Friday, January 30, 2009

Rickey's Super Bowl Preview: Of ex-Giants, Fabulous Steelworkers, and Football Jesus

We know that it's all hip and whatnot to openly profess your ambivalence about the Super Bowl, but this year, Rickey reaaaaaaaaallly doesn't give a damn about it. But we'll churn out a quickie post on it anyway just in case a few of you have a modicum of interest in what is referred to as "the biggest sports event of the year" (sorry, but Rickey strongly believes that title should go to the LaGrange Invitational Finger Jousting Tournament). This Super Bowl, like any other, you're going to be bombarded with a lot of worthless subplots, so we asked ourselves, why can't we get in on the fun? If Pam Oliver gets a free pass for running a 20 minute story on the 76 year old Hawaiian lady who does Troy Polamalu's hair, then you'd damn well better believe Rickey will respond with equal triviality. And... here... we... go... :

Subplot #1: THE GIANTS CONNECTION. Let's kick this off with a bit of misty eyed nostalgia. Hey kids, remember when Kurt Warner was on the Giants? And he won like five of his first seven games? Then he kind of lost his groove, and everybody went apeshit and decided to in toss a completely untested and bewildered Eli Manning who proceeded to wet himself and go 1-6? Yeah... Rickey had blocked that season from his memory too (and five years later, we still have yet to see anything that's convinced us that Eli Manning isn't soft).

Subplot #2: A PHOENIX ROOSTS WITH THE CARDINALS. And whaddayaknow, now Warner is slinging for the Cardinals and is looking pretty damned good! We really can't come up with a concrete explanation for Kurt Warner's resurgence other than the possibility that he's possessed by the vengeful ghost of Pat Tillman. So we're sticking with that. The angry spirit of Pat Tillman inhabits Kurt Warner!

Subplot #3: WIDE RECEIVERS WIN GAMES. Hey, domestic abuse charges notwithstanding, we hear excellent things about this Larry Fitzgerald fellow. Assuming the Super Bowl isn't played on a marble field, he should be able to resist his unfathomably deep urge to slam cheerleaders' heads to the ground. Do the Cardinals even have an actual playbook, or is it just a cocktail napkin with the phrase "THROW IT TO FITZGERALD!!!!" scrawled in red crayon?

Subplot #4: MOST FABULOUS FANBASE EVER. Sorry Steelers enthusiasts, but how seriously can one take a franchise whose fans wave yellow towels at sporting events? Is there anything more sexually suspect than waving a handkerchief about at a sporting event while large men in tights relentlessly tackle each other? Oh wait, there actually is: Steely McBeam. Way to go Pittsburgh--to use a Bill Simmons line, this sort of thing never would've happened if Bill Cowher was still alive. This is for you, Pittsburgh fans:

Subplot #5: A TALE OF TWO CITIES. Two teams. One representing the rusting manufacturing industry, the other representing the defunct residential construction industry. Is there a more fitting illustration of our current economic climate? Screw hot dogs and beer, vendors should be peddling rock soup in the stands at Tampa.

Subplot #6: 3D, IT'S THE FUTURE! Ok, what fuckwit thought it would be cute to bring back the 3D craze and put it into the Super Bowl commercials? The same guy who incorrectly prophesied that all be living in "Lawnmower Man" style virtual realities by now? Rickey's going to have sucked down 18 beers and have consumed his net weight in salsa con queso before the coin flip even occurs. Chances are pretty good that the room's already going to be moving. You think it's a wise idea for Rickey to be seeing shit in 3D on top of that? Really?

Subplot #7: MY GOD CAN BEAT YOUR GOD SENSELESS. One of the more interesting subplots for the Super Bowl will be watching Ben Roethlisberger and Kurt Warner attempt to out-Jesus each other. Both are outspoken fans of the big guy upstairs--Roethlisberger is quoted as saying the he will "always have the opportunity to glorify God in all that I do" and Warner pretty much initiates a full Catholic mass whenever he completes a TD pass. We're not sure about you, but Rickey's a little sick of it all. Yeah, God absolutely is backing your athletic feats of strength so that you can attract those sanctified product endorsements and continue to sell sugar water to our nation's youth. Because if there's one thing Rickey learned in Sunday school, its that the J-Man is totally all about childhood obesity.

Like we said at the git-go, Rickey could give a flying fuck about the whole thing. Ultimately, Rickey's NFC allegiance has him pulling for the Cards to cap off their unexpected playoff run with a Super Bowl win. And because we suppose it's traditional for Rickey to make some sort of pick: Cardinals 21, Steelers 17*

*WARNING: Holy fucking shit. Prediction not valid. Offer null and void. Under no circumstances is this prediction is to be confused with any semblance of wisdom in the sporting world or otherwise. For the love of god, don't use this to gamble. Rickey pretty much just made it up right now after a ten second conversation with some dude in the elevator at work.

PS: For you panicked cooks looking for a last minute dish to prepare for the big game, Rickey strongly recommends his Buffalo Chicken Tenders Recipe. They're good eats, trust us. Have a safe and happy Super Bowl everybody.

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Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Rickey's Wedding Update, and Other Things One Wouldn't Expect Heterosexual Men to Blog About

Rickey is sometimes asked, how much of this blog is a goofy shtick and how much of it is genuinely him speaking? Excellent question, and one to which we don't have a clear answer. Usually, we'll try to avoid sincerity at all costs and are wary of falling into the "me me me me me!" habit of blogging. Trust us, we do it for your benefit. The main reason Rickey doesn't talk much about his personal life is that within a few days of doing so, things here at RwR would quickly deteriorate into a steady and consistent stream of belligerent character assassination upon varying people who have irked Rickey over the years. (This of course doesn't deter Rickey from a few sly jabs every now and then). But today Rickey will cast aside the veil of anonymity for a moment and discuss a rather important day in his life--his wedding this coming June.

Up until now, whenever Rickey had attended a wedding, his only responsibility was to make sure that when the evening is over, everyone he knew who attended the wedding was still on speaking terms with him. (This, believe it or not, is far more difficult than it sounds--last wedding Rickey was at, he nearly lit a boat carrying 75 people on fire). But now this all changes, because this time around, Rickey has a bit more of a responsibility to shoulder. This time, Rickey is the guy getting hitched.

How does Rickey feel about this? Without a doubt, absolutely terrific. But actually planning for the day of the wedding itself? Having to hammer out all the details? That's a different thing entirely. It's a goddamned Greek tragedy, aided and abetted by a never ending stream of fuckwits, miscreants, and rabble-rousers. Now, we're no experts on feminine ways, but we have it on good authority that every girl from the age of ten on forward dreams of three things: Jordan Knight, unicorns, and their wedding day. Deny it all you want, but you ladies quake with anticipation for that magical storybook wedding. But for your average groom like Rickey, weddings are a necessary evil. A loathsome speed bump--an experience akin to Luke getting stuck on the swamp planet Degobah in "The Empire Strikes Back."

