Ten Things More Frustrating than the 2012 Patriots

The 2012 New England Patriots are frustrating. 

I’m still sore from this weekend’s game, an overtime win over the New York Jets. The Pats have not come as advertised- frustrating. They don’t hold leads- frustrating. They don’t make things easy- frustrating. The list could go on for a while- frustrating.

Exactly how frustrating are the 2012 Patriots?

They are almost as frustrating as the following ten things…

1. People complaining about gas prices.
Because in the end, it’s more frustrating than the actual gas prices.

2. Obama’s Apology Tour.
This never happened, has been proved never to have happened and yet Romney continues to bring it up.

3. Musicians as both Host and Musical Guest on Saturday Night Live.
Not all musicians are Justin Timberlake.

4. Lame Haunted Hayrides.
Take a cue from Terror Behind the Walls in Philadelphia and don’t skimp. Pull out all the stops. The scariest part shouldn’t be the wait.

5. Leaves.
Just when you think you’ve raked them all, more fall to the ground.

6. Squirrels.
Stop pooping on my deck!

7. The 4 Beer Hangover.
It’s simply not fair. I’ll take a hangover if I’ve earned it. Drinking four beers is not earning it.

8. Lost, season 3, episodes 1 through 5.
I get it, you want to mysterious. But you want me to keep watching don’t you? Oh you do? Great, then stop frustrating the shit out of me!
* even though this happened in 2006, it still frustrates me

9. Fantasy Football.
Don’t tell my wife this, but it’s starting to become a waste of money.

10. Buying Beer in Pennsylvania.
I can only make light of this now that I live in New Jersey, where you buy beer with ease. You know, like how God intended.

I have faith the Patriots will turn it around and come January, will be right in the mix for the Super Bowl. 

But until then, their games will continue to be four hours of sitting on the edge of my couch, swearing loudly, wild swings of emotion, depressing bouts of sports anger, uplifting bouts of sports happiness and an inability to watch the last two minutes of the game. 

Sounds awesome. 

Giddy up.

Almost Undun: Retroactively Live Blogging the AFC Championship Game

I’ve just started the process of comprehending what happened with yesterday’s AFC Championship Game- the shakes have finally stopped and I almost feel human again. With all the thoughts going through my head yesterday, last night, during the night and now this morning, I felt I should do something revolutionary. I’m going to retroactively live blog the AFC Championship Game.

Pre-Game

Woke up at 8am, too anxious/nervous/excited to sleep. Meet the Press was great. Newt is a super douchebag. On to my parents for dinner and the game with Future Wife. Didn’t hit any traffic, sure to be a good sign of things to come. I love the new Roots’ album. Erin makes amazing sweet potatoes- they are the stuff dreams are made of. We had a min-Thanksgiving dinner, it was delicious. I apologized to everyone in advance for any expletives that might be thrown out during the course of the game. Everyone knows swearing in public is cool provided you let everyone know it’s coming. Dad filled the cooler with snow instead of ice to keep the beer warm. He might be a genius. Okay, it’s game time. Let’s go.

First Quarter
Pats’ defense looks great; like they have a fire in their belly. For Vince Wilfork- that’s a giant inferno. Beer number one. Yuengling in a can- not bad. Flacco looks like a pedophile with that moustache. I hope he has it because he lost a bet. The Pats get a field goal and in a brief moment of calm I text Jeff in Baltimore with what I would realize soon after would be a dumb, regrettable text: “Flacco looks like a pedophile. Is he allowed around kids?” Jeff’s response: “good one.” I feel like an idiot. Back to the game. This one is going to be ugly. Beer number two- trying to pace myself. The snow in the cooler is working great. Dad, the Silver Fox, is a genius. He looks nervous. Erin is rubbing her pregnant belly. Mom is reading fifteen periodicals at once and Kim is being supportive and looks super cute. I’m very in love with her. No more scoring this quarter. Brady looks shaky. Flacco is gaining momentum. It looks cold there. I wish it were snowing.

