Adventures in Bating (Bad Online Dating) Part 3

Well gang, it has been real but it’s time for the third and final installment in Bating. It is now March, I am leaving the past two months behind me, perhaps a little wiser, but more than anything I am perplexed.

When I was 14 or 15, my friends and I would walk down the street to 711 for some snacks. I would say that 4 out of 5 times we did this we were always honked at my some filthy 1984 Ford filled with middle aged landscapers. REALLY? First of we are 14, have fun in prison you creepy rapist, and two, do you really think that is how you get women to drop their panties? If the best way to get a date or get laid was honking at women from the side of road then there would not be online dating. In fact, movie and restaurant revenues would drop cause who needs to take a girl out when the key to their hearts is the sound “la cucaracha” from a low-rider El Camino?

Why do I tell this little anecdote? Because that same disgusted feeling I got from being vehicular harassed at 14 I get when I go to check my Match.com messages and it’s all 40+ year olds with molester mustaches asking me if I would be interested in going for an older man.  Listen you pathetic shitheads, if I was interested in guys my Dad’s age I would have stated so or I would probably be on another website that would require me to pay $2.99 a minute for hot greybeard fetish shit. Bleh…

ANYWAY…It’s March and I must admit I’m a little pessimistic now.  I roll back on my reaching out to potential matches as I have come to realize that apparently the type of guy I’m into is not into me (LUCKY ME!). Maybe I need to wear oversized glasses with no lenses and a gross polygamy bun on the top of my head. Apparently it’s an atrocity to look nice and curl your hair in Portland.

March: Part III

“International Week”

I have two dates with two different guys from two different countries of origin in one week.  I dub this week, International Week!

I go on a date with “Taj”. Taj is from India. He is very good looking but has fallen victim to an Axe Body Spray bath. Taj speaks English very well, but extremely fast and with a very thick accent.  I  have to admit I do a lot of smiling and nodding. We go out for a beer. He has not been in Portland very long and informs me of all the ways he is meeting people, through Match and through a group called “Meet-up.” I like that he is being pro-active but something is off. I agree to go on a second date with him, but when I offer to go out and do something he suggests a quiet night with a movie. I’m reluctant as I don’t typically invite people over to my apartment on a second date but I go with it. He brings over Riesling (ummm okay), all I have to watch is Human Centipede 2. He pees with the door open (ummmm oooookaaay) then as we are watching the movie he lays down on my couch then throws this legs over mine like we have been a couple for years (ummmmmmmmm wtf?) We have to change the movie because he can’t handle my obscure movie selection (NOTE TO READERS: Mouth to Anus Horror drives people away! Use it as on out on your next blind date!). At the end of the night I yawn really obnoxiously and over the top which is code for “get the fuck out.” My apartment reeked of Axe for days I swear!

I go on a date with “Fjord.” No he not a majestic snowy mountain in Norway but a super duper tall guy from Germany. I’m stoked because I get to wear my tall shoes. He is pretty hot from the pictures I see and I get all dolled up. When I see him the first time, I get really nervous which never happens and I just wanted to melt into a puddle of disgrace after I did really awesomely embarrassing first date things:

1)      I shook his hand (ARG! I think he was going in for a side hug and I SHOOK his hand! Great I just announced to the world that I am on a first date).

2)      I ask “Do you come here often?” (REALLY? I used an awful pick up line as a sentence? FML.)

Fjord informs me is getting over a cold and probably won’t stay long (Oh fucking great, he is also probably also gonna tell me he wants to move back to Alaska to body build or some shit). I think we have a nice time. He is interesting and kinda dreamy. I ask after our date if he wants to hang again, he says yes, but I can tell he is full of shit. The next week when I send the offer text, it is declined with “I think you are really funny but I did not feel that initial spark I was looking for.” This is code for, go join the clown academy fatty.” Trust me, I speak pretentious German.

As March draws to a close I realize that Match.com has an awful glitch. Every day you get an obscene amount of “daily matches.” Normally 1 out of 16 is worth contacting. The daily matches are made worse by the fact that the system matches you with people you have already interacted with. Thanks Match, I really wanted to be reminded that “that guy” did not work out, or that I totally ignored “that guy’s” texts. Why don’t you rub some shit in my face along with the uncomfortable reminders of online dating failure.

March 31^st hits. Match asks me 8 different ways if I’m sure that I am ready to leave. I can’t hit the “yes, cancel my subscription” button fast enough.  Here are the three main lessons I learned from online dating: 

1)      Whatever height a guy says he is, subtract 2-3 inches;

2)      Always make sure there is a super close up picture and a “current” full body picture of your date (if a man can’t tell if you just died your hair from blonde to black he does not know how to eyeball his own height/weight);

3)      No times out of 10 you will make it past the second date;

4)      If you are 5’11 or taller, your fucked, it’s a short girls market;

5)      Always  show up 5 minutes late (you don’t want to be the ass sitting by yourself looking like you just lost your cat).

In conclusion, I hope you all enjoyed Bating (Bad Online Dating). I hope you had as much fun reading them as I did writing them and if you are out there in the totally effed world of Bating yourself, I salute you.  For me, I’m off to Christian Mingle.com….ha ha yeah right. God speed ladies and gents.

Adventures in Bating (Bad Online Dating) Part 2

Welcome to Part Deux of Bating! An exciting adventure through the trials and tribulations of judging people based off a series of boring and inane questions! Do like Dogs? Yes! Thumbs  up! Do you have Dogs? No… Thumbs down !


As I enter into February, I am still on Match.com.  While in January I was more passive and waited for people to message me, I decide to take a new approach of contacting people first.  This is when I get my first taste of online rejection. I write to a few choice hotties looking all adventurous n’ shit , but alas, they too are “all peak and no speak” to quote short butt-hurt guy from last month. While I think that I have a great deal in common with the contacted hotties, I come to the conclusion that I have a deal breaker in my profile. Are you ready? I DON’T SNOWBOARD! I know right? Someone better take me out back and shoot me because HOW can I live in Oregon and not live to jump out of bed  at 5 am every fucking weekend, drive up a hazardous icy road, spend 200 bones on lift tickets, water resistant puffy pants and god knows what else just to put myself in a situation where I could potentially suffocate to death in an avalanche? Then drive back down that frigid windy, slippery as fuck road that no doubt has 1,000 foot cliff drop off to one side with no guardrail? Nah I’m cool, I’m from the desert yo! Don’t judge me!