Sure, Rickey understands the importance of the event, but the adjectives that come to mind first are probably not “beautiful” and “resplendent”, but rather “nerve-wracking” and “trying”. Nonetheless, Rickey's hanging in there. We look at it this way: anytime you mix booze, friends, family, and a celebration of love, you can’t go totally wrong, right? Because at its heart, a wedding is the most holy of sacraments and one of the most important moments in a person’s life, built around the three most powerful words in the English language: free open bar. So let's take a peek at some of the more crucial elements that will comprise Rickey and Ms. Henderson's wedding day.

Location, Location, Location. As we mentioned a while ago, the Hendersons are having their wedding at a venue where our newly minted Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton, once weighed anchor. But don't let that unpleasantness deter you, it's a jaw droppingly stunning site, near where Rickey grew up. Check it out here. The only problem? It's not a wedding factory--that is to say, it's not run by a catering company. So all the rental equipment and all the vendors need to be brought in separately. And therein lies the rub, because it turns out that there's a whole lotta stuff that makes up a wedding.

The Ceremony. Nothing too crazy really. A judge, a huppa, a few readings, some vows, a kiss, followed by everyone crying and applauding. You know, pretty much boilerplate stuff. The whole shebang is probably listed somewhere on "Stuff White People Like." If any of the guests want to jazz things up a bit when the judge asks if there are any objections, then they can stand up and yell "KHHHHHHAAAAAAANNNNNNN!" if it so pleases them.

Vendors. Bastards all. Are these weasels unaware that there's a full blown recession going on? How does Rickey deal with unscrupulous vendors hellbent on screwing him out of money? Quite forcefully. When confronted with an ornery vendor, Rickey will quickly inform them that “this is America, pal, we don’t take that shit!” and proceed to chant “U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!” for a few minutes until the vendor relents and lowers their price.

Eats. At first, Rickey thought that wedding food is primarily for the elderly. And if done blandly, it certainly can be. Appetizers can be blah and the main course is little more than an obstacle to get around before partying the night away. Usually, you're just sitting around a table awaiting your rubbery chicken dish and muttering "can they bring the food out already? I’m trying to get fucked up here!” So Rickey and Ms. Henderson went ahead and upped the ante considerably by hiring the chef who runs this restaurant to cook at their wedding. Dude's incredible--the most fun Rickey and Ms. Henderson have had planning the wedding has been creating a menu with him. Tuscan cuisine served up buffet style? Oh yes please. No annoying sitting around and waiting for your food, just some of the best cuisine imaginable available on demand.

I Come Not to Bury Rickey but to Praise Him. Rickey knows it's not his place to get involved with the best man/maid of honor speeches, but that hasn't stopped him from writing them in his head for the past few weeks now. A guy who has honed the art of bragging about himself like Rickey has should have some input here, right? Because believe us, if it were up to Rickey, the speeches would ultimately not only change the way Ms. Henderson and Rickey are perceived, but would also single-handedly win the war on terrorism. Rickey's serious--they're that good.

Drink-Dranks. This may sound like crazy talk, but what really makes or breaks a wedding bar is the bartender. The wedding bartender may be just about the worst job in the world, so it's important that Rickey and Ms. Henderson select someone who's up to the task (they have yet to). Rickey has been to weddings where he's been served drinks by a gruff guy in a tux who looked like the wedding bartending gig was part of his prison work-release program. By the same token, Rickey has also been to weddings where the bartender was a shot-pouring boozehound indiscriminately serving up tequila and high-fives all night long. Which one do you think Rickey is gravitating towards?

Wedding Registry/Website. Done and done. And if just one guest shows up with a crappy gift not listed on the registry, like a $45 punch bowl set or something equally worthless, they're getting thrown off the mountaintop immediately following the cocktail hour. If any relatives somehow stumble on to this site, we're telling you right now: Rickey DOES NOT want a punch bowl set. The Hendersons aren't planning on hosting any high school proms in their apartment anytime soon, thank you very much.

My God, it's Full of Flowers! Other than being brutally expensive, Rickey knows abso-fucking-lutely nothing about flowers. Which is why Ms. Henderson has been placed in charge of the table centerpieces. She's actually making them herself: growing wheatgrass in nice wide glass vases and sticking roses into the wheatgrass. When she's not blogging about pigs, the girl is quite crafty.

Noise Code Considerations. Apparently, the editor of Fashion Magazine lives on a hilltop nearby where Rickey and Ms. Henderson are getting married. And apparently she's not too keen on loud noises. Folks, there are good weddings, there are bad weddings, and then there are weddings that end up getting shut down by the cops because the editor of Fashion Magazine is displeased with having her windows rattled by Rick Springfield's stirring rendition of "Jesse's Girl." This should be interesting. And that brings us to...

Musak. A long time ago, Rickey and Ms Henderson came to the realization that a wedding band would be downright awful and a complete waste of money. Wedding bands are just so unconscionably cheesy. Rickey asks you, what’s better: hearing your favorite songs from the musicians who wrote them or some douchebag singing Shania Twain’s “You’re Still The One”? So they picked a solid and low key DJ, one that has been instructed under no circumstances to play the Electric Slide or similar cliche wedding tripe. The problem here is that Rickey has absolutely no idea what to actually put on the DJ's playlist. Natrually, there will be a good showing of rock 'n roll songs, and that cover of "Over the Rainbow" by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole that Rickey's mother refuses to shut up about (yes mom, Rickey has heard the song too--every caucasian couple in the known universe has been playing it at their weddings for 6 years now) but what else? Common wisdom states that no one will dance to obscure songs, but Rickey isn't entirely convinced of this. So we turn to you, dear readers, to help us out. What are some unconventional songs that would work for a wedding?

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Monday, January 26, 2009

Rickey Recommends

This is where Rickey posts recommendations of noteworthy consumables, practices, and pastimes that have been deemed invaluable for the reader’s betterment. All products and pieces of advice listed herein have been Rickey tested and approved. Again, this is in no way shape or form a complete rip off of McSweeney’s (fa-la-la-la-la, lawyers, Rickey can’t hear you). Enjoy our latest installment of


Skipping your buddy's Super Bowl party. You know the drill: every year your crazy football friend ccs you on a mass email insisting that you attend his incredible Super Bowl party in the basement of his house that he's converted into a sports museum ripped from the playbook of the guy from "Fever Pitch." The facts are these: you're going to have to drive at least 25 minutes to get to the place, it’s BYOB, you're going to lose a minimum of $100 playing poker, your buddy's wife has absolutely no idea how to cook decent buffalo wings, and there will be a whole lot of goons there who you've never met before. And frankly, as much fun as listening to the Bills fan with the 14 beer head start on you explain precisely what went wrong for his team this season (hint: it was more than one thing) Rickey advises you to sit the whole ordeal out altogether. We have a suspicion that it's going to be a very ‘blah’ game anyway.