Second Quarter
I don’t feel good- stomach pains. Nothing major, but it’s making me uncomfortable. I need my Red Sox hat. It’s good luck. Dad makes fun of how I wear it. Mom says I look like a homey. Ravens tie it up on a field goal. This game is going to be close throughout, I can feel it. Can the Broncos come back? The Law Firm runs in for a touchdown a few plays after getting his helmet torn off. Breathe easy. Maybe this is when the tide turns? Brady still looks shaky. He’s floating balls as opposed to shooting them around the field like a shark with a frickin’ laser beam attached to his head would. The third Austin Powers movie is kind of terrible. The Ravens score. Stomach pains. Mom wants me to read an article about Steven Tyler in Oprah’s magazine. He lives in the woods, she says. I don’t care, I reply. I haven’t cared about Steven Tyler since the four and a half months in high school when I tried to like Aerosmith. “Sweet Emotion” and “Back in the Saddle” are cool songs. Patriots get another field goal. People should talk about Gostkowski more. He’s great. One of the few kickers in the league who looks like an athlete. Pats get the ball with a minute left, but let the time run out with two knees and then head to the locker room. My heart is devastated, but my head agrees. Pats are up by three. No more text messages. I don’t feel great about this, but I have some faith. My future wife is so cute. Mom is now on to the newspaper, but wants me to read the Steven Tyler interview at halftime.

Halftime
We watch Dugan playing out in the snow. Callie has trouble walking, takes care of her business real quick, then heads back in. Dugan follows. I pace. Mom asks who wants desert. I can’t eat. The stomach pains are gone but my heart is in my throat. I need a beer.

Third Quarter
The Pats start with the ball. They love to start the second half with the ball. I believe they’ll score. I believe things in this game might change. They get a field goal. Field goals are like episodes of the Office now- nice to have around, but not really that satisfying. Last week’s episode was okay. Parks and Recreation is so much better. The Ravens score a touchdown. Ahhhhhhhhhhh shit. Danny Woodhead handles the kick off and runs it back, looks to have good field position…fumbles. The Ravens recover. Here is comes family…F WORD!...it’s cool though, I apologized earlier. Ravens take over. If they score…they only get a field goal. Okay. Ravens winning, but only by four. Beer. The snow is working. The Silver Fox is a genius. Now Mom is watching the game and getting animated. Fast Eddie is at the table grading papers. I don’t think he’s paying attention, but then he makes astute and spot on observations out of nowhere. The Gronk is tackled. POLLARD!!! I explain to the family just who that son of a bitch is. The injury looks ugly. The replays don’t help. Shit. Beer. The snow is working. Make sure the door is closed, it’s freezing out.