Part II: February
I go on two dates with a guy named “Larry”. I like Larry, he comes from a similar situation— we both ended relationships at the beginning of the year and figured, hey why not jump back into the dating scene rather than eat ice cream and Cheetos in the dark while simultaneously crying to Meat Loaf and Journey songs (CHOKING HAZARD!). We have a great first outing. I actually get compliments! For those of you men unfamiliar with the word “compliment” Websters defines it as formal or respectful recognition. Try it out sometime! Larry and I go out on second date and have another great time, “Wow” I think, “this could be fun!” But oh oh, Larry falls ill with Imayhavejumpedintodatingtoofastocondria. I tell him we can take it slow, that we are by no means in a relationship. Unfortunately this worsens his condition and he falls ill with Iforgothowtousemyphoneitis, a very common sickness in men scared to death of commitment. Therefore, Larry and I did not work out. Damn and he was hot too! Oh well…


I go on a date with a guy named “Barry.” Barry and I actually talk on the phone a few times before we set up a meeting. This is unheard of these days, you know, real phone conversations that last longer then , “Hey. What time? Okay. Bye.” He sounds unique, but his schedule sounds a little crazy. We meet up for a happy hour on a Friday. Dang he is hot too! Two in a row? Too good to be true? Yes unfortunately.  We have some great conversation, he tells me he is slightly embarrassed to be doing online dating which is understandable; I am too to some extent. We have two drinks then he announces that he as an early Saturday and he needs to go. I stand up, “Wow you are tall!” he remarks but probably not in a good way. I know this is not a good sign. He walks me to my car, I go home way too early for a Friday. The following week I ask if he would like to meet again and the text I essentially get is “I want to focus on work and exercise and am not really interested in doing this whole Match thing. I’m going to move back to Alaska.”  My mind immediately points to my online dating flaw, the snowboarding! I said I didn’t snow board! I let the guy repellant slip! I say nice meeting you. The next month I get my “daily matches” and he pops up on there.  Not into Match anymore huh? Glad I did not go out with that liar again.


I go on a date with a guy name “Perry.” Perry only has one picture on the site, but it looks decent enough, plus it says he is like 6’5. YES! We exchange a few texts and agree to go out for a beer. All I gotta say is I’m real glad I had just come from a party where I had had like 6 mimosas cause Perry’s picture did not include one thing that was very apparent on him in person. HIS HUGE ASS 1920’s BARBERSHOP QUARTET MUSTACHE! Which would have maybe worked if he were wearing hipster clothes, but he was wearing like ,jock clothes! It was the epitome of “one of these things is not like the other one, one of these things does not belong.” We had a few beers, he ordered two dinners, not because he was fat but because apparently he still eats like a growing teenager.  He can actually hold a conversation which is nice but I’m too focused on the delicately beeswax soaked curled ends of his ridiculous facial hair. I call it a night at 9 p.m. , cause let’s face it, I have been drinking since 11 a.m. and I don’t actually want to convince myself that kissing him would be a good idea because his manicured face drape would probably rip my mouth off. I don’t call him again.


At the end of February I am feeling a little defeated. I only have one more month left on my self-imposed Bating deadline and so far it turns out people are kinda untrustworthily b-holes. But I still keep the faith alive. Little do I know March has all kinds of weird shit in store for me!


Stay tuned for Part III: March, where you get to learn all about “International Week”!

Adventures in "Bating" (Bad Online Dating) Part 1

As some of you may or may not know, this past January, after I was dumped on New Year’s Eve for apparently being an aspiring yuppie who watched too many movies on Sunday, I decided to,  once and for all try my hand at online dating.  My foray lasted 3 months, a self imposed timeline I gave myself to see if all the hype was true, or if the nightmare was in fact a living one.


Since then some of “you” have mentioned that I should/should have blogged about it a la SJP in Sex in the City, cause let’s face it, I’m way funnier than Carrie Bradshaw. At first I rejected the idea, but now in retrospect I realize that I was afraid of hurting the feelings of people I was never going to see again and frankly that was retarded of me. So without further ado, here is my rundown  in three parts by month, of the shit show that is online dating.  Names have been changed to protect the innocent.


Part 1: January


I pay for Match.com, why? Because for some inane reason I feel that if you have to pay for it that means it has higher quality or something like that? Right? Oh was I wrong….


I realize right away that men opt for “distant body shots” rather than close ups of the face. Why is this troubling? I want to see if you have bad teeth not a reverse mirror shot of your abs taken with your iphone. 


I put a height restriction on my profile. This does not stop short dudes from leaving super inappropriate pleas to get me to talk to them. “C’mon baby, height doesn’t matter when we are lying down in bed together!”  I don’t respond to these because I am too busy trying to get the puke out of my mouth.  Additionally, I also  thought I would save myself the headache of  responding to emails of people I don’t think would be a good fit for me (People are alerted when others view their profile)by not replying at all . Apparently this is just an atrocity because I get more emails with gems like “All peak and no speak?” Really Dude? Do you really want me to send you a rejection email? I think the fact that I did not respond is obvious enough but if you really want me to put into words how I really disliked the fact that you have been divorced three times and how I think it’s really tacky that your main photo is you pursing your lips on your Ducati then yes, I will waste 5 minutes of my life making you feel like shit.


I go on two dates with a guy named “Boyd.” Boyd is nice but I lead all the conversations. He smiles and nods a lot, I feel like Fran Dresser, all aggressive n’ shit. He is a truck driver so he is out of town two weeks a month. I see that this is probably why he has a hard time meeting chicks. I’m not really that upset when he does not call again though he did have some good stories about prostitutes running back and forth at truck stops holding their high heels. He assured me he had never been with a prostitute because after hearing shit like that, I had to ask.


I go on one date with a guy named “Floyd.” Floyd and I email quite a bit before meeting, he sounds smart and witty but I’m worried that all of his photos are “distant body shots.” On the day of our date I check out the website where he is a sports writer because I’m stealthy like that.  I see a closer up photo, I’m now slightly worried. Upon meeting him I see that he has fibbed with about his height. He is not awful looking but he has extremely feminine hands. We have nice time but I feel like if I ever hit his hand too hard they would shatter all over the floor and frankly, porcelain dolls have always given me the creeps.


I go on one date with a guy named “Lloyd.”  First thing out of his mouth is “wow you are tall!” I will continue to hear this over the next few months which frightens me because apparently I am going out on dates with people that do not know how to read. I have a nice enough time with Lloyd. He is kind a geeky but handsome, he is from Wisconsin and I try REALLY HARD not to make fun of his accent. He unfortunately  has also fibbed a bit about his height. Lloyd wants to get crunk so we do, he buys me beers I cannot possibly finish on a Wednesday but its a fun night nevertheless. I go home after but we never talk again.


