterbacks having to throw footballs through them. You don't see Basketball games ended on freethrow contests. You don't see Baseball games ended on homerun derbys. Come on soccer, get your shit together.
Mads: Can't Read my Book
I was in the park, finishing Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go, waiting for my Boston friend to get through with whatever he was doing so we could go to my summer house in Provincetown, when a woman in her twenties joined me on my bench. She wasn't that attractive.
"Whatcha readin'?"
I showed her.
"Is it any good?"
I nodded, then went back to reading. I was annoyed, because I had ten pages left, it looked like a good ten pages, and I wanted to enjoy them.
"Have you read the new Harry Potter?"
"Do I look like a moron?"
She answered with a sheepish laugh. I went back to my book again. I could tell my ignoring her made her uncomfortable. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her mouthing things to a group of people her age about thirty feet away. I surmised that they gave her the courage to approach me. If I had known, I'd have nipped this in the bud earlier.
"Go back to your friends, you're too young for me. Also, I don't date women who read Harry Potter."
She stayed a few seconds more, too stunned to leave me. My Boston friend showed, and now I was really annoyed, because I hadn't finished my book, and would still be working on it in Provincetown. I wanted to be on a fresh book down there.
"Who's your new friend?" He said. I shook my head. "Oh, I know you kids, you hang out with Gwen. Don't you have an episode of Stargate to watch or something?"
She looked morose, and her friends were confused.
"Here," he said. He pulled out a wad of money. "Go to the sci-fi store and buy yourself some ice cream."
On the way to Provincetown, Matty asked if I got her number.
"I'm sure we could fix the Harry Potter thing if we had to."
Awful Jackass.
"Whatcha readin'?"
I showed her.
"Is it any good?"
I nodded, then went back to reading. I was annoyed, because I had ten pages left, it looked like a good ten pages, and I wanted to enjoy them.
"Have you read the new Harry Potter?"
"Do I look like a moron?"
She answered with a sheepish laugh. I went back to my book again. I could tell my ignoring her made her uncomfortable. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her mouthing things to a group of people her age about thirty feet away. I surmised that they gave her the courage to approach me. If I had known, I'd have nipped this in the bud earlier.
"Go back to your friends, you're too young for me. Also, I don't date women who read Harry Potter."
She stayed a few seconds more, too stunned to leave me. My Boston friend showed, and now I was really annoyed, because I hadn't finished my book, and would still be working on it in Provincetown. I wanted to be on a fresh book down there.
"Who's your new friend?" He said. I shook my head. "Oh, I know you kids, you hang out with Gwen. Don't you have an episode of Stargate to watch or something?"
She looked morose, and her friends were confused.
"Here," he said. He pulled out a wad of money. "Go to the sci-fi store and buy yourself some ice cream."
On the way to Provincetown, Matty asked if I got her number.
"I'm sure we could fix the Harry Potter thing if we had to."
Awful Jackass.
A Gay King Richard III
Mads, my Norwegian companion, has a summer home in Provincetown. Now, as you know, I am a very open minded fellow, so I have no problem whatsoever taking a load off in a homo-centric city. In fact, I rather enjoy it.
So Mads and I hit a play the first night we were in town. It was based on Shakespeare's Richard III. It was really cool, because instead of being a hunchback, ol' Dick was gay, and the rest of the players thought he was evil for it. The person who adapted the play thought Richard III, though most probably a propaganda play for the Tudors, was also a statement by Shakespeare about British society and it's feelings towards homosexuals. Way ahead of his time.
"I didn't dig it," Mads said.
"What're you talking about?"
"Well, I know Billy was probably gay in real life, but I can't see him feeling persecuted for his sexuality. He had the run of the town. He was doing it with a prominent Earl. Everyone knew he was boning dudes, they just didn't say anything. He had it better than if he was a contestant on Project Runway."
"Hey, take that back."
"Sorry, got a bit carried away there."
"All right, but just watch it."
A man rushed up and handed us a bag.
"You can never be too careful."
It had some condoms, lubricant, and instructions.
"Let's go get some ice cream up the road," I said. "I've had an awful craving for black raspberry since the third act."
So Mads and I hit a play the first night we were in town. It was based on Shakespeare's Richard III. It was really cool, because instead of being a hunchback, ol' Dick was gay, and the rest of the players thought he was evil for it. The person who adapted the play thought Richard III, though most probably a propaganda play for the Tudors, was also a statement by Shakespeare about British society and it's feelings towards homosexuals. Way ahead of his time.
"I didn't dig it," Mads said.
"What're you talking about?"