Fourth Quarter

The Pats continue to drive. They need a touchdown. I need a touchdown. I tell Future Wife I’m a nervous wreck. I know, she says. She knows me so well. I love her. I can’t sit anymore and stand up. Callie comes over and sits at my feet. She’s nervous for me. Dugan is looking at me too. Mom feels the announcers are biased for the Ravens. I agree. Three tries to get in the end zone and on the third try Brady, the marvelous man who can do anything, leaps over the mass of buddies at the line of scrimmage, takes a shot to the lower back by Ray Lewis and TOUCHDOWN. Pats are up 23-20 with about seven minutes to play. Future Wife reminds me to breathe. Ravens start to drive. Flacco, despite the moustache, looks good and has looked good for most of this game. Ray Rice hasn’t done much. That’s good. That little man scares me and…INTERCEPTION BRANDON SPIKES…and with a nice little run back the Pats look to be in a damn good position to close this game out. A nice long drawn out drive, kill some time and worst case kick a field goal. That’s cool. Beer. The snow is working. Still standing, Callie at my feet but I think she’s also very interested in the cheese on the coffee table. I throw Dugan a piece of a Triscuit. He got his haircut. He feels like a stuffed animal. Hike. Oh shit, Brady goes deep. Is Randy Moss available? It’s a bomb. It looks beautiful. It looks intercepted. It is. Damn it. Arm chair quarterbacks are going to be pissed about that. I can’t even swear. The Ravens have the ball with about five or so minutes left. Remember to breathe. Snow in the cooler. Ravens stall out and punt. Two and a half minutes left. All we need is a first down. That’s it. One first down and then play it safe until…Ed Reed. “Any of player besides him and that’s a penalty,” Fast Eddie says. I agree because I want too. The Patriots have to punt. The defense, the Patriots “much-maligned” defense, it’s all up to them. This game is going to go into overtime. Boldin makes a catch and scampers up field, getting them into Patriots’ territory. I feel terrible. How many times can you yell “Get Him!”? Regardless of what happens, no shit talking Flacco anymore. He’s legit. He gets the Ravens to the 11 yard line. Less than a minute left and they are in field goal range. Just please, no touchdown. Almost a touchdown, but the ball is popped out. Life. Sweet potatoes. Field goal attempt. It’s like an extra point- only a thirty yarder. I’m not sure I have the stomach for overtime. My chest might explode…

The kick is no good. It sails left. Brady takes a knee. That’s it. I clutch Erin’s hand. Super Bowl. I love my Future Wife, she’s so cute. It’s over. The Patriots win. It’s hard to believe. I don’t believe it.

No Mom, I don’t want to read the interview with Steven Tyler.

On to Indy. It’s the Giants again.

I’ll worry about that tomorrow.

2011- You Don't Have to Go Home, but You Can't Stay Here

2012 is going to be one of those years. I can feel it. This isn’t posturing and I’m not talking myself into anything- like Bored to Death on HBO or eating avocados. I just feel that 2012 is going to be a good year. I feel so good about it that frankly, I’d skip Christmas, the week after and New Year’s just to get the ball rolling.

2011 I learned the value of patience. It probably wouldn’t be wise to throw that out now.

So what’s cracking in 2012 that is going to make it such a good year? Well for starters I’m getting married in the summer- July 28th to be exact. And if you’re keeping track, that is exactly 8 days after the release of the Dark Knight Rises. The two events are not related- not yet at least. My lovely Future Wife and I are getting hitched on the Manasquan River in Point Pleasant, New Jersey. Have you ever been to Point Pleasant? Have you ever asked yourself questions? Either way, Point Pleasant is best described as a thin slice of heaven. Wait, should heaven be capitalized? I’m moving on, tiger style. And speaking of tigers, according to the goalie of the Flyers, if you kill a tiger in China you get the death penalty. While I question the accuracy of that statement, I certainly don’t question the amazing entertainment value of 24/7: the Road to the Winter Classic.

Point Pleasant might be an island. There are a lot of delicious crab cake sandwiches there and if I lived there I’d buy a long board to get around town on.

Also happening in the upcoming year is the birth of Baby Turner as Erin and Ed are expecting what will surely be a smart, sassy, baseball-knowledgeable and well read baby girl. I’m going to uncle the bejesus out of that little lady and I couldn’t be happier for those two. They will make great parents, my parents will make great grandparents and Dugan will make a great big brother/guardian/enforcer/body pillow. Kim and I got Baby Turner what could easily be described as the best baby gift ever- a Patriots’ cheerleader outfit- a little something for that little lady to grow into and wear proudly on Sundays in the future as she inevitably develops a crush on Tom Brady. Who doesn’t have a crush on Tom Brady? The Saturday Night Live skit lampooning Tim Tebow said it best- “I (Jesus) might be the Son of God, but Tom Brady is the guy’s nephew.”