At the end of January I am feeling slightly good about this online dating thing. Sure nothing has worked out yet, but the year is still young right? We will find out how wrong I am, next time on Czek This Shit Out!
Stay tuned for Part 2: February—oh la la!

"Have My Babies God Dammit!"

Another season of America’s most fraudulent way to find love is upon us, yes the Bachelorette has started! As with every season, the ladies and I join together to heckle and judge the shit out of every contestant and of course, the Bachelorette herself. Emily Maynard looks like a Barbie Doll so I can’t wait for her to lose her shit on one of these guys. By the looks of them, the new contestant standard for the show is that your neck needs to be twice the size of your head.

Last night was the second episode of the season and “Team Wino” was in full form. Typical show format has us viewing two one-one dates sandwiched between the oh so awkward group date, where everyone smarms and hisses at each other in an attempt to impress Emily whose favorite saying is, “I’m so excited!” but said in the most non-amused dullsville way possible.

Last night Emily choose to go on a one-on-one date with Gerber (real name, oh shit I forgot to care!) We originally started calling Gerber, Baby Hair because we were all severely perplexed by the shape of his head and as to why his hair looked so fucked up. We were all pretty bummed that Emily had a nice time with Gerber. Gerber loved the shit out of his date because he got to eat cookies and slurp on juice boxes cause what Gerber Baby would not like that?

Next up was the group date which consisted of about 15 of the guys hanging out with some of the Muppets to do a show to raise money for some foundation , for now we will just call it “Children’s Sickness Foundation” and no that is not a branch off of  NAMBLA. One of Team Wino’s least favorite contestants , Carmex (Kalan) was of course not on this date as we are sure that helicopter riding male Courtney clone will be getting some one on one action soon.  It’s okay though, he got a pretentious fatherly lecture from (Dead) Shark Eyes aka Doug “I’m the Single Dad so I’m better than all of you.” Shark Eyes eventually layed off Carmex mostly because the glare coming off Carmex’s botoxed lips was too blinding for Shark Eyes tiny pupils to handle. I’m glad someone is keeping Carmex in business. ANYWAY back to the group date where sweet as pie Charlie admitted to Emily that he was deathly afraid of public speaking (STUTTER ALERT!) We think it is a result of traumatic brain injury he talked about in the first episode. He is just a big softly with a heart of gold and a face full of metal.  Then there is this Stevie guy who is so unappealing we does not even deserve one of Team Wino’s sweet nicknames. If the Situation and one of those girls from Jerseylicious had a baby and that baby took a shit, that shit would still be more appealing than this Stevie guy. Overall the group date as not as awkward as we all hopped.

Emily’s next one on one date was with Joe. Joe did not get a nickname either mostly because he could not put a finger on who the fuck he looked like, all I could see was a whole lotta neck.  He got sent home pretty much because he did not blurt out “I want you to have my babies Emily!

Later on for the final mixer before the rose ceremony Emily made skater boy Yeph (Jef) open up a bit and he got a rose, another thing this guys needs is stop styling his hair like Tilda Swinton. Yikes! Gerber wrote Emily a sappy seven page letter that he made her read out load right as Beavertron (Tony) walked into the room. That shot was totes AWKWARD! But he stuck it out and looked around nervously like he was actually masto-ing to the whole thing quietly in a dark corner. He is also getting brownie points from Emily because he is also a single Dad but not nearly a big a dick as Shark Eyes is.

In a devastating turn of events Emily sent home one of our ponies that we picked to win, the hot science teacher (Aaron) I think it is because she did not like his hipster glasses. Its okay Aaron come to Portland, ladies be on that hot nerd shit here like washed up bachelorettes on Bartells and James.

Fuck You Rachel McAdams

First off, you are super hot, like, you are my girl crush. Your smile is all enchanting n’ shit and you pretty much get away with any hair color. Blonde? Nailing it! Redhead? Hottie! Brunette? Mysterious!

On top of having a banging body you have pretty much played opposite every bone-able stud in Hollywood, in particular in films where they are all swooning over you (your character, whatever) and would pretty much eat shit if it meant being able to be with you.

Case in Point!

The Notebook:  If you don’t even like this movie a little bit I’m sure your heart is made of a wad of poisonous snakes that when ripped out of your cold chest fall to the ground and disintegrate into a pile of black flame.  Ryan “I’m so hot I turn homophobes gay” Gosling  rebuilds a decrypted mansion for Rachel because they almost effed in their once in hopes of beckoning her back into his sexy man arms. Oh ! Did I mention he writes her a letter EVERY SINGLE DAY FOR A WHOLE YEAR? Seriously Nicholas Sparks, I don’t know what planet you are from but if you could please direct me to the galaxy where men actually do shit like that, I would like to take a film crew there to bring back proof to earth. Rachel’s only obstacle in this movie is dealing with her mean rich as fuck parents, a small hurdle if you ask me. Why you gotta make Ryan work for it Rachel!?

The Time Traveller’s Wife:  Unlike Nicholas “I got single bitches eatin’ out of the palm of my hand” Sparks, this book was written by a women, Audrey Niffennegger (she is actually a great writer and this book is the shit). HOWEVER, once again Rachel and her cute little red ringlets suck in another unsuspected beef cake in the form of Eric Bana who, wait for it, TRAVELS THROUGH TIME AND SPACE TO BE WITH HER! I have had a hard enough time getting the ex-boyfriend to go to a fucking  party with me let alone, oh I don’t know, bend the space time continuum.  Sure Rachel is faced with the prospect of having her huzzy disappear at unknown times, but once again, small hurdle! Damn you Rachel!

The Vow:  Yes, I watched this last night, and yes this is why I am writing this longish diatribe/rant about Rachel McAdams. In this movie poor Rachel gets a head injury and loses her memory and can’t remember that she is married to Channing “Sensitive as Shit” Tatum.  If I woke up from a coma and Channing Tatum was standing over me all “We are married yo!” I would be like “Sweet fuckin’ job me!” not as Rachel in the movie acted, all disgusted and whiny.  Because Rachel is a heartless harpy, she pretty much puts Tatum through the task of making her fall in love with him again. This guys wants Rachel so bad he is gonna go through that whole courting bullshit not once, but twice!!! Maybe next time you should wear a seatbelt Rachel before you put another man through your hellish love game!

