OK, seriously: What’s with all the hubbub about high unemployment rates in this country? Because I’m still two business days away from my lay-off, and already the job offers are coming at me faster than I can keep up with them. You jobless whiners out there must be a bunch of losers; this job-search shit is even easier than kicking my kids’ asses at Candyland.
Man, this finding-a-new-job thing is going to be easier than I thought
Since learning last week that I’ve been laid off from my job of the past 10 years, I’ve been feeling a bit anxious and unsettled. So imagine my relief when, this morning, just a few short days after uploading to CareerBuilder.com a copy of my résumé, I received the following email:
It’s a good thing I’m so naturally crafty and handy and oh wait no I’m not
It was supposed to be so simple: take the little block of wood, cut it into a car-like shape, slap some paint on it, attach the wheels, ta-dah, done, finished, no sweat.
Of course, when it comes to me, nothing is simple … particularly a pseudo-carpentry project.
If not for The Force, Darth Vader would have totally gotten his ass kicked, because that suit? Not very practical.
OK, so here’s the story with this bullshit:
A few weeks ago, my wife and I took the kids to the comic-book store. While there, my wife, who is on the school council at our son’s elementary school, hit up the owner to help sponsor a school fundraiser by providing for the event one of the costumed characters that often appear at the store. The owner said he didn’t have anyone specific he could send, but he’d be willing to loan out the store’s $800 Darth Vader costume.
“Jon’s pretty tall,” Mr. Helpful Comic-Book Store Owner suggested. “He could wear it.”
Well, as we all know by now, no one loves to get himself into ridiculous shit more than me, so I, of course, said, “Yeah, I’ll do it.”
“Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” a.k.a., “How George Lucas Took A Giant Poop On Yet Another Beloved Trilogy From Your Childhood”
A refrigerator. Indy hid in a refrigerator. In order to survive a nuclear blast. A refrigerator. A refrigerator that got tossed through the air, end over end, for miles. By the blast. The blast from the atomic bomb. The atomic bomb that instantly vaporized everything in a five-mile radius. Everything, that is, except for the refrigerator—which the blast from the atomic bomb instead launched through the air, for miles and miles, until it hit the ground. Hard. Miles away from the blast site. With Indiana Jones inside of it.
And he popped open the door and got out and coughed a couple times. And was fine.
And that was in the first 15 minutes.
Which brings me to the real point here, and that is:
Someone needs to cut off George Lucas’s hands and force feed them to him in order to ensure that he never again attempts to write a movie.
My expectations for “Indiana Jones 4” (I’m not typing out all that “Crystal Skull” bullshit again) were low. Like, really, really low. And I said as much to my Dad as we sat down on the couch to watch the DVD.
“How bad could it be?” he asked.
“Trust me,” I answered. “You didn’t see what he did with that ‘Star Wars’ prequel.”
But I still held out a little hope that all might not be lost. After all, Lucas both wrote and directed the “Star Wars” prequel … and, while the story and plot for those three flicks were convoluted as all hell, it was the horrifically bad acting that really sank the ship. Maybe, just maybe, in the hands of a more capable director, Lucas’s “Indiana Jones 4” would work.
Now, here I must ask: does Steven Spielberg know that he is listed in the credits as the director of “Indiana Jones 4”? Because, clearly, that can’t be true. There is no way that Spielberg would have risked his reputation by allowing this clunker to see the light of day.
“Hi, George? It’s Steven.”
“Hey hey! Steve-o-rino! Sorry, I was busy counting all this money that Burger King just dropped off. Do you have any idea how much cash they gave me so that they could plaster Harrison’s wrinkled mug on the side of a soda cup? God, I love this business!”
“Yeah, well, actually, Harrison’s here with me, and we’re calling about the script. We were shooting the warehouse scene today? The one with the magnetic skull? And we were noticing that the script calls for every piece of metal in the known universe to suddenly be drawn to the skull—every piece of metal, that is, except for the rifles carried by the dozen or so Russian soldiers standing right next to it.”
“And …? C’mon, Steve-o, time is money. What’s the problem?”
“Well, George, it just doesn’t seem very plausible.”
“Plausible? It doesn’t seem plausible? I take it you haven’t shot the refrigerator scene yet?”
I’d go on, but after writing all of the above, I discovered this satirical, abridged version of the script, which really does sum it all up rather nicely.
And while we’re on the subject of George Lucas exploiting the good feelings you had about an epic childhood trilogy, be sure to also check out this abridged version of the script for “Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace.”
UPDATED 06.26.09: No, I totally wasn’t kidding about the refrigerator:
Another mouth to feed
I can’t believe I forgot to introduce you all to the newest member of the family! Where are my manners?
This little bundle of joy is Baby Alive Tink & Poops. No, that’s not her real name, but that is what Jayna has been calling her since, like, a year ago when she first saw the commercial. As you can probably surmise, the “Tink & Poops” part means she not only urinates—which is just so yesteryear—but she also defecates. And if there is one thing we need around here, it is a fake baby who shits herself.
Um, no, really: I’m with the band …
There is a scene in the movie “Almost Famous” during which the protagonist — a young and budding music journalist — approaches the backstage door of a concert venue, rings the buzzer, gives the surly security guard his name and says that he’s there to interview the band.
The guard checks the guest list on his clipboard.
“You’re not on the list,” he says dismissively and slams the door shut.
Example of why I have learned to mostly quit while I’m ahead
Me to Wonder Woman after running outside and catching her before she backs out of the driveway so that I can hand to her the cellphone she left on the kitchen counter—the one that I can never reach her on:
“Please keep this on you.”
“I do.”
“Apparently not.”
“Yes, I do. That’s why it was inside.”