I would like to see the Patriots win the Super Bowl in 2012, but I don’t feel 100 percent confident about that yet. I only feel about 74 percent confident. And you know, those nitwits on ESPN keep knocking the Pats’ defense and while I’m not saying that’s blasphemy, I do think they get knocked and criticized more than they should. In the last couple weeks you can really only point to one game (the Giants game) where the defense cost them the game and another game (the Redskins game) where they defense almost cost them the game. Other than that they’ve been pretty solid, really running strong with this “bend, but don’t break” style which could also be referred to as a near heart attack-inducing for fans style of defense. All I’ll say is that A) I like their chances and B) won’t be convinced until they win a playoff game.

2012 is going to be a good year. Sure there is the requisite uncertainty that comes with the dawning of each year, but I am focusing on the positive, focusing on what I can control. This time next year I’ll be married and teaching my niece how to say things like “awesome, dude” and “that’s what’s up.” The process is not certain, but the end result is. 2011 has been a year of ups and downs, heaval and upheaval. We lost my cousin Jay and not a day goes by that I don’t think about him and his family.

There is a little over week left of 2011 and you know, I won’t miss it once it’s gone. But it taught me some things, proved some things, and shot a hole in a few things. I’m ready to move it to the past experiences pile and see what’s next for Ryno.

We live, we love, we learn. We ride bikes, we ride longboards, we ride rollercoasters. We do it with smiles, we do it with frowns and we do it with tears. The minute life becomes predictable is the minute it becomes boring.

Here’s to another year of unpredictably. May we face our challenges with cold beers, good tunes and no traffic.

Outfoxed: one year down of Obama-time.

Coming into this week- there are only a few solid & concrete truths floating around the quiet offices of MSI Philly.

- Obama is not a failure, but also not the messiah or a socialist.
- Peyton Manning is amazing, but even if he wins the Superbowl he'll only have two Superbowl rings. Tom Brady has three.
- Octomom should spend less time working on her body and more time being a parent.

It is quiet. Yesterday the weather, proving once and for all that global warming is a left wing myth, was a salty 60 degrees and produced the kind of bucket o' rain onslaughts usually reserved for mid-August. I think the issue with global warming is not whether or not it's true, but it's lack of proper branding. Start with the name. No one is going to believe in a phenomenon called global warming if it's freezing and won't stop raining. Global upside shitty weather for the rest of our lives would be a much better and far better descriptive of a name. Hannity would have a hard time arguing against that and it's something Fox News America could probably better understand.

Something I don't understand is how members of the Bush Administration are seemingly being able to fade off into the sunset unscatthed. I don't get this. Even some of their smaller crimes are blatantly and fundamentally wrong. Yet Cheney is still roaming the wild, shooting old men and stealing sunlight and Karl Rove is now possibly even more influential, spitting out toxic waste on Fox News. Towards the end of the Bush presidency, my only consolation or warm feeling towards them was that eventually they'll get theirs and history will eventually judge them correctly.

But does that matter if no one is reading history? Does it matter if history is becoming less what really happened and more how we perceived it happening?

I'm worried about Democrats. They're becoming like the Washington Redskins- great on paper, but terrible on the field. Meanwhile the Republicans are like the Colts- steadfast, reliable and largely faceless, except for a few keys cogs. Why can't Democrats adapt? Why can't they realize that America is now a nation of bullet points, quick facts, fast action, and blunt rhetoric? I guess it's a deeper problem because Democrats argue ideals and ideas and principals and notions while Republicans argue beliefs and backbones and truths. Democrats came from Philosophy class, while Republicans came from Political Science class and the end result is a large rock arguing against a flimsy piece of 8x10 vanilla cardstock. But while in Paper, Rock, Scissors this might be a good thing, in this new, twisted and slightly sadistic version of American politics it's like digging into a thick, juicy steak with shit plastic silverware- completely useless.

I don't think Obama is a failure and it makes me mad that the people who so loudly proclaim him one are the same douche rockets who supported the mindless stump who created all the problems that Obama has faced and not surprisingly, failed to fix.

Pitchers & catchers report soon, but this winter can't be over soon enough.

Good luck next year, Obama.

