Jake yelled at me last night for not writing enough this week to occupy him while he’s traveling. Which is valid. I still get irritated at people for not updating their blogs. I understand getting busy for a couple of weeks, but once a month? You seriously expect people to keep reading something that only gets updated 12 times a year? What kind of life are you living? Don’t you want the Internet to care?
Ha, liar. Of course you do. If you didn’t want the Internet to care then you wouldn’t have started a blog, and you also wouldn’t apologize to whoever the fuck sticks around until you finally do write something again. “Sorry guise, things have just been super busy” or something similar, or worse, when you apologize and then say “it’s not like anybody reads this thing anyway.” You know what, you’re right. So please go to your dash, do whatever you need to do in order to deactivate, and go buy yourself a diary. Problem solved.
I update way more than once a month, of course. I’ve made two entries this week not including this one, although to be fair, one was just a video, and while videos are fine, you probably can’t watch/listen to them at work, on an airplane, or in most other public places. The truth is, I haven’t written much this week because sometimes I don’t have a lot to say. This is a fine explanation for most of you but not for Jake, who has known me since we were 5 and can probably not think of very many times where I haven’t had much to say. So I’m sorry, Jake, okay? I’M SORRY.
So what have I been doing lately? Working, of course. Feeling sleep deprived. Playing Draw Something, and thank god I use wifi at home and work because otherwise I’d eat up my entire data plan. I reviewed an artsy-fartsy kind of show on Tuesday night but didn’t share the link because it’s rife with typos (at least one glaring name-related one and a bunch of text copy stuff) and I cringe when I think about it. I’ve watched a lot less TV than usual (erm, because of Draw Something) and was a little relieved when I saw there was no 30 Rock or Parks & Rec tonight because I’m exhausted and would love to go to bed early. And because I’m still waiting to see if any data can be recovered from my old laptop, I’ve been avoiding my now-regressed-to-almost-a-year-ago iTunes music library and have been listening to mostly podcasts. Oh, and for some reason I read a webpage about Jonathan Brandis committing suicide. I don’t know why I do these things, especially when I know that everyone on the Internet is insane.
Man, what a sad story. You know how you might have looked up your first love or high school crush on the Internet and found out they were married with kids, and a little piece of you died inside? Okay, well, I didn’t fall in love with people I actually knew, and I can’t remember having any legendary-level crush on someone from real life. Plus I was a weirdo who liked being alone in my room, reading and writing and developing one seriously intense imagination about the people I actually liked, which is to say the person I actually liked, which is to say Jonathan Brandis. Who killed himself years ago when I’d almost forgotten all about him, but there’s still the pre-teen animal part of my brain that once devoted itself to thinking about him for hours, and I think him hanging himself is a little bit sadder than the boy you once let fingerbang you after a junior high mixer getting married at a VFW hall and celebrating his drinking problem by taking photos of his kid holding a can of Busch.
So obviously, the next drunkblogged movie will have to be Sidekicks (not Ladybugs because Stephanie cannot be drunk and watch Rodney Dangerfield do anything). Anyone remember Sidekicks? Oh, dudes. Sidekicks was a Karate Kid ripoff starring Jonathan Brandis as Barry, an asthmatic geek who gets picked on by this Armenian-looking kid (I want to say Randy?) while carrying on an unrequited crush on Winnie Cooper, and also his dad is Beau Bridges, who is an even bigger dweeb than his son. To cope with life as a dork in the days before the Internet, Barry has these moments of mental disassociation and imagines himself being friends with Chuck Norris, who takes him along on adventures like war and climbing the rope in gym class. At some point and I don’t remember how, Barry meets some old Chinese guy who owns a restaurant (I think, or maybe a dry cleaners but that might be racist), who of course knows all about karate and trains Barry to stop being such a pussy and beat asthma. The final scene is Barry fighting that Randy kid in a karate tournament, which is held in an arena before a crowd big enough to fill a pro wrestling event because in movies, more than eight people show up to these things. Chuck Norris is there for real this time and somehow seems to know about Barry’s imaginary escapades without being weirded out by it, and encourages Barry to kick the shit out of Randy. Oh! And Joe Piscopo is the evil dojo master. I forgot about that until just now. Joe Piscopo is an evil dojo master who behaves as though he’s acting in a poorly-dubbed chop socky picture.
I got the Sidekicks VHS one year for Christmas and totally lost my shit. I was honestly that happy to own this ridiculously welfare version of the Karate Kid. And now I’m older and can drink while I watch it, and will laugh hysterically when I say “what the fuck, Piscopo?” and maybe even get that printed on a t-shirt.