Sunday, November 25, 2012

Dear Giada De Laurentiis

Back when I was in college, we used to have something special.  I would wake up sometime around 2PM, and catch an episode of Everyday Italian while my housemates were in class.  That was our time, and no one could take that from us.  I would close the blinds and put on my best Bouncing Souls shirt.  You would smile at me, and cook some spaghetti alla puttanesca.  This is how we would do our dance of love.

Eventually, I came to find out that I was not the only one smitten with your heavenly Italian foods and low cut tops.  I shouldn't be surprised, seeing as gnocchi is a natural aphrodisiac.  The most jarring instance that comes to mind was during a trip to a pawn shop in Bangor, ME.  As I perused the display cases with my friend Furious T. and debated the merits of the plethora of bolo ties on display, we noticed that you were on the television.  Both of us stopped to watch for a moment, then looked at the grizzled man behind the counter.
           "You boys like this show, too?" he uttered lustily, never taking his eyes from the screen.  A smattering of spittle and B&M beans crusted the corners of his mouth, and I am certain he had uttered the phrase "Looks like the spider has caught himself a fly" at least once in his life.

           T. smiled at him and commented that it wasn't hard to watch, to which the man told us, in no uncertain terms, that he would like to "Crawl up between those titties and live there."

That was the beginning of the end for us.  The gloss was off of our once perfect union.  I began to notice that you felt the need to make sure that everyone knew you were Italian, since being the host of "Everyday Italian" might leave some doubt.  Therefore, any time any vaguely Italian word came up in the script, you would milk it for all it was worth.  Mozzarella suddenly had eight syllables, and nine e's and l's.  You said pancetta in such a way that it sullied cured meats for me for at least a week. 

I will not say I no longer find you pretty.  I will simply say that through the years, you've gradually come closer to resembling a lollipop with a disturbing, omnipresent vacant smile.  It's not a happy smile.  It's the kind of smile you see on a stripper before she starts crying in the champagne room, or that glazed over look a child gets when they realize they can't spell "crescent" in the spelling bee. Also, I hate the fact that anything on your show that is filmed outside of the kitchen seems to be filmed through several layers of gauze and filters.  It's like your second unit director came straight off of a soft core porn film and decided to just use the same camera.  

I regret to tell you this, but I've met someone else.  Her name is Nadia G.  She's from a different station, and I think that maybe that is what I need at this point in my life.  I know I don't usually go for blonds, but there is a real connection there.  You both have some things in common.  You are both Italian, and you pronounce things weird.  She is Italian/French/Canadian though, so she has a little more of an excuse.  Also she dresses like she's got a 1950's fetish, and she she seems like she may be genuinely insane, but it is the exciting kind of insane.  Kind of like she may make you some dinner, give you a kiss, then punch you and sing a happy song while she eats all of the food in front of you while staring you in the eyes and never blinking.


Sunday, November 18, 2012

Dear Woman Leaving Bed, Bath, and Beyond

You may remember me from last Wednesday night.  I was the tall Adonis with the shaved head walking into Bed, Bath and Beyond as you were walking out.  You were the attractive woman that gave me a look usually reserved for use by my ex girlfriends, or for Courtney Love when someone asks her to please stop singing and take a bath.  It was a look that combined confusion, disgust, and unearned abhorrence into a frothy and bitter stew, and for once, I didn't deserve it.  You seem to think that I had been hitting on you while I was out with another woman, and there are several reasons why that is not the case. 

Yes, I smiled at you and said "Hi, how are you doing?" and yes, I was walking in with my friend Cindyloo.  She is a lady, she is my friend, but she is not my ladyfriend.  In fact, she was a few steps ahead of me, partially because she walks like a caffeinated hummingbird, and partially because I was watching a woman on an elliptical in the gym next door.  I looked away from the wonder that is yoga pants, and there you were.  We both caught each other's eye, and as a matter of courtesy, I addressed you. There was no reason to stare at me, then look at Cindyloo, and then look back at me like I was a pervert. 

Perhaps it was my smile that alarmed you.  I agree, it can be unsettling, kind of like Moe from the Simpsons.  My eyes close, I only have a dimple on one side, and it looks forced because my face hates smiling.  In the same regard, even though you are probably attractive most of the time, you looked like Don Knotts giving birth when you gave me the stink eye.  See, it doesn't feel good to be called a gargoyle, does it?

The only other issue you could have had was how I greeted you.  I would grant you that it may have sounded like I was pouring on the charm, but I assure you, my natural speaking voice just happens to be that amazing.  I am a big hit with the middle aged women that call into my work, so I am sorry if my salutation made you feel like you were being nestled in a soft, baritone embrace.  It could not be helped. 

All of this being said, you were kind of cute, so now that you know what really happened, you can meet me at the restaurant around the corner from the old B, B, and B next Tuesday.  I will be the one yelling at the server named Ryan, because he was worthless and doesn't understand what "no tomatoes" means. 

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Dear Movie Theaters

I don't make it out to the movies as often one would think.  I love movies, but I hate people.  Well, at the very least I have learned that I can't trust that people will behave themselves enough for me to enjoy the show, so I often go without.  Recently, I've made a concerted effort to get out more, so I took a trip to Washington DC to see Seven Psychopaths with my friend, Spike.