Go Saints.

Part 16: Mother Nature's gun shoots bursts of confusion only.

Callie, my parents' dog, was sprayed by a skunk. The stank filled up the house for days and all I heard about was how said stank wouldn't go away, no matter what kind of cleaning product my parents threw at it.

It's everywhere, Mom said.

But after a few days, I wondered if maybe she was making it up.

Then my bike was stolen. It was stolen from our locked backyard. In my head, some spider monkey Crack Head scaled the walls, ab ling them to get in the backyard and swipe my bike- the same bike that had recently been pimped out by Crazy Ray and the same bike that I was using day after day, riding to work or up and down the river. The bike was stolen. I found out the day after I got back from New York. I was up there for the Sox/Yankees game at Yankees Stadium- one of the last games between the two at the Stadium. I walked a few blocks to hitch a free ride back to Philly and despite the headache, felt pretty good about things.

But then my bike was stolen.

The only thing I felt good about was that I didn't punch the brick wall.

That's good, Chris said.

I know, I said. A few months ago I would have beaten the shit outta that wall.

It would have beaten the shit out of you.

True.

But what can you do? If it weren't for reality crashing down on the good times, we'd be insane, living in sunlight all the time and living large and in charge because nothing could stop us. No, all of the shit Mother Nature threw at us Saturday wouldn't be there and Soap Box Philly would have been more like Soap Box Provey last year- a beautiful fall day as opposed to the goddamn shit show that went down this year. The rains were intense- weather I hadn't seen since the boat days and shit if I weren't strapped, rocking my Grundens to protect me from the elements. I guess it was nice knowing that I can still tie a bowlin in pouring rain.

I'll take that one to the bank with me.

If only banks took things like that or car loan people or the student loan people. Why can't personal accomplishments run as currency? No one has money, but everyone has stories of personal battles they've overcome. If we simply ditched money and instead, you could roll into Wawa and buy a few Gatorades with a story of the longest pee you ever took, down at Phish for the Millennium.

But that would be a perfect world, I guess.

And recent weeks have lead me to believe that this world, it's not perfect. It's chaotic and turbulent. It's a constant storm- with the lulls and the bursts of sunshine, followed by torrential rains and winds ripping around so hard they take the blue out of your eyes while your cruising up and down the Wall with a Gator full of Wingers and scrim and arches and generators and broken down Ninjas and whatever else needed to be totted around.

The Sox won, my bike got stolen. Soap Box was a success, Brady's out for the season. Up and down, up and down. If God planned it this way, he should have made us all immune to motion sickness.

But he didn't, did he?

Nothing is perfect.

Nothing.

How the Dem's can go Favre in 2008...

It's no surprise that I want a Democrat to be the next President of the United States. If anything is a surprise, it's how much I enjoy the Modest Mouse album, Good News For People Who Like Bad News, given how much I hated that song, Float On. But while listening to that album, I've been putting a lot of thought into not who will win, but who will run with a chance of winning.
The key for the Democrats is to at least crack Middle America and to go with a candidate who is at least less-polarizing enough to appeal to people in the Heartland. Basically we need another Bill Clinton, certainly not Hillary Clinton. If anything can be taken away from the Bush years, it's that likeability is something that has really started to carry weight when Americans are voting for their elected officials. Reagan was likeable, Clinton was likeable, and policies and ignorance aside, George W. Bush is mildly likeable. Yet only in the same kind of way that one of your buddies from college you had who you drank with a lot was. Because ultimately you could only stand to hang out with him in small doses, as it was only a matter of time before he did or said something incredibly stupid and offensive that made you look like an idiot...usually in front of a cute girl you had your eye on.
But who will this candidate be? After ruling out Hillary, I would next rule out Barack Obama, because I doubt the majority of America's ability to vote for a black president. John Edwards seems to have a decent enough shot, but I think it's time to move outside of politics and think outside the box. I'm talking Ronald Reagan-terrority here. Career politicians are not the answer, Democrats.
But see, neither is anyone from Hollywood thanks in large part to George Clooney, Brad Pitt and Michael Moore. Film stars have become too left and that won't fly with Middle America. No. Hollywood won't do. Neither will the music industry, television or anyone else from the pages of People.
The next Democratic candidate should come from one place, sports.
Everyone likes sports, can talk sports, and recognize the most famous athletes in each of their respected sport. But it can't just be any sport. Baseball has become too tainted and basketball too much of a niche sport. Hockey is bordering on extinction and Tiger Woods doesn't seem to have the passion to run, unless sponsorships or personal vendettas are involved.
That leaves one sport, and it sure as hell isn't soccer or lacrosse.
Football. Specifically, the NFL. Going through the NFL, that is where the Democrats will find their next president.
But who?