Warming up your car. Because there’s a massive psychological difference between clambering into a frigid vehicle or a toasty warm one and then proceeding to drive to work. Trust us, top men have done studies on the matter. Top men.

Kinchley's Tavern in Mahwah, NJ. Located in the northernmost tip of the Garden State, this cozy restaurant boasts the best pizza Rickey has tasted. Anywhere. Ever. Do not attempt to debate Rickey on this. The joint has no decor, they accept no credit cards, and there's not much on the menu worth eating except the best thin crust pizza in the Tristate area. What better way to celebrate the end of a brutal day toiling around on rte 17 in NJ than with some of the finest thin crust pizza known to mankind? It's seriously incredible stuff: not too saucy, not too cheesy, and a perfect crispy crust. Rickey could eat four large pizzas at this restaurant and not even realize what had happened. Seek out Kinchley’s now. If there's a better way of rejoicing in one's exodus from the state of New Jersey, Rickey has yet to find it.

Not attempting sexual intercourse with a raccoon. Turns out that raccoons aren’t too keen on that sort of thing. For those keeping score at home, we can now add raccoons to list of gila monsters, badgers, bears, jellyfish, puff adders, cassowaries, blue-ringed octopus, hyenas, and other ornery creatures which it is considered generally unadvisable to have sex with.

Familiarizing yourself with the budding legend of Rod Blagojevich. Schadenfreude never gets enough credit for the joy it provides our lives with. Is there anything that fazes this insane madman? Have you ever seen a greater display of hubris than watching a crooked politician who resembles a hobbit compare himself to Gandhi and MLK?

Flossing on the couch. It’s multitasking at its finest! We’re all adults here, right? And let’s be honest now, we don’t need to see our reflection in the bathroom mirror in order to properly floss, do we? So why can’t we do this flossing thing while watching TV?

"Hoedown" by Aaron Copland. Triumphant Americana at it’s finest! If you listen to this song one a day, every day, you will become imbued with an immutable sense of civic pride and you will actually be able to bench press an aircraft carrier by the end of the month.

Not purchasing a gaming console with a 20% failure rate. What the everloving fuck, Microsoft? Rickey’s Xbox 360 was just stricken with the dreaded red ring of death! And this marks the second time he’s had to ship it out for service! Now how will Rickey watch his streaming Netflix movies? What can possibly fill the void in one’s heart left by the absence of Halo? Are you fools actively trying to make a PS3 fanboy of Rickey? One more incident like this and Rickey's dusting off the old ColecoVision in his closet...

Getting a little artsy-fartsy. Remember that IKEA coffee table we mentioned a few weeks ago? Turns out that a space underneath the glass top allowed Rickey to insert a collage of photographs of himself and Ms. Henderson underneath, thereby creating a pretty nifty conversation piece in the center of the living room. Narcissistic? You betcha, but damned creative to boot, and a nice little surprise gift for Ms. Henderson when she returned home from work one evening. Yes, from time to time, Rickey is capable of behaving like a proper fiancĂ©…

Showing a bit of restraint when the roving Google Street camera van comes around snapping photos. At least that’s what the residents of 8 Sampsonia Way in Allegheny, Pennsylvania are probably thinking right about now.

Finding something else to do on Sunday nights during baseball season. From the “It Could Always be Worse” Department, we are brought word that Steve Philips is joining the Miller/Morgan team on ESPN. What, was Tim McCarver unavailable to complete the terrible trifecta? Rickey’s advice to remedy the situation: if you’re watching the game and have a 5.1 surround sound system, turn off the center channel. This should mute the offending announcers and leave only the ambient crowd noise coming out of your speakers. It’s truly the only way to watch a Sunday night baseball game on ESPN.

Kris Kristofferson. When will this guy finally get some attention? He seems like a nice enough fellow. Oh look, he's actually rummaging through your recycling bin right now--why not let him inside?

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Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Day One

Hey, give us credit, we were able to contain our snark for an entire day. (Then the inexplicable urge to photoshop overtook us). From here on out, it's all lolbamas, all the time.

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Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Your Obligatory Inauguration Day Post

What's that you say, you attended a Barack Obama inauguration party last night? Ah, well that's nice. But was an Obama themed cheesecake served? That's right folks, this is the one and only cheesecake endorsed by Barack Obama. Hope is on the way! (in cheesecake form). Let's just see you just try to get your local bakery to cross party lines like this. Every time you east a tasty morsel of this scrumptious delicacy, Terry McAuliffe and Howard Dean peer into the DNC war chest and exchange high fives! And let Rickey ask you... At your Barack Obama inauguration party, was a fabulous prize awarded to the individual who answered the most trivia questions pertaining to various Bush administration scandals? A signed photo from George and Laura Bush, perhaps? No? Aw, so sad. Clearly, you need to start attending the same parties that Rickey does... What's Rickey going to do with his prize? Probably sell the damned thing on EBay and use the proceeds to buy booze pay the bills. It's a little financial boost we like to refer to as the RwR Economic Stimulus Package.

And so we cast a not-so-fond farewell to eight years of lies, bullying, and outright crime, and we say hello to the new guy. Today is a terrific day. Today, try as Rickey might, it's pretty damned hard to be a cynic. Enjoy the inaugural festivities everyone. In honor of the occasion, Papa Henderson writes in with the following poem--one final parting shot at a terrible terrible leader. Sing us out pops:


Although I'm happy you're now unemployed,
your White House absence leaves a certain void.
Your head was stuck so squarely up your arse
it opened up a rich, full ream for farce
and satire, so pure and unalloyed,
it's like again will never be enjoyed.
With your departure, journalists nowl lose
a standing target for their words and shoes.

Your flubs amused us, though they didn't quite match
the crap we had to suffer on your watch.
But thanks for the comic respite you allowed,
that ray of silver lining in the cloud
of cronyism, greed, oil-lobby ties,
war, torture, fiscal meltdown, lies,
and crackpot fundamentalist disdain
for basic science that defined your reign.

Rest well in Crawford, Chief! Time now for you
to read those other novels of Camus
I don't imagine anyone would buy
a used car from you, "What Me Worry?" guy,
but though the stigma of your reign will stretch
years down the road, I won't completely kvetch.
Unless Ms. Palin somehow gets elected,
No one will match the follies you've perfected,
So take this poem as a tribute and goodbye
as one small part of me breathes one small sigh.