I need to go watch something were things explode and heads get chopped off with machetes now.

Quick! Get Thee to the Park!

Well, the few of you that still read this blog have probably been, “Where the fuck is my awesome daily dose of Hallie banterings? If you have not, then great…I can stop berating my therapist with guilt musings over unaccomplished projects. Sike! I can’t afford a therapist! Man you really fell for that one!

But seriously folks, there really has not been that much cool to write about. My movie habit has decreased due to the sunny days and Rick Santorum turned me down for an interview because he is apparently too busy being the world’s most idiotic human (that and there was a clearance on Cosby sweaters at Marshalls).

One thing I feel entitled to write about today is Portland when it is sunny and the phenomenon of people that influx to Colonel Sumners Park, located on SE 20^th and Belmont. The park is equivalent to high school, and by that statement I mean it’s real “cliquey.” Below is an educational list of all the different groups you can find hanging out at Colonel Sumners High on any given sunny day. This is merely an observation, I find many of these groups necessary to fill out the park dynamic and appreciate seeing them all co-exist on acres of half lush half muddy terrain.

1)      Borderline Homeless Ravers

This lovely group of people can normally be found huddled around a picnic table, one preferable close to bushes. Their age range is 12-45 and their dress code is dingy pajama pants, shirts that are too small and accessories that really scream “who is ready to drop molly and watch me wave some glow-sticks in your face?” They chain smoke, occasionally bust out into dance and would probably give their left nut for a can of Sparks. You have no idea if they are actually friends or if they were all sporadically wondering around the park, spotted the table with someone wearing similar attire and said “I should go hang out over there! They look like they have meth sores just like me!”

2)      Cirque Du Soleil Posers

How do these guys gather? Does someone send out an email like “It’s supposed to be super sweet tomorrow! Gather up your hula hoops, stilts, glass balls and meet me at Sumner bros! I’ll bring my slack line and a 6 pack of my kombucha home brew!” Look,  I’m sure slack lining requires a great deal of skill, but It’s as fleeting as parkour-- not a lot of people can do it and the only fame you will probably ever achieve will be from You Tube, unless you are that Art Garfunkel looking guy from the Super Bowl halftime show.

3)      Inevitable Solo Guitar Guy

Okay, so this is not a really a group but you see this guy everywhere, he is on campus, he is on the bus, he is at parties, but most of all, he is at the park.  Let me be clear, I do not hate on people that like to take their love of music to the public ears, more power to them. But If you are that guy that tries really really really hard to sound  like the lead singer from Incubus or god help me Dave Matthews and your really not that good at the guitar to begin with, keep that shit inside for I would prefer to enjoy my time in the park sans the pretentious sounds of amateur hour.

4)      The Librarians

I thought the park was for socializing with your friends? I read “alone” in the park, why? Because it is something I like to do when I don’t feel like socially interacting or my friends or busy. I don’t really understand the concept of 4 people sitting on a blanket ready heavy ass shit like Dostoevsky and Foucault.  “Geez Kim, can you shut up I’m trying to read Crime and Punishment over here!” I think I would be more forgiving if it was People or US weekly.

5)      Incorrect Dodgeballers

I used to play Dodgeball a few years back and it was some competitive intense shit. Maybe I’m used to the thrill that comes from the sparseness of players and balls. I just can’t see how 30 plus people on either side of a tennis net is fun. I mean, you have to clear the net, right? That would result in balls being thrown higher which are easier to catch, right? Frankly it looks like a hipster clusterfuck with no way to keep track of score but I guess that might be where the fun lies. I guess I should not knock it till I try it but I feel like I would need sufficient beer beforehand to make up for potential lack of action in the court.  Gotta stay entertained somehow!

6)      Moms That Used to Be Hip!

Hey remember me! I used to do all the cool things you do like go to Stumptown and shows at the Doug Fir, but oops looks like I accidentally got married to a rich guy with a sweet spread in Ladd’s Addition and now I try to relive my cool days by dragging my children to the same park I used to roll joints in! Fuck I am so bored!”

Heart-string Yank Job

When I first saw the preview for the documentary “Being Elmo” I knew I wanted to see it. As many children of the 80’s I grew up on Sesame Street and The Muppets and have a nostalgic fondness for the characters and perhaps even puppets in general. The film is entirely based around Puppeteer Kevin Clash’s journey from inventive child (though often called a weirdo cause he played with “dolls”) to the man that created the voice and personality of the creature that thousands of children call Elmo.  Despite the focus on Clash, there is also good info on Jim Henson and in general the close knit clan of puppeteers that made so many Muppet driven projects (Labyrinth, The Dark Crystal) possible.

The documentary focuses of two things: First, what is means to be a puppeteer and second, the influence the (m)puppets have on their audience.

The film jumps back in forth between Kevin the boy with a felt and googley eyed dream and Kevin as the most in demand puppeteer out there. In one scene we see him rehashing the details of stealing his father’s lamb skinned coat to make his first creation and in another he in France, teaching the cast of the French Sesame Street how to move their puppets more natural, so that they are more convincing to children as real things.  Through the back in forth we the viewer start to conceptualize what it truly means to be in this unique profession. Shot after shot you see a bunch of people huddled together doing strange voices behind a prop of set and it is amazing to see that this is actually what some people so day in and day out. I starred in awe but was also wondering if they ever get wicked shoulder or hand cramps, god forbid laryngitis.

Disney has known this for awhile-- give an animal or object a great personality and cute voice and you have those kids on a fish hook. I could go on at length about a child’s relationship to their toys or characters they see on TV but it’s very obvious in the film and in real life that kids attraction to Elmo is pure. Elmo does not yell at you when you are bad, he shows you all sweet as fuck how “in general” we can be better kids through practicing kindness, sharing, understanding and empathy. He is the goddamn Tony Robbins of puppets. Elmo gives hugs and kisses and laughs and even if you are a Scrooge and it annoys you, it is something that kids need when they cannot understand why the bad emotions have to be apart of life too. Clash cares deeply about kids and you can see through his efforts. Elmo does not have to visit sick kids in the hospital if he does not want to, but he does. I just about lost my shit when a little sick boy gets to finally meet Elmo and the joy on his face is so real, then they hug and it’s the waterworks. Damn you ELMO!

Some other interesting facts, while Kevin makes a great deal of his own (m)puppets he did not actually make Elmo. Elmo was a pre-existing Muppet whose voice used to sound like a caveman and frankly acted like one instead of the lovey dovey red best friend you never had he is now.  I’m glad that one day that other guy threw Elmo over to Kevin and said “see what you can do with him.”