1.) Tom Brady. Who doesn't love Brady, is what you're thinking. He seems like an ideal choice. And while he might, he has one thing going against him. He's on the Patriots and it's getting to the point where no one likes the Pats except sports writers, people from New England, and perhaps Houston Texan fans. Thanks to the Pats run over these past few years, Brady wouldn't stand a chance in Middle America (Colts and Rams fans,) the Mid-Atlantic region (Eagles, Jets, and Steelers fans,) the South (Jaguars, Dolphins, Panthers, and soon, Saints fans,) and out West (Broncos and most recently, Chargers fans.) That leaves Brady recieving votes in New England and the Pacific Northwest and sadly, that doesn't seem like enough. Sorry Tom. Better ask Joe Montana what he does to keep himself busy.

2.) Donovan McNabb. McNabb, even though I said Obama didn't have a shot because he was black, does have a shot, although it's a long one. No one actively dislikes McNabb, except for NFC East fans, and while those are key areas, they're not that big and McNabb would have a chance to overcome those loses. If anything, his inability to make through a 4 year Presidential term without injury would be a huge question mark. People might feel a little better if he were to name Jeff Garcia his Vice President.

3.) Drew Brees & Reggie Bush. Right now, and to the dismay of both Cowboys and Pats fans, the Saints have become America's team and stand a good chance to win the Superbowl. If this happens, and they continue to have success, there is no ruling out a strong ticket like Brees/Bush '08. There chances only increase by promising to name Deuce McCallister Secretary of Defense, Sean Payton Chief of Staff, and New Orleans Hornet superstar guard, Chris Paul, as Secretary of State.

At that leaves us two no-brainers.

1.) Peyton Manning. Jesus, who doesn't love or at least respect Peyton Manning? I hate the Colts, but I don't mind Manning. He's incredibly talented at both football and hilarious commericals. If he has any negatives, it's his inability to beat Tom Brady when it counts and any commerical he does that is meant to be serious, like the Gatorade commerical where he comes out of the football. Everyone in America knows who Manning is and rarely do you hear someone say something bad about him. He has a less successul younger brother, Eli, who like Roger Clinton and Jeb Bush, could possibly benefit from his success, but will never overshadow him, and has a well-known and well-respected father, Archie. Add Marvin Harrison to the mix and you might have a winner.

2.) Brett Favre. It is downright Un-American to hate on Brett Favre. White or black, it doesn't matter, Favre is the man. He's respected, well-like, relatively free on controversy, and given his streak of consecutive games started, incredibly reliable. He takes chances and is able to admit mistakes, a quality that until recently was absent from the current administration. He's not afraid to voice his opinion and able to mend a broken fence with a teammate. He has downhome sensibilites and frozen tundra toughness. He'd probably want to serve as Secretary of Defense as well, which would save the country some money to help fix at least one or two inner city school. Probably a school where Terrell Owens will be a janitor in the next year or two.

With that being said, Brett Favre gets my vote. I would even suggest Manning, Brady or as a long shot, Jason Taylor of the Dolphins as a running mate.

You laugh now. But when this happens, just remember who mentioned this first.