[update] This is absolutely worth tossing in as well: Pete Seeger and The Boss singing "This Land is Your Land" at the Lincoln Memorial Inauguration Concert.  Awesome stuff.  Watch closely for the flanneled great one, George Lucas bopping along in the crowd!

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Monday, January 19, 2009

Fun with Photoshop (and Right-Wing Rags)

Photoshop skills... decidedly improving! Enjoy:

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Sunday, January 18, 2009

And the Caption Contest Winner Is...

George. For a smashing display of brevity and nonsensicality. There's a pretty decent chance that this phrase is going on Rickey's tombstone.

Enjoy the games everybody! What? You need more of a tease for the NFC Championship Game? Fine...

[in bombastic FOX announcer voice]


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Friday, January 16, 2009

Caption Contest Friday

Rickey never spent any time discussing The Giants' untimely exit from postseason contention because, well, there wasn't very much to talk about. Eli had a terrible game, the defense completely imploded, and their vaunted offensive line couldn't convert two crucial short yardage downs at pivotal moments. Donovan McNabb, in contrast, was the very definition of clutch. And to the victors go the spoils, which is why we're allowing McNabb's antics to grace our latest caption contest. The person to affix the wittiest, snarkiest, and most uproarious caption to the photo below will earn themselves the utmost praise and awe of their blogging compatriots. The contest closes before the games on Sunday, so make with the captioning in the comments section below. Stumped? Fine, Rickey will kick things off:

"Yes mom, I planted the gun exactly where you told me to his sweatpants. Can I have my can of Campbell's Chunky Soup now?"

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Thursday, January 15, 2009

Rickey's Guide to the Presidential Inauguration

--Spine tinglingly awesome image via Getty.

[below follows a handy compilation of tidbits and anecdotal advice for those considering making the pilgrimage down to Washington D.C. for the Presidential Inauguration]

So Rickey, this inauguration thing, what's it all about?

Every four or eight years, the nation attempts to wipe it's collective memory of all the vices and superfluities of the previous administration with a big flashy display. Think of it as one massive PDA from the nation to itself. Crowds gather, doves fly, Aaron Copland is played, and it is generally agreed upon by the public that it is a good day for enthusiasts of representative Democracy.

So why has it been eight years and not four since we last witnessed an inauguration?

Because democracy only works in countries full of smart people. The 2000 and 2004 elections have done a terrific job of justifying our need for a dictator.

Gosh, you really don't like this Bush guy, do you?

On the contrary, Rickey's got no beef with him. He's not a warped and evil man. If he was he'd be a helluva lot more interesting, like Nixon. No, Bush's problem is that he's a dullard: an incurious man who ambled his way into history. He's the political version of John McClane--the wrong guy at the wrong place at the wrong time. He's a guy who didn't bother asking complex questions at key moments and whose laziness resulted in the loss of fundamental rights, wealth, and lives. But hey, it's not like we toss our citizens in jail for that sort of thing, right? Oh wait, we do? Oops. Somebody should probably look into that.

So this Obama fellow who's going to be sworn in, he's an improvement over the last guy?

That remains to be seen. He speaks in long sentences but his ideas are concise. He's a bit of a dork but his wife is pretty hot. He works out a lot but he smokes. Dude's complicated.

I'm thinking about hopping in the car and driving down to D.C. on the day of inauguration. The traffic on the beltway loop should be light and easily navigable, yes?

Not exactly. You know the opening scene of "Falling Down"? Think something along the lines of that, with a few Hieronymus Bosch creatures tossed in for good measure. Don't be overly surprised if you see Michael Stipe walking past your car singing "Everybody Hurts."

Ok, so I'll take the train. I'm solid, right?

Until you hit the D.C. Subway system yes. At that point you're in for a bit of trouble, as the transit authority is warning of "crush level" crowds in the subways. Rickey has few rules in life, but when a mass transit advisory conjures up images of Luke, Leia, Chewbacca and Han trapped in the trash compactor in "Star Wars," Rickey usually stays at home.

Let's say I make it into the city unscathed, what's the character of the town like?

Rickey's apologies to our D.C. readers, but Washington is kind of a bland town chock full of boring museums skirted by mcmansion riddled suburbs. But when you think about it, in it's blandness, it's very representative of America as a whole. So really, if you hate D.C., you also hate America. And you don't hate dear sweet America, do you?

OK wiseguy, what are the people like in D.C.?

Best as Rickey can figure, everyone there either works for the government or is a K Street lobbyist. Imagine every student government president you ever knew gathered in the same place at the same time. Would you want to live there? Yeah, that's what we thought. In all fairness, Rickey only knows one guy who grew up in the Washington area. He likes the Redskins, jazz music, and draping his exposed genitals on various flat surfaces. Interpret that as you will.

And what of the cuisine?

The Union Station food court is what most D.C. residents will point out when they brag about all the diverse ethnic food in town. Apparently a UNO pizza joint, a burrito place, a falafel place, and a crab stick sushi operation constitute a culinary United Nations for Washington's more sophisticated set.

How's the weather down there in D.C.?

Rain rain rain and yet more rain. We'd tell you you bring an umbrella, but the Secret Service, apparently nervous about the Penguin crashing the inauguration, has flatly banned them.

Alright, I've made it to the inauguration, I can just go ahead and take a seat in the front row?

Unless you're Oprah Winfrey, no. Are you actually Oprah? If so, please stop ripping off our Rickey Recommends column with your "Favorite Things" shtick. Don't think Rickey hasn't noticed this blatant theft of intellectual property.

What can I expect from Obama's inauguration speech?

A smattering of the phrases "historic moment," "the dawn is coming!," and "I can't do this shit on my own."

I have bladder problems, there will be plenty of restrooms available at the inauguration, yes?

Here's the breakdown: 2,000,000 people and 5,000 porta-potties. You do the math, smart guy. It's going to be scatological pandemonium--like one massive episode of 2 Girls 1 Cup. In a rare moment of forethought, the Bush administration got wise to this and went ahead and preemptively declared a state of emergency for all of Washington D.C. Trust us, the town's going to look like London circa 1634 by the time all is said and done.

Wait, since they're in D.C., shouldn't Bush have declared a "District of Emergency"?

Rickey's fairly certain that just you and Rickey had noticed that.

So the crowd at this inauguration should look like any another, yes? 94% Caucasian, right?

Uh, no, not really. Unless it snows during the inauguration, in which case, yes, it will look like all the previous ones.

So what else is there to do in D.C. after the inauguration?