Oh he showed us, and it has been an amazing ride ever since, sans Tickle Me Elmo. Sorry Kevin.

Male Sound Effects: A Thought Piece

This weekend I  have had a fair amount of time to myself, and it was the just the way I wanted it.  Despite the fact that I was “riding solo”, I made quite a bit of public outings; the gym, the park, the neighborhood bar to take in a delightful mimosa and download some music and podcasts.

While on my outings, I became hyper-vigilantly aware of the men around me. The lack of companionship I had granted me the opportunity to take note of something that has always been happening around me, something I did not find quite so comical until now, male sound effects. Men, also riding solo make sounds that could come from no other sex. They come in a variety of tones, intensity and timing that it something I feel completely unique to men though I would not be as so bold to say these gems don’t come from a woman from time to time.

The Gym

This place is a gold mine of awkward grunts and I’m pretty sure orgasmic noises. Those really huge muscles builders? Watch them, they are pumping 300lbs, breathing all hard n' shit, then the second they throw down that barbell like a piece of ham hock they just ate the shit of, they release what sounds like the most over the top post sex exclamations. “ Uhhhhh, oooooooh, ohhhhh sooooooooo gooooood. Uhhhh....Whoa……” Followed by more labored breathing. They have no shame in this. Why you ask? Because those guys could eat you grandma for breakfast if they were not on a steady diet of muscle milk, wheat grass smoothies and whole fucking chickens. Those guys don’t care what comes out of their mouth after they have lifted more weight than you probably ever will be able to and it’s hilarious, because as you watch it go down, you can almost see through those gritted teeth-- that he is imagining he is fucking his own ego and the aftermath is oh so delightful.

The other gym noises I hear a lot are the short painful, not as satisfying grunts. These happen during the entire duration of a set, rather than that post workout orgasmic sound. If you have ever watched Wimbledon or the US Open you are probably familiar with these sounds as they are often referred to as  tennis grunts. “Uhh! Ehg! Ahh! Urg! The come and go depending on  if your weight load is coming up of down, whether it is your return to hit the ball, etc.  These guys, a step down from the muscle buildings, don’t give two shits if you have to stand by and listen to their labored noises, you know why?  Cause this is THEIR time god dammit! Those kids? They are in mutha fuckin’ day care downstairs, this is Daddy time! This is the time they get to feel like they are not suffocating from their necktie, or swimming in handy wipes, or going to Lowe’ every other god damn weekend cause the garden does not look as good as the neighbors, this is their “feel like the mutha fuckin’ shit time and the rest of you can go to hell!” Frankly, that find with me. Grunt away, it still does not mean I’m not going to giggle under my breath.

The Bar

Ah bar sounds effects of the American male. These noises primarily are coming from a sports bar, or really any bar where there is an important sporting event is going on. The teamsters and the fans, from obsessive to fair-weather gather to collectively yell as players who will never hear their criticisms. But who gives a shit right?  They say to the world, “Let’s make everyone else in this bar feel uncomfertable for having a real  conversation with someone who is right next to them  and not 3000 miles away on a diamond making 30x what I make. Remember, dude, they are there to play sports for money, not suck your dick and make you feel better for buying that really expensive Mets satine jacket. Theses sounds effects are at least a little more expressive than the gym ones. “What are you doing!” Oh fuck not to that guy!” “Get him outta there!” “Are you kidding me?”  “What the fuck was that call!?” “Go go go go go baby go!!!” Really? “Go baby go?” Last time I checked Derek Jeter was not your girlfriend. I know you want him to “score” but let’s refrain from the “baby” talk. After all, I think there are enough ass slaps running rampant in professional sports to satisfy a lifetime of masked homosexual , under-toned comments.

It’s okay guys, carry on like no one is listening. But we are, and judging. MWA HAHAHAHAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PART 1: Elementary School--The Trouble With Eggs Is…

            I didn’t know it at the time, but who really knows anything when you’re eight. Up until that point, when our third grade class walked into our monthly group session with the school guidance counselor, did we become aware of just how gangly, clumsy and hyper-active we actually were.

Every month we got a lesson on one of the seven pillars (cement concussion hazards) of our schools core values; community, trust and a bunch of other terms that did not hold a torch to the awesomeness of freeze tag and monkey bars.  The only one that I remember that really meant something to me was the one we were going to be discussing that faithful day, the day I met Seymour.

“Responsibility. It can be a chore, like making your bed, setting the table, maybe helping your brother or sister do something.” Mrs. Schaffer always talked like she as reading us a book, complete with long pauses so she could ensure we could really make the connection between the text and the illustration. I was particularly immune to her speech seeing as I was an only child who’s only request from my parents was to stop rolling my eyes. Even at eight I had the maneuver showcasing complete lack of interest down to perfection. “You’re assignment is, for one week, to take care of an egg. You must treat the egg like your baby. You must build a habitat for your egg. You’re egg must not break and if your egg gets cracked you must repair like you would a cut or scrape on your knee.” Next to Mrs. Schaffer’s long pastel blue dress on the floor were a few dozen cartons of eggs. I looked around at my fellow students. Of course the girls were smiles of excitement, jumping at the chance to execute yet another game where their role would be that of Mother. The boys seemed indifferent.

A boy named Clark with glasses and diligently parted hair whispered to his friend behind me.“This is going to be so easy, all you have to do is boil it.”

“You cannot boil your egg that is cheating. If your egg is still intact at the end of the week you have not only completed your lesson in Responsibility but you will receive a coupon for free ice cream at next month’s ice cream social. If your egg breaks before the week is over you will have to complete an additional packet on responsibility. Now, it’s time to get your eggs. You also get to name them. I am going to write your egg’s name on it with a marker, that way they don’t get mixed up.”

The naming process was by far the most exciting thing for me. I had long been obsessed with trying to find a replacement for my own name and often signed my teddy bear drawings with a pseudonym. My favorite was Crystal because I liked things that were shinny and Jessica because it sounded normal. All of my attempts to sway my mom towards the name changing store were futile, I would get upset at her for naming me something stupid and she would ask me if I wanted to go to the New Mom store instead to which my replay was always no.

When I was eight there was a store for everything, we could not go to the grocery store for cereal, we went to the cereal store, a magic place full of every type of cereal you could imagine, every type of cereal I wanted to eat and was not allowed to due to sugar content. I would have killed just to have one bowl of fruity pebbles code name “dye flakes” and to wash it down with a glass of blue Kool Aid, code name “sugar water.”

