A Romantic Comedy About Saving Lobsters?

Mads, my Norwegian companion, and I, were flown out to LA recently to witness the premier of a new romantic comedy starring, who else, Kate Hudson and Matthew McConaughey. This one was special, though, because the screenplay was written by my own personal biographer, Matty.

The film was about McConaughey as this eccentric dude who’s into all these get rich quick schemes. His newest one involves creating a nonprofit organization dedicated to saving lobsters. Kate Hudson is a marine biologist from Maine who happens to love eating lobsters and is an advocate of the Maine lobster fishing industry. They have a mutual friend who invites them over to dinner one night, with disastrous results. As in all romantic comedies, they hate each other’s guts at first. Then they grow on each other. Then they fall in love. It was a sack of paint-by-numbers asscrack, and as you can well imagine, it had a great first weekend, grossing over $14 million.

"I thought it was kind of cute," Mads said.

"You would."

"Bite me."

Mads: It's Okay, I'm With Corporate

I was eating at McDonald’s the other day with my Boston friend and Matty, his personal biographer, when I realized my Big Mac wasn’t made properly.

"This is an outrage," I said. "I’m going to go back there and make this right."

So I jumped the counter and pushed the dude out of the way that was constructing the burgers. There was the perfunctory protest from the manager asking me what I was doing, so I showed him my card and let him know:

"It’s okay, I’m with corporate."

It works everytime, and I was allowed my chance to demonstrate to these nervous teenagers how one constructs a proper Big Mac.

I went back to our table.

"Now come on," I said. "That’s gotta be cool enough to keep me from being shipped out to the Branch Office."

"I don’t think so," Matty said. "It was kind of old hat for you."

Doug Christie #13 Jersey

I was putting away some laundry for Mads, my Norwegian companion, the other day, when I noticed an article of clothing I found to be very interesting: a Doug Christie 13 jersey. Everyone knows that that jersey is the international sign that some one is being whipped by his woman. Friends give that jersey to friends to let them know: dude, your woman controls you like Doug Christie’s.

I confronted Mads with my new found knowledge.

"A while back, there was this woman, Contessa. She had everything: looks, brains, sexual prowess. I would do anything for her. I wanted to marry her."

"No!"

"Yes, it’s true."

"Well what happened? You obviously didn’t marry her."

"My mom didn’t like her."

"And that was it?"

"That was it."

Mayor McCheese: The "R" Word

We don’t know if it’s official, but people are saying it, so it must be true: we’re in the throws of a recession. The "R" word, and you know what that means: big profits for McDonald’s. No one wants to eat anywhere fancy when they ain’t got no cash, but Mickey D's is where it’s at.

Even if we aren’t in a recession, just the mere mention of it causes our stocks to jump. All we need is MSNBC and FOXNews to scare people, and it’s like free advertising.

Umberto D.

Matty, my personal biographer, has been on this Italian neorealism kick lately. He saw my copy of Umberto D. when he was over the last time, so we watched it together. It had been years since I’d seen it, and there was an aspect of film I understood now that I’d missed before: who was going to look after me when I got older?

Mads, my Norwegian companion, came home, and I broached the issue with him.

"You’re worried about that? You’re ridiculous."

"I am not. It’s easy for you to say when you have seven or eight kids. You’ll be well taken care of when you’re senile. I have no one: no kids, no family."

"What about your niece with the kid that all the politicos want to get a hold of?"

"Does that count?"

"Why not? Besides, I’m not sure you noticed, but Umberto was struggling to procure 10,000 lira a month for rent. You’re worth like $220 million dollars. Remember, the porn spamming device you and those guys developed at MIT?"

"Hmm, I never thought of it like that. I could probably pay for my own Maria, right?"

"God, Maria, she was hot as hell, huh?"

"She was also 15."

"Well she’s not now, right?"

"No, she’s like 73."

You're Either Old or in High School

Mads, my Norwegian companion, and I were meeting Matty, my personal biographer, at a local coffee shop so I could give him my weekly wrap-up to put in his blog. These two cute, yet young, girls were looking at Mads and me and laughing. One of them just happened to be at the counter grabbing a napkin while Matty was waiting for his Venti Iced Latte.

"That chick was talking on her phone about you," he said.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, she said you were a hot old guy."

"Old guy? I’m not even thirty-eight yet."

"Five days," Mads said. He and I share a birthday, one of the cool things we have in common.

"Of course you’re an old guy," Matty said. "And I am too."

"Okay," I said, "I’ll bite. What’ve you got?"

He opened his backpack and pulled out an anthropology journal. On the front cover I saw listed under his name: "You’re Either Old or in High School: How Teenagers Frame Their World, and How This Affects Teacher/Student Relations in the Classroom".

"Long enough title?"

"Here’s the deal: there was this ring tone with a high pitched sound that only young people could hear. High school kids were using it so they could take calls in class. Anyway, this one teacher’s only 28, and she can hear the ring tone too. The kids were shocked, because they were certain only kids could hear it. You’re either old, or you’re in high school."

"You based an entire journal article on that thesis?"

"Si. I did an ethnography of a high school in Maine, examining the interactions between the students and teachers. My findings were quite profound."

"And how about you? Did the kids think you were old since you’re not in high school?"

"Yep, but a Cool Old Guy."

"Oh, because you were into their music and watched The Hills?"

"Nope, because I bought them beer."

Mads: Making My Case

This whole being shipped out to the branch office in Western Europe was making me uneasy. I know my Boston friend was unconcerned, but that didn’t make me any better. I felt I needed to converse with the source.

"So, are you really shipping me out?"

"Shipping you out?"

"To that Mads guy and your Western European branch office."

"You’re the only Mads guy in my life."

"Don’t patronize me. I think you’re making a big mistake."

"You do?"

"Listen, I can still be of use to you. I heard Will Farrell was interested in adapting a screenplay based on my blogs here."

"No you didn’t."

"Well, a friend of mine, he said..."

"No, he didn’t."

"Well, you can imagine... right...?"

"Um... okay...?"