St Rocketcool Nation

I’ve watched this video over and over.  Seriously, I’ve watched it at least three times (that’s like a half hour) and I’m listening to it as I type this.  I’m not quite sure why.  What is it about Phil Collins that has transfixed me and at the same time made me want to kick my own ass.  I have better shit to do than watch “Take Me Home” over and over, don’t I?  

Right now I would give anything to be Phil Collins right then, in that moment.  He is finishing up a concert in front of what appears to be 50,000 Germans.  (The last time that many Germans got together on one thing, it didn’t end well. BTW)  But he is rocking out.  He’s working the mic stand.  The way he says “remember”  or reMEMba!  He’s a fuckin’ god in a tucked in party shit.  What the hell?  There is absolutely nothing cool about Phil Collins, but somehow he made it to playing sappy songs in stadiums, thrilling and depressing thousands of people AT THE SAME TIME!  He manages to rock their shit silly and then remind them to drive home safely.  Not only is he a rock god, but he also cares about responsible driving and road safety.  

How do you do it, Phil?  You have Rip Van Winkle/Allan Ginsberg on guitar.  You have “guy in red parachute pants and matching v-neck parachute shirt” as a backup singer.  Wait, is that why you are the coolest guy on the stage?  Because you surround yourself with these characters?  I’m on to you Collins.

Aside:  Do you think during rehearsals before the tour starts, he’s rocking with the band, throwing out reMEMba’s like crazy and then stops everything to berate the drummer:

“Whoa Whoa WHOA!  Stop.  Stop everything.  What the fuck, Jason? ”

“What’s that Mr. Collins?”

“Are you fucking retarded?  How many times do I have to tell you, mate?  Its high-hat high-hat cymbol.  HIGH-HAT HIGH-HAT CYMBOL!  Get it fucking right.

“But I thought-”

“Oh you thought? You thought, huh?  Did you think that you used to play drums in a little band called Genesis?  Was that you?  How many gold records do you have?  Well?”

“None, Mr. Collins.”

“Then how bout you shutdafuckup?”

“Yessir”

“Now you miss that one more time, and your going on tour with Don Henley.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“Now where was I?  Oh yeah.  Take me hooooooooooooo-o-ooooooome”

[... and scene]

That’s all for me.  I just needed to get the Phil Collins out of my system.  I don’t even know how I came across it on youtube.  But I did, and it consumed me on this evening.  I wonder what Phil Collins is doing right now?  He’s probably asleep across the pond, in jolly ole England.  But where ever you are Phil Collins, thank you for writing Take Me Home.  Tonight, it made everything seem right.

Today the NFL took a major hit.  Love him or hate him, Tom Brady was good for business.  As a Patriots fan, I feel awful.  Apart from a plane full of players crashing, losing your starting QB and last years MVP has got to be among the worst things that a team/fan can experience.

Personally I am lost.  Brady hasn’t missed a game since he took over for Drew Bledsoe in 2001.  He has been a rock, leading game winning drives and banging some of the hottest tail in the world. He is a personal hero of mine and the news of his injury, and the fact that he may be out for the season, has left me without direction.  I am spinning with no gyroscope.  I can’t eat, but have no problem drinking… in excess.  In my eukaryotic cells, the pyruvate has refused to enther the mitochondrion, thus it isn’t becoming full oxyidized by my Krebs cycle (which is now only running on evaporated dreams), so respiration isn’t taking place and my cells are fucked.

The only silver lining I could come up with is that this year I won’t have to wait until February to learn that the Pat’s aren’t going to win the Super Bowl.

What the fuck?  I need answers.  When did I take up residence on the Htrae?  The Colts lose to the Bears?  The Chargers lose to the Panthers?  If nobody gets stabbed at the Raider game on Monday night, I am packing up and moving to Canada, because shit will have officially become to weird for me here.