I was last to name my egg because like every other line in the history of lines this one was organized alphabetically by last name. I had decided from the get go that my egg was going to be a boy because all the other girls had girl eggs. It is still a mystery to this day why I chose the name Seymour. I am certain that I had never heard it or thought of it till that moment, Seymour. It sounded smart, strong yet vulnerable. Seymour had all the perfect qualities of a man wrapped up in a small handheld shell, he was perfect and I could not wait to go home so I could build his home.

I owned no dog, no cat, and no measly goldfish. I had had a lizard I captured with a jar. His name was Izzy, he lived in a shoebox for three days before I came to the conclusion that he was depressed. He did not eat the leaves I so delicately picked out for him nor did he move from his rock that I gave him courtesy of my rock collection. Seymour immediately filled my pet void and he needed the best accommodations an egg could get. I took my small plastic red suitcase that contained my Barbie’s clothes and dumped them out. I took a pink plastic chair from my Barbie gym and glued it to the case. His bed was the trickiest part.

“What are you doing with all those paper towels?” My mom asked.

“I’m making a bed for Seymour. He needs some sheets on his bed.

“What about my potholder you have in your hand there?”

“Moooooooommmmm, he needs an area rugggggg…..”

“Okay don’t whine just ask, maybe I need that for dinner.”

“Okay.” I mumbled then dashed back to my miniature house laboratory. The best part about Seymour’s house was that it was portable. The worst thing about Seymour’s house was that I had to carry the suitcase like a hot pie fresh out of the oven. At school people gave me weird looks but I did not care for I knew my precious egg was warm and cozy in his custom made home. Some kids did not even show up with their eggs. When I asked Devon where his egg was he looked at me like I was wearing dog shit for a hat.

“Mine already broke. That project was dumb anyway.” Then he ran off to get to the swings before anybody else could. I was surprised to see my friend Danielle without her egg.

“That was hard. Some kid shoved me on the bus and it cracked. I got egg all over my shirt.”

I kept Seymour close all day and restricted my recess activities to things like hopscotch and tether ball so I could keep an eye on my red suitcase. A lot of kids just converted their lunchboxes to habitats and every lunch period for the next three days I watched carefully to see if anyone was about to commit involuntary manslaughter. Many injuries were sustained and  many repair methods used. The standard was a band aid. John had his entire egg engulfed in duct tape which I thought was cheating and I hoped Mrs. Schaffer would too. By the time Thursday came around a forth of the class had lost or broken their eggs and another forth whose eggs were still in pristine condition, I was a proud member of the latter.

That night as I was watching T.V. with my Dad, I decided to use Seymour in my ploy to acquire a real animal. I had already written countless notes to both my parents explaining how I would devote all my time to cleaning up poop, taking walks, feeding, training and playing with a dog if they would only let me have one.

“Do you think I am doing a good job taking care of Seymour Dad?”

“Yes, you’re doing a great job. No cracks yet right?”

“Nope. I bet I would do a really good job taking care of a dog too.” He let out a long sigh and turned to me.

“I don’t think we should talk about his right now.” My spirit perked up instantly.

“Does that mean maybe?!”

“It does not mean anything. We can just talk about it another time.” My spirit turned to mush, my stomach like Seymour’s undulating yolky center. I knew better than to ask important things during Star Trek or Knots Landing.

The next day during lunch would turn out to be a day that would forever change the way I thought about things. I was hanging out with a few kids from my class that I usually did not hang out with and I felt cool for being able to do things with just about anybody. One had already broken their egg, and the other three were toting around eggs on the verge of collapse.

“I can’t believe you still have your egg.” David said as he chucked a stick at the nearby fence.

“I know, maybe it’s because you have that big thing for it.” Derrick added on.

“It’s his habitat. Didn’t you guys build one for your eggs? I mean, weren’t we supposed to?” I asked.

“I guess so. I just used one of my socks. See.” Derrick pulled a wad of beige cloth out of his jacket. It was indeed his egg, but it was also oozing, creating a wet spot of failure for everyone to see. “Aww man. I think the stupid thing broke.” He reached his hand into his sorry excuse for a habitat and pulled out his egg. The name Bart cracked down the middle, yolk pooling into Derrick’s hand.

“Just smash it on the ground, you can’t save it now.” David said.

“Yeah you’re right. Sionora Bart!” And without even a moment for reflection or remorse, Derrick lifted up his arm high into the air and brought it down with incredible force. Bart’s insides started to slide down the incline on the asphalt hill that we were playing on. Derrick was cheered on for his deed and somehow in the thick of the excitement, I cheered for the death of Bart too. It all happened so fast, but before I knew it I was in the middle of egg genocide. David and Derrick looked so happy without their eggs, free to move and jump about as rambunctiously as they pleased, no longer burdened by the fragile white shell of responsibility. Kelly was next. Her egg, Violet, had already had a close call earlier in the week when Kelly tripped during hopscotch. Violet was now sporting two Popple band aids.

“Yeah, I don’t want to do this anymore either.” She said downtrodden. Her murder was the least enthusiastic, rolling her egg down the hill until it finally buckled under the rough tureen, cracking open just before it hit the bottom of the hill. The entire time all this was going on I held Seymour in my hand. I looked down at him, suddenly ashamed for caring, going out of my way all week long for an egg. I was the only one that cared about Seymour and he could not even care for me back, he could not even help me get a dog.

“Oops!” I said. I laid my palm flat and moved my body forward like I was experiencing a violent sneeze. It only took Seymour a second to roll off my hand and fall to the ground where he died instantly. The cheers around me were filled with approval, yet the moment I realized what I had done I felt disgusted with myself.

“Cool, now we can go play tag.” David said. I loved tag. I was incrediably fast and loved evading capture. But at that moment all I wanted to do was cry for my temporary pet was dead and I was the one that killed him.

“I’m going to take Seym- I mean, this habitat back to the classroom so I don’t have to carry it around anymore.” They were already half-way across the playground, our shared moment of egg disposal all but gone from their memories. I ran harder than I ever did before, the contents of Seymour’s home shaking around, dislodged from my perfect interior design. It was MY design, a design born out of a need to make something for someone special that had become mine. Egg or no egg Seymour had become part of me those five days and now that he was gone My emotions felt as shattered as his shell.