Before you think you have this all figured out, I will tell you this letter is not about the filthy drunk hipsters that sat in front of me, braying and snorting throughout the movie.  I could have told them that the movie had just been named the #1 movie in America, and they would have left to go listen to a CD of some guy in Paris, Texas banging a glockenspiel and singing off key in a petting zoo, or whatever asinine thing hipsters are doing now.  It also wasn't about the woman behind me that rustled through a garbage bag full of food through the first twenty minutes of the movie.  She stopped that when I growled at her.  I refuse to be that obvious to complain about the people making noise in a movie. 

No, this is about what you, the greedy movie theaters that are hell bent on ruining my experience.  This new movie trivia crap that you have before movies is awful, but I understand.  Instead of letting people get their conversations done before the movie begins, you have to play loud, annoying top 40 music while you give stupid multiple choice questions about celebrities.  I don't care at all if Natalie Portman almost didn't take the role of annoying female love interest in Thor, or in Ashton Kutcher has seven nipples, but I get that you get ad revenue for this, so I was content to leave it alone.  This theater in DC, however, blatantly showed commercials instead of the trivia.  I see these commercials for ten minutes out of every half hour of television I watch.  I don't need to see them for the twenty minutes before a movie starts. 

Finally, the lights went down, and I prepared myself for the previews, which I like almost as much as the movie.  I was eagerly awaiting a trailer for Red Dawn, and grew more excited as the standard "Turn off Your Phone", "Buy Our Candy", and "Obey" messages all flashed across the screen.  Finally, the previews started up!  And lo and behold!  MORE MELON PICKING, CORK SCRUBBING, FORK AND RASPBERRY COMMERCIALS.  The actual movie did not start until thirty minutes after the advertised start time.  If you are getting ad money from all of these commercials, you should not be selling movie tickets for $15 a piece.  I could have done so many things, and I doubt a jury would have convicted me for any of them.

A few nights later, I went to see Argo with my parents.  My father only sees movies that "could really happen", so he only goes roughly once every five years.  I weathered through the stupid trivia, I made it through the seven, and I counted you sick freaks, SEVEN commercials, and I was a good boy. 

Was I rewarded at the end of this with the trailer for Red Dawn?  Of course not.  You showed a music video by Kimbra.  The entire music video.  And when my father leaned over and asked me who Kimbra was and why we were watching this, my only response could be was that she was an putrid, squalling sea hag and that we were being punished for some long forgotten hubris that mankind had offended her with.  She was here to teach us that nothing would ever be alright, ever again.

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Dear TNT Network

It wasn't so long ago that you were known as the "Shawshank Network" because that was where you got 15 hours a day of your programming.  With that in mind, you can't tell me that you've got so much going on that you can't entertain ideas for better programming.  I looked up your schedule for Fridays.  You show 6 hours of Law and Order, followed by 2 hours of The Mentalist.  Unless you are trying to fight CBS for the Old People demographic, maybe it is time for a change, and that change is bringing back Monstervision.

When I was growing up, Friday night on TNT meant watching Joe Bob Briggs, that tall, lanky redneck, hosting B, horror, exploitation, and just plain fun movies.  The man was in Casino and was a correspondent on the Daily Show, and you had the gall to cancel his show.  Would you do that to Pesci or Jon Stewart?  I thought not.  Before him, Penn and Teller were hosting it, and your took the show away from them.  You were obviously young and confused, or else you were simply content to watch the world burn around you. 

In the twelve years since Monstervision aired, America has been laying the groundwork for its triumphant return.  Case in point, the Redneck Renaissance.  Blue Collar Comedy, Duck Dynasty, Hillbilly Handfishin', Rocket City Rednecks....I unfortunately could keep going.  Apparently we love rednecks and hillbillies now, so Joe Bob Briggs would fit right in.  This has to be the case, or Larry the Cable Guy would never have had ten movie roles and 50 tv roles after he decided to adopt a redneck persona.  Would this guy have gotten any of those things?  To be fair, the persona he does now shouldn't either, but I digress.

Pretentious wad and horrible director Quentin Tarantino has spent the last ten years convincing everyone that B- movies and exploitation movies are the best, and that every movie today owes them.  Unfortunately, he is the only one who isn't repulsed by his voice, so no one listens.  Joe Bob was preaching about how fun these movies can be for years.  He introduced me to Phantasm and Don Cascaralli, who would later direct Bubba Hotep, a movie that may in fact heal the world.  Do you want to know how he sold me on the movie?  He gave a Drive In Total to start each movie, and for Phantasm II he said
"Twelve dead bodies. Exploding house. One four-barreled sawed-off shotgun. Dwarf tossing. Ten breasts. Embalming needles plunged through various parts of various bodies. One motor-vehicle chase, with crash-and-burn. Ear-lopping. Forehead-drilling. Wrist-hacking. Bimbo-flinging. Grandma-bashing. Devil sex. Crematorium Fu. Flamethrower Fu. Four stars. Check it out."
 That was all twelve year old Greg needed to hear to know that he had stumbled across something special.  You are depriving the world of this kind of joy, just to cram in a reshowing of some Hollywood blockbuster from five years ago  No one wants to watch Book of Eli edited for television.  That is how you get a "Yippee Kay Yay, Mr. Falcon" scenario.