Put it this way: do you like museums? Because they've got 'em in spades. The Smithsonian Museum, The Folger Library Museum, The National Geographic Museum, The National Museum of Crime & Punishment, The Textile Museum, The Octagon Museum, The Bead Museum, The National Museum of American Museums... you get the picture. Also, there's always Adams Morgan if you're looking for a little night life. And if you can get through an entire evening of boozing without referring to it as "Madam's Organ," then Rickey will give you a shiny Buffalo Nickel.

Let's say I'm in the mood for a little extracurricular action down there, how do the working girls in D.C. stack up against their N.Y.C. counterparts?

They're definitely in the same league. As an added bonus, if you check them into the Mayflower Hotel, they're contractually required to be introduced by a Sergeant-at-Arms proclaiming: "MR. SPEAKER... A DAMN FINE PROSTITUTE!!!"

Is there anything to watch out for while I'm down there?

Indeed there is. There's a guy living down there who Rickey has the great misfortune of knowing named John Devaney. Take Rickey's word for it, he is without a doubt (insert Keith Olbermann style voiceover here) THE WORST PERSON IN THE WORLD. The guy fashions himself as a real life version of Vince Vaughn from "Swingers" and "Wedding Crashers." He brags of his various exploits as "legendary" as if he were a modern day Beowulf. He refers to women as "smokeshow sloots" and coitus as "crushing strange." He habitually takes home 50 year old women. He is boorish, obtuse, and completely oblivious to how totally awful a human being he is. Back in college, Rickey made the mistake of doing Jack Daniels shots with this guy and seven years later he still speaks of the event like it was his own personal Woodstock. Rickey once witnessed him bring a date to a wedding who he'd just met the night before. The horrified look on the poor girl's face as she slowly realized how despicable the guy was resembled that of a small child when their pet hamster dies. Everyone at the wedding joked that she might hang herself from a tree branch rather than ride back to D.C. with him in the car. Rickey never saw her at the send-off brunch so honestly, it could've happened. John Devaney is a terrible terrible person. This guy will lower your opinion of men everywhere--avoid him at all costs.

Yikes, it sounds like I'm better off staying at home. Will the inauguration be televised?

It's a relatively safe bet, yes. Recommended inauguration snacks include a cornucopia of pretzels, wings, and pork rinds. No need to purchase libations, however. As his first official act as President, Barack Obama will actually reach through your TV screen into your living room and transform your water into wine.

[posted at Humor Blogs]

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Tuesday, January 13, 2009

We Liked Him Better When He Was Just a Fruadulent Plumber

Here at RwR, we prefer our political commentary to be light and airy and our targets to be soft and doughy. And that's why Rickey, for one, is downright thrilled that unscrupulous news outlets such as CNN feel that the rantings of a completely unqualified boorish idiot qualify as news. Below follows an article involving Joe the Plumber's Pulitzer Prize winning report from Israel. Against our better judgement we're reprinting the article in it's entirety, as well as Rickey's snarky editorial notation, where applicable. Quoth the venerable CNN:

"'Joe the Plumber' Wurzelbacher told a group of journalists covering the conflict in Israel and Gaza that he didn’t think the media should be allowed to report on war."

Yay, one sentence in and we've already hit a paradox! So let Rickey get this straight. Joe doesn't want the media to report on the war and he decides the best way to show that is by going to Israel and reporting on the war? Ah, ok, got it. Check.

“I think media should be abolished from, you know, reporting,” Wurzelbacher said.

No, seriously Joe, aren't you a reporter, or at least a faint facsimile thereof? So wouldn't this mean abolishing yourself? This situation kind of reminds Rickey of how Superman would force Mr. Mxyzptlk back into the 5th dimension by tricking him into spelling his name backwards. Continuing on, the intrepid reporter declares:

“You know, war is hell. And if you’re gonna sit there and say, ‘well, look at this atrocity,’ well you don’t know the whole story behind it half the time, so I think the media should have no business in it.”

That dull thudding sound you're hearing? That's Edward R. Murrow's corpse banging it's head against the coffin wall.

"Wurzelbacher arrived in Israel on Sunday to start a 10-day assignment for, a Web site run by the conservative media outlet Pajamas Media."

One wonders, how credible can a conservative media outlet named "Pajamas Media" possibly be? And how do they have any money to send foreign correspondents anywhere after blowing most of their budget training Michele Malkin to speak without hissing like a viper?

"The plumber-turned-foreign correspondent said he wanted to cover Israel’s side of the conflict, because he thought the media was slanting the story to make it look like 'Israel’s being bad.' In his first day as a reporter, Wurzelbacher described the hardships of daily life in the southern Israeli town of Sderot: “I’m sure they’re taking quick showers, I know I would,” Wurzelbacher said. “So you can’t plan your day, you can’t take a picnic."

Rickey enjoys the occasional bath, just how safe is he from the looming threat of terrorism? And golly Joe, Rickey is saddened to hear that your picnic plans have been thwarted. Tell us, what would your picnic basket have consisted of? Some freedom fries? A Sarah Palin doll complete with the bible thumping kung fu grip? A few nasty letters from the IRS bugging you to pay your income taxes?

Wurzelbacher said he thought Israel should have attacked Gaza sooner. He told a group of reporters that he was a “peace-loving man,” but that "when someone hits me, I'm going to unload on the boy.”

YeeHAW! Let's see that pussy Cronkite make that sort of claim! Is Pajamas Media aware that they've dispatched Slim Pickins to the Middle East?

He got a first-hand taste of reality in Sderot, when his group heard sirens warning of a rocket attack. With cameras rolling, Wurzelbacher and his group ran into a shelter. “I’m in the bunker, I’m sitting there angry, outright furious, that I’m letting this terrorist dictate what I’m going to do because they’re firing missiles,” Wurzelbacher said.

Yeah Joe, good for you getting not merely furious but outright furious! How dare these terrorists attempt to dictate what you do! Why not just stand up and strut around dressed up like Captain America? That'll teach 'em! (Actually no, please don't do that--the last thing America needs is you as a martyr). Just be glad they're not chucking Barack Obama commemorative plates at you. Those things hurt! Joe continues to share his feelings with us:

“It was fear at first, then outright anger, and then me wanting some kind of retribution."

Ah yes, the basic emotions. Fear, check. Anger, check. So when does hunger kick in? You must've been famished from not taking your customary picnic!

"I’m not a person that runs from things, but when it’s a missile, you run.”

So that's where you're setting the bar? A missile? But everything leading up to that is kosher? Gunfire, tsunamis, a marauding cthulhu--these things you're cool with? Ugh, somebody wake Rickey when this schmuck's 15 minutes are up.