Album of the week: Wilco Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
Drink of the week: Lemonade
Sock color of the week: Blue
Picks for the weekend: Bears and Patriots.

I Dane you to Cook me up a joke

I read an article a while back in Rolling Stone trying to explain the phenomenon that is Dane Cook. I was initially excited to read it because I'm a pretty big fan of Cook's and I assumed a magazine like Rolling Stone would be writing a pro-Dane article given his "edginess" and pop-culture relevance. But the article was less that positive and instead of trying to explain Cook's popularity, it was trying to define it and dissect it, frequently making the point that Cook is an anomaly among stand up comedians, or at least those that tell jokes. And this they assertained was because Cook, unlike other stand ups, doesn't tell jokes. His routine consists of barely any jokes and therefore, he really can't be that funny.
At first I thought was absurd and they were just trying to knock another counter culture celebrity who had started flirting with the mainstream.
I thought about this a lot and couldn't help but think about it when listening to either one of Cook's hilarious comedy albums, one of which is the highest selling comedy album since Steve Martin's twenty-nine years ago. The more I listened to them, the more I realized that Rolling Stone was fucking right. Dane Cook doesn't tell jokes.
Yes, Dane Cook is a comedian who does not tell jokes.
Dane Cook, however, is still funny.
But Ryan, you just said he doesn't tell jokes.
Right.
Dane Cook is a story teller who happens to tell really funny stories.
Basically it could be surmised like this. If David Sedaris recited his stories on a stage, instead of writing them down and putting them in a book, he'd be Dane Cook. Whether or not Sedaris would be jacked and wearing a wife beater is yet to be determined.
The thing about Dane Cook is that while he may not tell jokes officially, he masterfully tells stories. When I try and explain Cook's comedy to someone, I usually mention that his various vocal inflections are what make his act great. Yes, his subject matter is good, but it is inherently your normal, run of the mill did you ever notice shit that, from a comedian stand point, Seinfeld did much better. But when it comes to telling a story, no one beats Cook. If he were a caveman, he'd be the most popular and if were around in 1776, during the Revolutionary War, he'd be better at being Paul Revere than Paul Revere was. Cook's stories bob and weave like Chris Paul and they usually end with a Shaq-like dunk that has the capacity to tear the rim down. Cook never lets up and in turn, never loses your attention. I spent almost two hours last night with the Medicine Man, drinking beers and watching Cook's HBO special, Vicious Circle and not once did my attention waver or did I think about watching something else. It's the same with his albums. I put them on and listen to the whole thing from start to finish. I might fast forward here and there, but I will ultimately listen to the whole thing and it's because Cook, while maybe not the best joke teller, is clearly the best verbal story teller of our generation.
And that is why I worry about Dane making movies.
I haven't seen any of his movies yet. I heard he was funny in Waiting, but the best part of Employee of the Month seemed to be either Dax from Punk'd or Jessica Simpson's breasts. The problem is that I can't seem to find Dane entertaining unless he's being Dane. I don't want to see Dane try and woo Jessica Simpson unless it's at Burger King or in his car right before she goes down on him. The only hope I have for Cook is if he writes his own movie from start to finish. Cook is a great story teller mainly because he is such a great character within those stories. The stories are told through him, not just as Dane the Comedian, but as Dane Cook the person. I want to see Dane being Dane, saying Dane things, and doing Dane stunts. Now this does have me worried because this may not be true for everyone and it seems like every comedian's goal is to make a few funny movies and then go for higher end projects in an effort to show their dramatic side.
Fuck Dane Cook's dramatic side. I like Dane Cook because he makes me laugh talking about jerking off and going grocery shopping.
Put that in a movie and I think you'll have something worth watching.

Album of the day: Nas Hip Hop is Dead
Sympathetic Athlete of the Day: Tom Brady
Oatmeal of the day: Strawberries and cream
Beer of the evening: Victory's Golden Monkey!