All of the above was how I felt until I viewed the following clip.  It explained everything and now I get it.  Everything isn’t right, but it’s as it should be — and who knows, maybe Matt Cassel is the next Tom Brady (or maybe I’m the next Tom Brady.  We’re both slow, white dudes with rocket arms and charming genitals.)

Just replace “Kenny” with “Tom Brady” and you will understand.  Enjoy!

(You might have to refreah the page before you can get the clip to play)

Oh my God, what is that behind you?  Oh, thank Jeebus, it’s just another Moment with St Rocketcool.

Thank you and help a hobo.

Gas prices are soaring. The Energy Department tells consumers to “go fuck yourselves.”

The Midwest is underwater.

Our President might be blind and is definitely retarded.

The Celtics are up 2-1 over the Lakers.

Lets face it, the end of days is nigh.

The ship has gone off the rails and soon angels and demons will be fighting for our very souls. Naturally, I will be betting on the outcome. I’ll take heaven beating hell by day six and with day seven not needing to be played.

Will I be left behind? Probably not. I’m sure I have a suite reserved in hell, somewhere between the obese/unwashed hobos and the anal rape sauna. I’ve been resigned to this for a while, and have been increasing my fiber intake as a precautionary measure.

But I am not ready to go yet. There are a few things I would like to accomplish on this earth, before I am plummeted into hells fiery pit that only plays techno music. I have been in a list making mode, lately, so I give you my veritable but not venerable (and hopefully funnier/more entertaining than the movie) bucketlist of things I want to do before I die.

10) Fire a gun.

I’ve shot a paintball gun and a BB gun (without putting my eye out, mind you) but never a real gun. I would prefer it was a .44 Magnum, but I’d settle for sawed off shotgun.

9) Get into a fight

I’ve always wondered what it would be like to get into a fight, but I am kind of a pussy, so I guess what I am really wondering, is what it would be like to get my ass kicked. Either way, I want to know what I am made of (cotton candy and tears?)

8 ) What a dick tastes like.

I’m not gay (not that there is anything wrong with that), but I am curious. Women seem to enjoy it, or at least pretend to, and gay guys seem to love it. Am I missing out on something great? (Am I like the one person who has never tried chocolate and then eats a Hershey bar and falls in love with it and doesn’t stop eating chocolate until I’ve given myself type 2 diabetes?) Why has it always struck me as icky? I bet a cock tastes better than a vagina.

7) Courage

I’m afraid of most things. I wonder what it would feel like to be John McClane. Hell, I’d settle for what it feels like be Sgt. Al Powell (and that would take care of #10 too, because then I would also know what it was like to shoot a gun… at a kid)

6) I would like to be either famous or notorious for a day.

I really don’t care which. I do want to make my living as a writer and know that there is sometimes fame attached to that, but I have a feeling that I would become very J.D. Salinger in no time at all. I bet it’d be fun for a while though. I’d got to fancy restaurants and order off the menu and adopt a black/asian (blasian?) baby. I’d wear big sunglasses and a “who farted” t-shirt everywhere too.

5) Experience Zero Gravity/ Go to space

How cool would that be? To float around and do summersaults and piss into a bag and fly among the stars. There is no cooler occupation that astronaut. Period. Which brings me to #4.

4) Fuck in Zero Gravity

Many view this is crazy and say that it wouldn’t be very good because you’d keep floating apart. I don’t care. I want to do it, because it would be super sweet.

3) Fuck Elizabeth Berkeley

I don’t care how old she is or how many shitty movies she makes, this has always been a fantasy of mine. I totally thought she was more attractive on Saved by the Bell then Tiffani Amber Thiessen or Lark Voorhies, and she will always be Mama Jessica “Jessie” Myrtle Spano to me.

2) Burn down a Starbucks

What? I work there and hate it. Seeing a smoking pile of rubble that used to be that bane of my existence, before the earth implodes would great. Fill it with a handful of asshole customers and I’d think it was my birthday.