[posted at Humor Blogs]

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Monday, January 12, 2009

On Enshrinement and Idiocy

Judging by the fact that the local news stations are running stories about "Famed former Met and Yankee outfielder Rickey Henderson" (which, as a buddy pointed out, is a lot like saying "famous Vermonter Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn") being inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame today, we suppose that we should probably go ahead and say a little something about the guy whose coat tails we, and by extension, you, been riding for the past two years. (When you think about it, in an existential sense, we are all, in effect, riding with Rickey). Today the announcement will come down from high that the baseball gods have deemed Rickey worthy of entry into Cooperstown. But in true Rickey fashion, not without a bit of drama. Not unanimously. As per Yahoo Sports:

"[Rickey Henderson has] been named on 98.6 percent of the published ballots with only one writer — Corky Simpson of the Green Valley News and Sun in Arizona — leaving the best leadoff man in baseball history off his ballot."

Have we ever mentioned how much we utterly despise people who are contrarian for the sake of being contrarian? Simpson voted against Rickey for absolutely no other reason than to prove how much of a beautiful and unique snowflake he is. You want to take a proud stand against a widely held institution? Make it American Idol. Make it the latest Michael Bay movie. We're ok with that. But don't make it Rickey. What exactly makes a joyless prick like this happy? Does the sun seem not so radiant to him? Does he find puppies to be not so adorable? Does music even sound pleasant to a guy like this? And following an uproarious response to this in the blogosophere (we're a bit late to the party), Simpson even attempted a half hearted recantation of his grievous error:

"If I had properly researched the situation, I would have voted for Rickey Henderson if for no other reason than he played for nine ball teams," he said. "Imagine that. He'll be the first Hall of Famer to have a bronze bust with nine caps stacked on his head."

Yeah, nice cheap dig at Rickey's expense. And hey, isn't it kind of your job to "properly research" the situation? Look, in the end, it doesn't matter the circumstances under which Rickey gets in, but we firmly subscribe to the belief that no other player is as flamboyantly deserving of being the first man to be unanimously inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame as Rickey is. Nonetheless, congrats to Rickey on his impending enshrinement. It's a good day for baseball fans everywhere and if the Google hits continue to roll in, it's a good day for this blog as well. We'll toss up the advance copy of the transcript of his HOF induction speech when Rickey makes it available to us.

[posted at Humor Blogs]

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Friday, January 9, 2009

Jack Bauer For Postmaster General

Yes, Jack Bauer knows what it means to go postal:

Stamp collecting is in turmoil. It used to be really hard to get your face on a stamp- you had to invent something like electricity or democracy to make the grade. Today, stamps have become mostly a dumping ground for tacky promotional tie-ins (a Barney Rubble postage stamp is either out there or on its way, I promise). If you invent cold nuclear fusion with the hope of making it onto a US stamp, prepare to get in line behind Winnie The Pooh and Yoda.

But as we transition to a new administration this month, I believe we're poised to take back our postal heritage. With yesterday's news that Dr. Gregory House will be our next Surgeon General, I'm excited to report that Jack Bauer is our next Postmaster General. Below is a picture from Bauer's first day on the job, where a very special stamp was introduced (heroic, indeed):

R.I.P. George Mason!!!

(also posted on The Jack Sack).

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Thursday, January 8, 2009

Introducing Your Next Surgeon General...

"President-elect Barack Obama has offered the job of surgeon general to Dr. Sanjay Gupta, the neurosurgeon and correspondent for CNN and CBS, according to two sources with knowledge of the situation." --The Washington Post, 1/6/09

Ah, quite crafty Mr. President-elect, reaching out to the media for your administration members. Rickey will see your Gupta and raise you a House! Join Rickey now, as he makes a leap into the realm of the imaginary and takes this story to it's logical conclusion...

Barack Obama: Good morning. In recent weeks, we announced our economic and national security teams, who are working as we speak to craft bold new initiatives to grow our struggling economy and keep us safe. Today I'm pleased to announce my choice for Surgeon General, whose work as spokesperson on matters of public health will be pivotal to our nation's well being. My fellow Americans, I have selected Doctor Gregory House to serve as Surgeon General. Yes, I realize that he is an unorthodox choice. He is an anti-social cantankerous pain killer addict. He is a notorious sex fiend with only half a muscle in his right leg. And yet his witty and arrogant medical practices have proven invaluable time and time again. I look forward to seeing him put his bold behavior to good use in his new capacity as Surgeon General. Now, before we take a few questions, I'd like to invite Dr. House to say a few words. Dr. House?

House: Thanks Mandingo. Hello America, I'm House, M.D. Did you know that less money is made by biochemists working on a cure for cancer than by their colleagues struggling to find ways to hide steroid use? True story. Also, have you ever watched "Gilligan's Island" reruns and really, really believed that they're going to get off the island this time? [reaches in pocket for a bottle of vicodin] Oh, there you are old friend. Were you scared? It's OK, you're home now. [pops a pill]

Obama: Uh, thanks Dr. House, and now we'll take some questions from the press. First?

Suzanne Malveaux: Dr. House, what's your stance on regulating the tobacco industry and curbing deaths caused by cigarette smoking?

House: Look, we all know that this is a big deal. Big tobacco needs to be reigned in. But let's not forget the real cause of lung caner: tiny unicorns goring holes into our air passages.

Suzanne Malveaux: Can you clarify that last statement? Does that mean you'll expand the Surgeon General's warning on the packages of all tobacco products?

House: Sure, why not? On an unrelated note, you are an evil and cunning woman. I find this to be a massive turn on.

Bret Baier: Dr. House, is it true that you once performed an autopsy on a living person?

Physician-patient confidentiality protects me from annoying conversations like this. If you must know, yes, but I brought her right back and was able to successfully cure her tonsillitis. Also, I was high as a kite at the time.

Bret Baier: But why would do you that?

House: Because I'm a mean son of a bitch. Duh. Are you being intentionally dull?Julie Mason: Dr. House, what is your stance on sex education in the United States?


Julie Mason: What about sex?

House: Well, it might get complicated. I mean, we will be working together--you as a member of the press and me as the Surgeon General. Things might get messy, but I'm willing to give it a shot. I am older, certainly, but maybe you like that.

Julie Mason: I was referring to your policy on sex-ed, Dr. House.

Dr. House: Heh, yes. Nice cover. [winks]

David Gregory: Dr. House, Do you have any planned initiatives to teach our nation's youth about the importance of physical fitness and avoiding sugary foods?

House: Oh absolutely. Let's get those roly poly teenage girls back in shape so that they can get down to the important business of being skinny and unattainable. Moreover, I'm thrilled to have the opportunity to teach prepubescent kids that truth matters, God doesn't, and life generally sucks.

Jim Axelrod: So you're an atheist?

House: Only on Christmas and Easter. The rest of the time it doesn't really matter.