"Well, I know Billy was probably gay in real life, but I can't see him feeling persecuted for his sexuality. He had the run of the town. He was doing it with a prominent Earl. Everyone knew he was boning dudes, they just didn't say anything. He had it better than if he was a contestant on Project Runway."
"Hey, take that back."
"Sorry, got a bit carried away there."
"All right, but just watch it."
A man rushed up and handed us a bag.
"You can never be too careful."
It had some condoms, lubricant, and instructions.
"Let's go get some ice cream up the road," I said. "I've had an awful craving for black raspberry since the third act."
I Wasn't Dissing Danny Ainge
Matty showed up the other day.
"Did you see it?"
"Garnett? Yeah, I saw it."
"Now you've gotta rethink your stance on Ainge."
"I gotta? It's not like you were his biggest fan."
"I wasn't sporting the fire Ainge 3:16 signs."
"Yeah, but you dug the idea."
It was a dumb argument. We were all stoked the Celtics were finally relevant again. It'd been years since Boston had a basketball franchise. Now we just needed a professional hockey team.
"Did you see it?"
"Garnett? Yeah, I saw it."
"Now you've gotta rethink your stance on Ainge."
"I gotta? It's not like you were his biggest fan."
"I wasn't sporting the fire Ainge 3:16 signs."
"Yeah, but you dug the idea."
It was a dumb argument. We were all stoked the Celtics were finally relevant again. It'd been years since Boston had a basketball franchise. Now we just needed a professional hockey team.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Drac's Back
Mads, my Norwegian companion, and I were watching a marathon of the first season of The Hills on The N, when there was a knock at the door. It was my neighbor, Dracula.
"Hey, how are you? Hi Mads. I came to see if you have any turmeric?"
"What's up? Yes, I do, man, check the cupboard."
"Um, don't you not need to eat people food?"
"Yeah, I'm actually having company over for dinner." There was a pause. "Come on, man, their visiting. You guys."
We all laughed.
"Oh, I almost forgot to ask you," he said. "What're you doing tomorrow between twelve and four?"
"Nothing that I know of, why?"
"The cable man's coming to look at my box. For obvious reasons, I won't be available."
We laughed again. I told him I would.
"I thought you didn't need to worry about daylight," Mads said.
"Who told you that?"
"I saw it in Blade: Trinity."
"Well, there you go. They really gave me a bad name. I also didn't see Christ crucified. I'm not that old. I also can't shape shift, and don't have the bones of a snake, whatever that means."
"I guess it would have made for a boring movie."
"You didn't think Blade: Trinity was boring?"
Mads went to argue, but I stopped him. He didn't know Dracula likes chick flicks. I figured it'd be easier to let Drac hang himself, and he did.
"It wasn't half as good as Must Love Dogs."
"Hey, how are you? Hi Mads. I came to see if you have any turmeric?"
"What's up? Yes, I do, man, check the cupboard."
"Um, don't you not need to eat people food?"
"Yeah, I'm actually having company over for dinner." There was a pause. "Come on, man, their visiting. You guys."
We all laughed.
"Oh, I almost forgot to ask you," he said. "What're you doing tomorrow between twelve and four?"
"Nothing that I know of, why?"
"The cable man's coming to look at my box. For obvious reasons, I won't be available."
We laughed again. I told him I would.
"I thought you didn't need to worry about daylight," Mads said.
"Who told you that?"
"I saw it in Blade: Trinity."
"Well, there you go. They really gave me a bad name. I also didn't see Christ crucified. I'm not that old. I also can't shape shift, and don't have the bones of a snake, whatever that means."
"I guess it would have made for a boring movie."
"You didn't think Blade: Trinity was boring?"
Mads went to argue, but I stopped him. He didn't know Dracula likes chick flicks. I figured it'd be easier to let Drac hang himself, and he did.
"It wasn't half as good as Must Love Dogs."
Mads: Kenny Chesney, or Au Revoir Mon Fils
It was time for another lesson for my son, D'Brickishaw. All right, it was more like my Boston friend and I were going to the Kenny Chesney country extravaganza at Gillette Stadium, and he was the last ditch chance for a driver.
"But I don't like country," he said.
"Neither do we, but it's a great place to meet drunk, easy, yet very hot chicks."
There was some messy traffic, but it proved worth it. The outside parking lot was teeming with hotties, most of them hammered.
"Remember your lesson on cougars?" I said. D'Brick nodded. "Here's the follow up: girls night out."
Out of the pack emerged a group of women, all about mine and my Boston's friend's age, and they were smokin' hot. There were about 6 of them, and I'd say maybe one didn't have a ring of some sort on her finger.
"How you ladies doing?" I said.