 For the entire duration of the bus ride home I stared at Seymour’s empty home. I thought of how well he must have slept in his custom made bed constructed out of an old envelope box and how I ended his short life just so I could look cool. I did not cry until I got home. I told my mom the whole story of how mean I was to Seymour and that I didn’t care if I was ever cool ever again as long as I never did anything like that again. I told her I felt silly for crying over an egg, she told me it was never silly to cry over things that make us feel sad. She asked me if I wanted to go to the store with her, that maybe it would make me feel better. I went. I avoided the egg section but walked out with my one and only box of fruity pebbles.

                                    

Splits and High Kicks at the Docks

Let me start out by saying I totally did this shit like 5 or 6 years ago. I had to watch Lone Wolf McQuade 3 times (2x to make the cards and once at the actual viewing), but it was all worth it. Laughs ensued and we got to watch Chuck Norris form an unlikely bond with a street kid while kicking the shit out some loathsome drug king pin, all while wearing a sweet Canadian tuxedo. This was fairly manageable event with about 10 people and easy to clarify when questions occurred as to whether or not something really qualified as a roundhouse kick

The Hollywood theater’s B-Movie bingo is exactly how it sounds. You watch an utterly awesome early 90’s and 80’s action movie filled with clichés that occur throughout and you mark your square if you have that cliché on your card. Trust me, there are a lot of awesome action movie clichés out there. The most standard involve violence, roundhouse kicks, getting thrown threw an unseemly delicate brick structure, decapitations, grenades, massive gun fire, explosions, etc. There are also more subtle(or not so subtle) character interactions like, gettin’ chewed out by the chief, partner bonding moment, love scene, etc.

Last night venture, 1993’s Hard Target starring JCVD introduced me to a whole new slew of action clichés I has missed in my own imaging of the game. Some ones I enjoyed included inside information from a bum or prostitute, falling over railing, and cleaning or licking off blade. Hard Target which I now believe to be the inspiration for Hostel, is about rich assholes that hunt down like Navy Seals and Special Opps guys(now homeless and desperate for cash) in the urban jungle known as New Orleans. JCVD plays the hero with pretty much the sweetest mullet I have ever seen in my entire life and Wilfred Brimley (yes, the Di-a-beetis guy) plays his Cajun uncle with a fondness for moonshine and arrows. Lance Henriksen plays the bad guy who you know is bad because he stares at himself intensely in the mirror while playing Bach. There are helicopters, rattlesnakes and Mardi Gras floats. It’s the shit.

I was wondering how the experience would play out in a large theater with a large crowd with such a high potential for possible Bingo’s and the ever nagging issue of whether or not the action in the movie fits the description on the card. 3 guys in the style of MST3k are regulating the whole time, helping you out when something happens to alert you that it is time to check your card. They are also there to pass judgment when you yell out if you think something happened but they did not call it. I had to do this once when the partner had obviously been injured in shoot out and the guys failed to mention it.

However this forum also allows all those people that you hated in class because they loved the sound of their own voices so much to speak up and also add their own commentary. I was fortunate enough to sit next to one of those asses, lucky me. The first three bingo’s they stop the movie and those people get a kinda nice gag gift. After that, you don’t yell out bingo but simply go up and receive a bag of grandma themed candy. I was the “lucky” recipient of a sandwich baggie filled with caramels, taffy and a bunch of other shit that is going to rip out my fillings and caps. But hey, they are trying.

Overall, this was right up my alley and I would totally go again. I think it happens every Tuesday, or maybe just the first Tuesday of the month. Either way, czek it out. Hollywood Theater, $7, $4 for a beer which you should totally have to enjoy this to the fullest extent.

Dancing with the D List: A Panel's Perspective

Once The Bachelor ended me and my panel of wine guzzling friends were at a loss of what we were going to do Monday nights now that our shit talking fodder had come to a disappointing end (Really?! Courtney?!) “Well there is always Dancing with the Stars, right?” someone reluctantly said . We all nodded in agreement that really the whole point of Monday nights was to spend time together and make fun of reality TV show contestant so why not?

Last night was an emotional night on DWTS. We the panel, Karlin, Emily and Danielle and I were under the impression that the D-list stars chose songs to dance to that tugged at their heartstrings because every time someone finished dancing they were crying, and not because one of Judge Bruno’s flailing arms hit them in the eye. Through the course of the night we picked out several performances to critique. Below is that list.

Derek Hough and his partner Maria Menounous danced the rumba to a slowed down as all hell version of Madonna’s Material Girl which we all enjoyed. They received at decent score of 27. While Maria did an outstanding job I and the panel could not hold back on our distain for Derek:

K: He totally wants her sex, look at his butt quiver!

D: He kinda has a nice butt, it’s not too big…I think

E: He reminds me of my best friends big brother who I had a crush on until I realized he was just short and a pervert. He looks like a baby pig.

H: That mustache is more immature than a 40 year old at a Carrot Top show. He needs to decide whether he wants that mustache or not.

Next up, Karina Smirnoff and her partner Gavin McGraw danced, opps too much wine forget the dance, but it was all slow n’ shit, they got a score of 24. He cried a lot after, we don’t know why though we think it has something to do with father abandonment issues.  I know, who the fuck is Gavin McGraw? Some guy who sings that one song that goes “I don’t want to be anything other than what I’ve been lately.” It was a slightly unmemorable dance. Here is what the panel had to say about this over the top EMO performance:

H: Where are your eyebrows you balding Ashton Kutcher wannabe with a Texas accent?

K: Why is there is American Beauty music playing? Please accept your receding hairline Gavin.

D: Gavin, why are you wearing that shitty necklace with such a classy outfit?

E:  Bad hat, bad beat..I see through the costume (*is that a metaphor?)

Next we tore apart “Mini-Maks” Val and Sherri Sheppard. They got a 24 and danced to a Kelly Clarkson ballad.

H: If my boobs were that big I would tip over on the dance floor. I wish I could make a career out of being all sassy n’ shit.

K: Triangle. You are a triangle.

D: Calm your face down Sherri! Mini Maks, your shirt is silken and gross…

E: Bad shirt, bad dress, I can’t wait until the Bachelorette is on. Sorry.

Next up was actually Maks and his partner Melissa “that actress from little house on the Prairie” Gilbert. They jived hardcore and I think Len got a boner, but you would never know under that “8” score paddle. Once again Mak’s had to have his shirt wide open:

H: Maks! The Ukrainian Bachelor, I don’t care what any of you say I like his open shirt! Why is MG wearing a 50’s bathing suit?