1) Get a haircut I was satisfied with

Yep, I have never been truly happy with a haircut. Maybe its not the haircut but my lack of hair or general appearance, but dammit, if existence as we know it was coming to an end and I see Jesus flying around punishing sinners with his laser eyes, I would like a fucking decent haircut. Is that to much to goddamn ask? I mean shit, I am a grown-ass-man. I just want a haircut that doesn’t make me look retarded/riddled with cancer.

There you go, my “bucketlist.” What would you like to do before you shuffle loose this mortal coil?

Thank you and parking will not be validated.

Call a sitter or put just lock the kid in the closet because it is time for another Moment with St. Rocketcool.

You may now commence lovemaking.

C$

We are supposed to use this assignment to dig deep and reveal something about ourselves, and in the process probably learn something about who we are along the way.  Sadly, I don’t have any juicy stories to tell about a misspent youth or public urination.  I’m just your typical white, middle class, average guy.  My closets are filled, not with skeletons, but cobwebs. 

I really only have one thing that I don’t let people know, most of the time, and that is because it is more embarrassing, then anything else.  For you see, I have a slight problem (or maybe its a gift, who the hell knows) and that is my memory.  For some reason, I usually can’t remember where I put my shoes, how to factor radicals or the number of States in the Union, but I have no trouble calling up useless facts about 80s and 90s television shows.  Who’s the 23rd President?  No clue.  Who played Boner on “Growing Pains”?  Andrew Koenig.  Did I remember to pick up my wife’s dry cleaning?  Nope.  Do I remember the name of the comic strip that Ted Knight drew in the sitcom “To Close For Comfort”?  Yep, The Cosmic Cow.

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Peek inside my brain and spend: A Moment with St. Rocketcool

Thanks for stoppin' by!

Warning, the following contains Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull spoilers and naughty language.  You have been warned.

This morning I woke up and the day was nothing but possibilities.  I was happy, rearing to go and excited because yesterday I had made plans with a friend to go see a movie.  A movie which was the fourth in a series of movies that I absolutely loved.  This was a big deal because I had never seen any of these movies on the big screen before.  Raiders of the Lost Ark came out the year before I was born.  I was two when Temple of Doom was released and was still in a Ninja Turtles phase when Last Crusade bounded onto the screen.  I had to make love to these movies through a VHS player and a 27 inch screen and while pleasant, wasn’t ideal.  Now, finally, in 2008 I would see a new Indiana Jones movie, in a theater!  Not only that, but Spielberg was directing, Harrison Ford was starring and even Karen Allen was back.  Hot damn.

At 3:45pm PST the movie started.  At 3:55pm PST I began to get worried.  At 5:45pm PST when I left the theater I felt like something was terribly wrong.  I struggled with words.  I tried convey a sense of what I just went through, and that is when I realized…

On Tuesday, May 27th, 2008, I paid $8 for George Lucas to rape me.  

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For your listening pleasure – A Moment with St. Rocketcool

The title pretty much says it all, “I am ashamed.”  Throughout my 25 years on this earth, I have been ashamed of a few things I have done.  Things like not stopping at car accidents I have witnessed or holding the door for someone who is older and having a hard time managing, but recently I have been indulging in something that I know is bad for me, but like heroin, is fucking addictive as shit.  

I have watched the first six episodes of A Shot at Love 2 with Tila Tequila.  God help me.  The worst part is, I haven’t yet hit bottom. For you see, I foresee watching the rest of the episodes and inevitable reunion episode that MTV is so fond of.  

How’d it begin?  Like all things, I started innocently enough and is now rapidly spiraling out of control.  One night, five weeks ago, I couldn’t sleep and was channel surfing (do people still call it that?  Somebody ask “the kids”) and landed upon the show.  I watched until the first commercial break, at which point I looked at my dog laying next to me and said, “This is fucking retarded.  Who are these people?”  The dog just groaned and went back to sleep.  Now, like any self respecting, hetro-identified male, I switched over to SportsCenter and tried not to think about the brain cells I would never see again.  

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