"Whooooo!"
I pointed my head in the direction of the stadium, and my Boston friend nodded and left us.
"What's he doing?"
"You relax and watch, son."
The women were telling us how they were about to leave, despite not having seen the main act. I stalled them, while my Boston friend obtained VIP and Backstage passes. How could they pass that up?
"Now what do you think of country?"
"Yeah, I see your point."
I received a call from D'Brickishaw's mother on Monday. Me getting him laid by two married thirtysomethings was the last straw. I must say, I was upset D'Brick violated the code and ratted me out, but on the other hand I was proud. My boy had grown up. I ponied up the cash and sent him back to LA first class. Then his mom called again and told me they were living in Tampa, and that he was only in LA to do Dr. Phil.
"But I don't like country," he said.
"Neither do we, but it's a great place to meet drunk, easy, yet very hot chicks."
There was some messy traffic, but it proved worth it. The outside parking lot was teeming with hotties, most of them hammered.
"Remember your lesson on cougars?" I said. D'Brick nodded. "Here's the follow up: girls night out."
Out of the pack emerged a group of women, all about mine and my Boston's friend's age, and they were smokin' hot. There were about 6 of them, and I'd say maybe one didn't have a ring of some sort on her finger.
"How you ladies doing?" I said.
"Whooooo!"
I pointed my head in the direction of the stadium, and my Boston friend nodded and left us.
"What's he doing?"
"You relax and watch, son."
The women were telling us how they were about to leave, despite not having seen the main act. I stalled them, while my Boston friend obtained VIP and Backstage passes. How could they pass that up?
"Now what do you think of country?"
"Yeah, I see your point."
I received a call from D'Brickishaw's mother on Monday. Me getting him laid by two married thirtysomethings was the last straw. I must say, I was upset D'Brick violated the code and ratted me out, but on the other hand I was proud. My boy had grown up. I ponied up the cash and sent him back to LA first class. Then his mom called again and told me they were living in Tampa, and that he was only in LA to do Dr. Phil.
Japanese Butt
Mads, my Norwegian companion, and I were walking down a less populated area of Tremont Street, when a man asked us if we wanted to be a part of a focus group to explore when the best part of the day to show Miami Vice reruns was. For Mads and I, the answer's obvious: all day long, so we jumped at the chance. Bad move...
The moment we stepped inside, the tiles from under us gave way, revealing a trap door. We were transported to a basement where a twisted Japanese game show was taping. People were strapped to chairs and forced to answer questions. If they got one wrong, a Japanese man with a big hole in his pants would move toward you. He was on all fours on a block, with his butt sticking out. Mads and I understood quickly: eventually enough wrong answers and the butt would be in your face. And it would get there, because the questions were in Japanese, which I didn't understand, and neither did the poor soul in the chair. We watched in horror as the Japanese laughed. The cheeks were touching his face, his nose firmly planted in the crack. This was no good.
Mads didn't think it was good either, and when they took him by the shoulders to bring him to the chair, he fought back. The amount of mace he sprayed even burned me. I felt a hand take mine and pull me away from the dirty mist. As my eyes cleared, I saw it was Mads.
"Look out!" I yelled. Two port-o-potties in front of us flew open, and men on motorized sleds shot out at us. I pushed Mads away, then jumped on one and commandeered it. I spun it back around.
"Mads, quick, jump on!"
We could only take the sled so far, because we had to traverse a set of rolling plastic logs over a brownish liquid. After, we had a set of three doors to go through. The one we chose had a big Samurai behind it. When I say big, I mean like a sports mascot. He was impeding our progress to the outside world, yet he was too unwieldy to be more than a nuisance. We made it to the steal door, which led to an alley. We took it back to Tremont Street, and saw the same guy trying to get people inside for the focus group.
The moment we stepped inside, the tiles from under us gave way, revealing a trap door. We were transported to a basement where a twisted Japanese game show was taping. People were strapped to chairs and forced to answer questions. If they got one wrong, a Japanese man with a big hole in his pants would move toward you. He was on all fours on a block, with his butt sticking out. Mads and I understood quickly: eventually enough wrong answers and the butt would be in your face. And it would get there, because the questions were in Japanese, which I didn't understand, and neither did the poor soul in the chair. We watched in horror as the Japanese laughed. The cheeks were touching his face, his nose firmly planted in the crack. This was no good.
Mads didn't think it was good either, and when they took him by the shoulders to bring him to the chair, he fought back. The amount of mace he sprayed even burned me. I felt a hand take mine and pull me away from the dirty mist. As my eyes cleared, I saw it was Mads.