K: Gilbert, it looks like you have got a little poop in your pants, but the dress is not that bad and I know you mean it!

D: Your face is tight enough that I can’t tell if you are having fun or irreversibly sad.

E: Girl, if you are going to have stripper hair, you have to a least mean it, k?

Next up was the guy we affectionately refer to by a slew of nick names, Tall Joey Lawrence, Horsey Butt and Mexi-NO! His partner is Cherly Burke and by this point we have no clue if he is jiving or sambaing or rumbaing or what, but his shirt is also open. I think is name is William and he is a BFD in Mexico. Too bad he is on DWTS love American Style.  But as it turns out we wrote no comments for Mexi-NO because we ended up writing them about Jaleel “Urkel” White. He danced something, I’m sure Bruno stood up and flailed his arms and praised his “form.” Hubba hubba:

D: Jaleel, why are you wearing white when your last name is white?

H: Jaleel! I love entertaining people too! Don’t cry about it!

E: No…just No.

Overall it was an eventful night, and like seriously, everyone was crying because why? They never got the satisfaction of earning major bucks in their other professions? You have to show everyone you are a great dancer too! Man, people on the D list are selfish!

If you miss the Bachelor like we do I guess watch this garbage. DWTS Mondays @ 8pm on ABC

That Planet is Totes Bumming Me Out!

And people say that Terrence Malick is self indulgent! People accused the director of pretty much making The Tree of Life so that he, personally, could explore what it meant to be a living thing on this planet…existentialism, family , blah blah blah. I quite enjoyed the Tree of Life but more so for the parts that focused on the family, the rest of the stuff (the dinosaurs, the pulsating nebulas) seemed out of place and not relevant (directly) to the meat of the story.

But this piece is not about Malick’s Tree of Life. It is about Lars Von Tier’s, Melancholia.  I only brought up Malick because when I was done watching Melancholia I had the exact same sentiments that people had about Malick at the end of the Tree of Life but for Lars Von Tier, that he is very self-indulgent. If you have ever sat through Tier’s Dogville, a three hour movie that is essentially a play without many props and sets, than you can understand why I would think this. Dogville, while very unique and creative, was still an experiment that needed to be half its run time to be truly exceptional. Though I was not the biggest fan of Tier’s Dogville, that does not mean that I did not like Melancholia. I enjoyed it very much, but it is not for everyone as are many of Tier’s films which are normally about 3 hours, slow, meandering, but also strangely satisfying. At the end of Melancholia you come to realize that every shot had a purpose but not in the way you expected it to.

For a small synopsis, the film is about two sisters and how each of them copes with the impending arrival of a planet called Melancholia. The sisters are Justine (Kirsten Dunst,(Welcome back!)) and Claire (Charlotte Gainsborough). The entire film takes place at the Mansion of Claire’s husband John (Kiefer Sutherland). Aside from the human conflict, there is conflict with the unknown force, specifically the planet melancholia and whether or not the planet will collide with Earth.

The film never switches locations which add to the uncomfortableness of all the characters are feeling, and let me tell you everyone is suffering in this movie, whether silently or blatantly. The film is very character driven and explores one theme in particular, the sickness that is melancholia juxtaposed with the “object” that is Melancholia. The color structure/cinematography of the film always seems to be playing with dim lighting but more so ramps up the blue hues the closer we get to the end/climax.

The film, part drama and part sci-fi, starts out like a sweeping epic from the 50’s put with more current, eccentric imagery. Many classic films started out with an orchestral overture, the point being to set the mood for the film, get a sense from the music what emotional events you the viewer are soon to be privy to. This occurs at the beginning of Melancholia as we are treated to a beautiful score accompanied by images that will not make sense to you until the end of the film, but once you understand it is very rewarding. In many ways the film felt like a classic film, but with longer shots, some of which may seem unnecessary but as I have mentioned are very critical to the film as a whole.

The film definitely put me in a “mood” after I watched it, one I could not quite put my finger on, but perhaps that was the point the whole time. At almost 2 ½ hours, it is a touch long, but totally worth it.

Channing Tatum is Funny?

Within the first 15 minutes of 21 Jump Street, Channing Tatum was dry humping a perpetrator he had just caught, and I loved it.

I will admit I used to hate on Channing Tatum. I joined the throngs of people who would look up and the screen puzzled and say “why is this guy famous again?” In retrospect, I now see that most of those comments derived from the fact that Tatum’s voice generally sounds meatheadish, and frankly he looks like a meathead and plays roles where the general casting description is probably “meathead.”  I feel like I can make my final judgment now on him seeing him in three different genres, Stop-Loss (Drama), Dear John (Romance) and now 21 Jump Street (Comedy) and I think I kinda like the guy. Granted he still needs to beef up his resume but I was excited to see him do comedy, something that I think he is very good at and should do more of. My main conclusion is that the guys acts well with  his face, he can emote like a mother fucker, but it is his mumbling that people cannot seem to get past and I think they should.

21 Jump Street was quite good. Rather than try to remake the original TV show, it was more homage to the idea that made the show what it was. In many ways there was a lot of high school movie clichés, like that fact that we always need to have prom be the final stand-off/resolution of conflict and  start off with the standard naming and showing of the cliques. I must note that hipsters have now been introduced with the likes of the nerd, jocks and goths, of which Tatum’s characters says, “I don’t know what they are.” Turns out they are now the popular kids, smart and decked out in Urban Outfitters and vintage, the hipsters are the ones ruling the school these days which leaves Tatum’s former jock persona out of sort and Jonah Hill’s former nerd character, in. It is this reversal of fortune which brings the giggles and also works at the buddy angle that the film uses quite nicely.

For a quick recap for those that do not know the plot, Hill and Tatum play two immature police rookies who get sent to 21 Jump Street where a Korean church holds the secret headquarters of Ice T and his undercover cadets who get sent out to local High Schools to bust up small time to big time drug rings. Shenanigans ensue, Korean Jesus jokes are made as are jabs at teachers and even a few cameos happen. All in all, good times.

Hill and Tatum have good chemistry and it was fun to watch. Originally high school “enemies” they become best friends during their stint in the police academy and the bond is tested hilariously throughout the film. 21 Jump Street does not seem as long as it is. At 1 hour and 50 minutes it does run much longer than your standard comedy (sans Funny People, WTF 2 ½ hrs?) but it is all worth it. At the end they definitely made potential for a sequel, and actually I don’t think I would mind one, mostly because I want to see Channing Tatum awkwardly dry hump people.