David Broder: Dr. House, as Surgeon General, what advice would you have for families who cannot afford dental coverage for their children?

House: Go make friends with your local neighborhood dentist. He can give you a note, and maybe a little nitrous to take the edge off.Richard Wolffe: Dr. House, have you even read the job description for Surgeon General?

House: I started, but I found the characters to be rather two-dimensional.

Steven Myers: So it's safe to say that you've done absolutely nothing that qualifies you to hold the position of Surgeon General?

House: In what twisted universe does mastering Eddie Van Halen's two-handed arpeggio technique count as absolutely nothing?

Trude Feldman: Dr. House, what about your obvious addition to pain killers?

Dr. House: What's the big deal? They let me do my job. And they take away my pain. I pay my bills, I make my meals. I function. I'm not an addict. Sure, I've changed over the years. I've gotten older. My hairs gotten thinner. Sometimes I'm bored. Sometimes I'm lonely. Sometimes I wonder what it all means.

[House's pager goes off]

Les Kinsolving: Dr. House, did your pager really just go off or are you trying to dodge this press conference?

House: Why can't both be true? See everyone at the Senate confirmation hearing! [exits stage]

[posted at Humor Blogs]

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Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Your Wednesday Redirect

Rickey wonders, does Jack Bauer ever have a mundane day? And is he as intense as he usually is on those mundane days? Is there an 10:00-11:00am hour of "24" where he goes to the laundromat to wash his T-shirts and jeans, gets annoyed after the machine eats three quarters, and after smacking it around for five minutes, gives up and moves to the next washer? Just like a normal guy, but really intensely?

We're told that in "the business," this is known as a tease. Indeed, the goods ain't here... they're over here. Proceed to the indicated link and behold Rickey doing a little guest blogging on the subject of the upcoming season of "24" over at the Jack Sack. Back tomorrow with fresh stuff involving a certain fella whose presidency was made possible by a character from "24."

(we know, we know, always with the teasing...)

[posted at Humor Blogs]

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Tuesday, January 6, 2009

It's a Wonderful Day in the Blogosphere

Hello blogger. Occasionally, Rickey likes to take a peek at what some of the other folks in his inner sanctum sanctorum are up to. Make no mistake, it is a heady honor if you have secured yourself a spot on to the RwR blogroll, because with it comes the increased likelihood that Rickey will occasionally stop by your blog, see what you're up to, and report back to his readers on your current activities, be they un-American as they may. Never mind the fact that half of you fuckwits spell Rickey's name without an 'e' on your blogrolls, we're paying you lip service anyway. It's a tried and true method of networking, heckling, and possibly even collecting on one's debts (Rickey doesn't care that the Colts were a lock, pay up deadbeats!) The theory here is that Rickey read it, and well, maybe you should too.

Last week, fellow blogger and armchair economist Mike unleashed an epic movie post, something worthy of Cecil Demille himself, the sort of thing that first drew Rickey to Mike's blog a few years back. Behold: his Friday Silly Movie of My Youth of the Day. His mind crackling like the main character in "A Beautiful Mind," Mike draws elaborate connections that you, the average moviegoer are woefully incapable of. Rickey would tell Mike to keep these awesome posts coming, but who is Rickey to talk since it's been a fortnight since we've last seen a "Rickey Recommends" post? Ahem.

The folks at Around the Keg have brewed up a "best of" column that lists some of the more superior blog posts from their favorite sites, entitled the Keg Stand Awards. And hey, wouldn't you know it, Rickey is in there! Fancy that: borderline alcoholics love Rickey!

Speaking of awards, Diesel, he of Mattress Police, managed to get himself nominated for a Weblog Award. Normally, Rickey only tells you to vote for important stuff (see Obama, Barack, Nov 2008) but in this case we think we're justified in loosening the standards just a bit. This Diesel guy writes some damned funny stuff and him potentially winning could mean trickle down fame for Rickey as well. So go vote for the guy, if for no other reason than to solidify Rickey's status as an internet sucker fish (a remora, if you will) glomming on to the larger and much more popular sharks.

The reliably cantankerous Mr. Furious has amassed his own "best of" list for 2008, The Year in Review Review, a hodge podge of some of his favorite findings from around the web. Rickey's favorite is undoubtedly the Hitler meme video, which triggered a hilarious burst of outrage from a newbie in the comments section. Come on, who doesn't love shaky hands Hitler? The guy's a laugh riot! Besides, if Mel Brooks has taught us anything (see Saddles, Blazing) isn't it that laughter is the best way of dampening even the greatest of evils?

Rickey cruised over to Toasty Joe's website recently (previously known as "Yes Joe It's Toasted" until Willie Randolph's late night axing) and was saddened to see no new activity whatsoever. Wait, hold on, Rickey thought he saw something... no, wait, that's just the wind. Rickey thinks Toasty should get back in the game. In fact, Rickey's starting an internet campaign. Rickey will call it "The Rolling Toast Gathers No Lox." (Fuck you, memes don't have to make sense!) Everyone go over to Toasty Joe's website IMMEDIATELY and heckle him in the comments section until he starts blogging again. If that doesn't work, we're starting up a Facebook group petitioning him to blog. This will either be of great annoyance to Toasty or promote a blogging renaissance on his part. Either way, it'll be fun, and the world needs more witty Mets bloggers. Dispatch yourselves posthaste!

Rickey doesn't have a lot of female blogging compatriots on the blogroll. Apparently the gals don't take kindly to Rickey's frontier era opinions on gender roles. Or his repeated use of the word "cocksuckery." But since we're pining for a well rounded blog network, let's give a little love to Haley, author of Missionless Statement. She's prolific, she's crafty, she's witty, and she puts up with the misbegotten madman we're about to mention below.

Meanwhile, Adam, Haley's significant other (yes, they're an item, in case you couldn't tell by their lovey dovey display in the comments section yesterday) has kicked it into high gear over at The Jack Sack. More than just a little excited for Season 7 of "24," he's gone apeshit in recent days with a plethora of posts. There is a seething underworld of bloggers who obsessively write about this show, and if watching Kiefer Sutherland seriously lose his marbles, torture the bejeezus out of people, and whisper angrily is your sort of thing, then this is the website for you. Be on the look out for a guest post from Rickey over there in the coming days in which attempts to temper everyone's irrationally high expectations for the new season of "24" (because we are taught that if nothing else, the internet is a haven for anonymous jackasses to suck the joy out of things).

Wrapping things up is George of I'm Not One to Blog, But... Chances are, if George isn't posting pictures of his greyhound, then he's talking about music. And man can the guy talk about music. Yesterday he cast aside words altogether and tossed up a video of a dude sitting in a of wheat strumming on an acoustic guitar. Simple, soulful stuff. The artist's name is Eric Bachmann and he's a shining example that there's still great music being created--you just have to dig a little harder to find it. Oh we're sorry, does a folk singer playing guitar in a field of grass not do it for you? Don't worry, we're sure the techno cover set to the beat of the "numa numa" song is coming soon. Schmuck.