"Look out!" I yelled. Two port-o-potties in front of us flew open, and men on motorized sleds shot out at us. I pushed Mads away, then jumped on one and commandeered it. I spun it back around.
"Mads, quick, jump on!"
We could only take the sled so far, because we had to traverse a set of rolling plastic logs over a brownish liquid. After, we had a set of three doors to go through. The one we chose had a big Samurai behind it. When I say big, I mean like a sports mascot. He was impeding our progress to the outside world, yet he was too unwieldy to be more than a nuisance. We made it to the steal door, which led to an alley. We took it back to Tremont Street, and saw the same guy trying to get people inside for the focus group.
Mayor McCheese: Limited Late-Nite Menu
Me and Hamburglar were taking a break from some late night partying, and we figured, what better than to hit some McDonald's. We piled in my Caddy and made our way down to the local 24-hour drive-thru. Neither of us had done this before.
"Yeah, I'll have 20 Double Cheeseburgers and 20 Small Fries and a parfait."
"I'm sorry sir, but we only have a limited late night menu, which does not include the Dollar Menu."
"Yeah, but I'm the fucking Mayor. I own you, bitch."
"Actually, no, Ronald owns me."
The next day I had a little talk with Ronnie.
"You see, Mayor, we've looked over the cost/benefit analysis of our menu. After midnight, when we dump certain items, especially the Dollar Menu, our profits skyrocket. Let me put it another way: if we had a full menu after midnight, your monthly checks would be cut in half."
"Fine, whatever. But we should advertise that instead of making commercials with guys taking food out of other guys' dreams."
"No we shouldn't."
He had a point.
"Yeah, I'll have 20 Double Cheeseburgers and 20 Small Fries and a parfait."
"I'm sorry sir, but we only have a limited late night menu, which does not include the Dollar Menu."
"Yeah, but I'm the fucking Mayor. I own you, bitch."
"Actually, no, Ronald owns me."
The next day I had a little talk with Ronnie.
"You see, Mayor, we've looked over the cost/benefit analysis of our menu. After midnight, when we dump certain items, especially the Dollar Menu, our profits skyrocket. Let me put it another way: if we had a full menu after midnight, your monthly checks would be cut in half."
"Fine, whatever. But we should advertise that instead of making commercials with guys taking food out of other guys' dreams."
"No we shouldn't."
He had a point.
Mads: Ostrich Risotto
There's a new restaurant in town called Mogadishu Nights, which serves upscale Somalian cuisine. My Boston friend and I got an invite to its opening.
He ordered the Ostrich Risotto, and I got the Camel Wellington. We were very impressed, and we said as much when our French host asked how our meals were. Then I'm not sure what happened.
"Why do you do that?" My Boston friend said.
"Do what? I don't know what you're talking about."
"Go ahead, act dumb. You're such a dick sometimes."
"I'm a dick? You're eating Ostrich Risotto. You know I make a better one back home."
"That's exactly what I'm talking about. Why did you need to tell the host that you make a better Ostrich Risotto?"
"Because it's true. Want me to prove it?"
"I want you to stop being a dick when we go out to eat. Waiter? Yes, we'll have our check."
"Well, at least the Camel Wellington was good."
"This isn't about the Camel Wellington."
I stood up to argue with him more vehemently, when our friend Trajan, the author, visited our table.
"Hey, did you try the Ostrich Risotto? It's better than yours, Mads."
I knocked over an entire table of food next to us as I threw Trajan off balance in giving him a wedgie. I'd had enough at that point, and apparently so had my Boston friend. At least the Camel Wellington was good.
He ordered the Ostrich Risotto, and I got the Camel Wellington. We were very impressed, and we said as much when our French host asked how our meals were. Then I'm not sure what happened.
"Why do you do that?" My Boston friend said.
"Do what? I don't know what you're talking about."
"Go ahead, act dumb. You're such a dick sometimes."
"I'm a dick? You're eating Ostrich Risotto. You know I make a better one back home."
"That's exactly what I'm talking about. Why did you need to tell the host that you make a better Ostrich Risotto?"
"Because it's true. Want me to prove it?"
"I want you to stop being a dick when we go out to eat. Waiter? Yes, we'll have our check."
"Well, at least the Camel Wellington was good."
"This isn't about the Camel Wellington."
I stood up to argue with him more vehemently, when our friend Trajan, the author, visited our table.
"Hey, did you try the Ostrich Risotto? It's better than yours, Mads."
I knocked over an entire table of food next to us as I threw Trajan off balance in giving him a wedgie. I'd had enough at that point, and apparently so had my Boston friend. At least the Camel Wellington was good.
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