And that's it for this inaugural installment of the column. We'll bring it back when further blog posts catch Rickey's ever watchful eye which deem themselves worthy of mention.

[posted at Humor Blogs]

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Monday, January 5, 2009

Things Rickey Learned Over the Weekend

Rickey has exceedingly mundane dreams. Last night, Rickey dreamt that he accidentally stole a book from a friend. Then Rickey spent the remainder of the dream feeling guilty and embarrassed about it. And that was the dream. Tense and thrilling, no?

If you're going to attempt to assemble an IKEA coffee table, be prepared for an awful lot of "that's what she said!" comments. Just trust Rickey on this one. When the person you're assembling a piece of furniture with says something along the lines of "ok, we gotta flip it over and slide it in there," that's like target practice for Rickey.

Bagels & lox remains the undisputed best way to kick off a Sunday. (Bonus points if you forget to wash your hands afterward and go to the gym reeking like the Billingsgate Fish Market. No one's going to be using that chest press machine for a while).

The Dolphins' much ballyhooed "wildcat offense" failed to impress yesterday. Rickey attributes this mostly to the fact that he was religiously chanting "Finkle is Einhorn. Einhorn is Finklel!" for the duration of the AFC Wild Card game. Meanwhile in the realm of the NFC, has anyone seen that sartorial nightmare that Andy Reid calls a belt? It's industrial grade! How fat do you have to get before you start wearing the Batman utility belt? Rickey swears, the Eagles could replace Reid with a walrus and no one would notice.

The Festival of Lights takes on a whole new meaning if you happen to live in the Gaza Strip. And with that needlessly glib remark, Rickey is sitting this debate out. Those looking for insightful analysis on this sad situation should read Robert Fisk's thoughts on the matter hither.

Tom Cruise is an unsettling lunatic, but he can also occasionally act. Having seen "Valkyrie" this past weekend, Rickey's gotta give it to the fella: his crazy intensity works well in the roles he picks. The movie wasn't bad, but it certainly wasn't "The Usual Suspects" either--a decent thriller that's impact is diminished by the audience already knowing the ultimate outcome. Also, between this movie, "Apt Pupil," and "Superman Returns," Rickey's beginning to suspect that Bryan Singer has a bit of an unhealthy ubermench fixation...

[posted at Humor Blogs]

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Friday, January 2, 2009

Rickey's Film Corral: Rounding up Movies You Were too Damned Lazy to See

A column created with the sole intention of saving you, the average moviegoer, money. On the docket this week are two movies available to rent and two currently playing in the theaters.

Transsiberian. This summer release flew well under the radar and Rickey, having finally caught up with it on Netflix, is pleased to report that it's terrific. A taut little Hitchcockian thriller involving two American travelers riding the famed Transiberian railroad? Oh yes please. The movie doesn't try to accomplish too much but excels at the basics: beautiful shots of a creaky old train winding through snowy Siberia, that cozy yet claustrophobic feeling that comes with traveling by rail, and the reliably scary Ben Kingsley playing a nefarious police detective. Rickey was even willing to cast aside his severe distaste for Woody Harrelson in order to see this. This movie is that good. Rent it at your earliest possible opportunity.

War, Inc. Rickey loves, loves, loves "Grosse Point Blank." Put John Cusack back in the black suit and tie, have him reprise the role of contract killer, give him a script brimming with witty nihilistic remarks and Rickey is on board. And all that would be absolutely fine, if only this unofficial sequel to "Grosse Point Blank" wasn't also a failed attempt to satirize the military industrial complex. Rickey has no idea who the hell greenlit this movie, but apparently they forgot the cardinal rule of comedy: satire only works when it's effortless, when you don't force it. A broad cartoonish spoof of the business of military contractors, the film is blunt, pedantic, and overwrought, but you've got to give them a bit of praise for the effort we suppose. And hey, this movie also happens to feature a sociopathic Beg Kingsley too! Does this guy play happy characters anymore? We're guessing that he grew weary of people bugging him in the airport saying "hey, it's Gandhi! Honey, come look, it's Gandhi! Quick, take a picture of me with Gandhi! No, of course he doesn't mind, he's Gandhi!" and then rebelled by devoting his entire career to playing evil psychopaths in very movie he starred in. Oh yes, and lest we forget, the always fetching Marissa Tomei is in this too. But why did this have to be the one movie she starred in this year where she didn't take her clothes off? Argh.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. This one reminded Rickey a whole lot of "Forrest Gump," but not nearly as saccharine. You know the story: Brad Pitt ages in reverse in a movie that will cause both the make up department and women everywhere to swoon alike. What you don't know is that the dude can act and it's fun to see an old man tottering around with the mind of a child, and eventually coming of age. It's a perverse, yet fascinating conceit for a film. Then the romance with Kate Blanchett kicks in and the movie becomes increasingly tiresome. As a rule, two and a half hour movies obsessed with the subject of the passage of time don't go by quickly. The cinematography is gorgeous though, (as is a red headed Blanchett) and if you're looking for a bit of meaningless holiday fluff, this might be the right flick for you.

Frost/Nixon. In case you'd forgotten, it is Oscars season. This means you're getting bombarded with a ton of movies desperately screaming "for your consideration!" Generally theses movies fall into two categories: political docudramas and movies about the Holocaust (nothing snags the gold quite like the Holocaust). "Frost/Nixon" falls into the latter category. This movie which delves into the subject of the famed Nixon Frost interviews, features some terrific acting, particularly from Frank Langella playing Nixon, but the problem for Rickey is that any discussion on cinematic depiction of Richard Nixon must begin and end with Anthony Hopkins' portrayal of him in the Oliver Stone movie. Granted, Langella's portrayal of Nixon is very riveting stuff, but his character isn't given a lot of room to breathe in. He's very one dimensional. Moreover, it's tough to take his character seriously when the script includes a scene of him drunk dialing David Frost late one night to discuss cheeseburgers. A little too much tabloid style creative license on the part of screenwriter Peter Morgan, wethinks. Rickey likes his Nixon to be a sullen schemer, not a late night drunk dialer, thank you very much. Ron Howard enthusiasts will be pleased to learn that the director did include his brother Clint in the movie, and yes, he is as assuredly unattractive as ever.

[posted at Humor Blogs]

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Thursday, January 1, 2009

Alright, fine. Rickey gives. It's tough not to get sappy 'round this time of year. So fuck it. We're diving in head first. Happy New Years folks. Hit play.

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