Totally Blowing Shit Up Tuesdays: Dirty Boy

I'm not feeling very teachy today. In fact, I'm feeling more like going home and sleeping through the day, but I have a responsibility to you, the reader, to bring something about blowing something up or whatever. Oh, right, and that whole employer/employee relationship thing, too.

Anyway, you all know that I love me some Dirty Jobs. I don't think I'd like it as much if Mike Rowe wasn't the host. He seems to be a pretty cool guy. He's also a consummate smartass, like me. Unlike me, however, he doesn't pepper every sentence with those sentence enhancers. You know, you just sprinkle them on whatever you want to say and--Wham-O! You've got yourself a spicy sentence sandwich. How the man can wade hip-deep through shit and not say it is beyond my comprehension.

To that end, let's watch Mike blow up a coal mine:

I like that video because you can see the point where Mike wants to piss his pants. I'm sure he was like "Yeah, this is going to be loud. Blah blah blah goofy Pennsylvania mine worker dude. Let's get on with the bang already." And then suddenly he's like 'I just felt my brain reverberating off the inside of my skull!'

Unfortunately, we don't get to see the explosion, just hear it. That's still pretty cool, right? Fine. Whatever.

And, so that I don't get accused of being too phallocentric, what with the obligatory "boys and their explosions" comments that roll around every Tuesday, here's a little something for the the ladies:


One night, while lying in bed, my wife and I were discussing Dirty Jobs, and she sighed and said something wistful about Mike Rowe. There was a prolonged silence, and I finally said, "It's okay, honey. Sometimes, during sex, I close my eyes and pretend that I'm Mike Rowe, too."

TMI Thursday: One Firth the Money

About three months ago, there was a crew here in merry olde Durham town filming a movie. It's a movie called Main Street. I frankly don't know a damned thing about Main Street, other than the movie stars or will star Orlando Bloom, Amber Tamblyn and Colin Firth. You probably know them better as Legolas, Joan of Arcadia and the dude who inexplicably had a thing for Renee Zellweger in Bridget Jones Diary.

Colin Firth got that part due in large part to his portrayal of Fitzwilliam Darcy in the BBC version of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. My wife is a big fan of the book and of the BBC version. As my wife put it in our dating days, "He's just so...dreamy." She's since tried to make it appear like she's cooled toward him, but I've always known that there was still that lingering dreaminess in his demeanor that caught her eye.

So, it was of no great surprise the other night when my wife brought home a copy of the Durham magazine. See, we have a magazine here that is supposed highlight the culture and class of Durham so that we're known for a little more than just Annie Savoy and Cameron Crazies. The thing about this particular Durham magazine is that Colin Firth is on the cover. Oh, dreamy.

Now, before my wife had gone to Indiana for a week to visit her parents, she had been sick for a week, I had been sick for a week, we had her family visiting us for my daughter's First Communion, we had been preparing for said First Communion, and our work schedules had pretty much prevented any intimacy from happening.

The night before she was due to depart for the wilds of north central Indiana, we were spooning and, well, one thing led to another, and the next thing you know, there we were, in the midst of a passionate embrace. Being that it had been about six weeks since I had last sallied forth, I had the stamina of a thirteen-year-old. After a handful of pumps, it was time. Since I'm too fucking lazy to go to the doctor and get vasectomized a good little Catholic boy, I withdrew and fired off like a howitzer shelling the German lines.

Do you know who Horst Schultz is? Don't ask me why I know this, but he holds the world record for the "Greatest Distance Achieved for a Jet of Semen" at 18 feet, 9 inches. Now, I'm not saying that I came close to Herr Schultz's record, however I apparently did explode rather impressively. It might not have been Horstian in achievement, but it was at least a good 6 or 7 feet away that my seed landed. After cleanup, my lovely wife and I then continued on with our bedroom gymnastics, cuddled up and fell asleep.

The next morning, my wife was rolling out of bed when she looked down at her side of the bed and groaned downheartedly. "What?" I asked.

"You got...stuff...on my Colin Firth magazine!"

Yep, that's right. I gave Mr. Darcy a money shot.


Does this not sate your thirst for awesome TMI stories? Then check out all the other glorious tales of things we probably shouldn't tell at LiLu's home for the staunchy raunchy, TMI Thursdays!

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Review Time: Indiana Jones Style

I went and saw Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull last night. I was aquiver with excitement, and, frankly, I was not let down. But then again, after three Star Wars prequels and X-Men 3, my expectations were low.

First, just let me say, when I talk about something, I try not to ruin it for other people. I don't want to know anything about the plot or the outcome of the movie when I go in, and I treat everyone else to the same courtesy. Seriously. I didn't speak to a friend of mine for like, four years, because he told me that Qui-Gon got killed at the end of Phantom Menace.

Overall, I really enjoyed this movie, and I came in a little worried about the subject material. Suddenly, Indy wasn't jaunting about the Middle East looking for Biblical artifacts, but he was involved in something a bit more...paranormal. Paranormal probably isn't the right word, since the Biblical artifacts also exhibited plenty of paranormal activity. But where the Bible is usually identified as a legitimate (albeit controversial) historical document, there's really not a lot surrounding the Crystal Skulls, other than archived episodes of Coast to Coast with Art Bell (which was one of my favorite shows to listen to during those final few months of my graduate work, as I was typically up all night doing thesis writing and NMR collecting). However, from what I understand of the Crystal Skulls, the legends pretty much fit in with the plot of the movie. I did like the inclusion of the Nazca lines into the story, however, but that's just me.

Despite this apprehension, the latest installment in the Indiana Jones movies does not disappoint. Harrison Ford seems to have stepped back into his role almost seamlessly, and though there are moments when he seems to be pushing the humorous lines a bit too hard, he continues to be believable as the world's most renowned stud archaeologist. There were times when his normal charisma did not translate to the screen, but when the move was finished, I left the theater once again thinking "Fuck this chemistry stuff! I wanna go dig shit up!"

Karen Allen looked good. Maybe not as good as when she was dropping a shirt down over her bare ass in Donald Sutherland's house, but those were several years ago. Her character, Marion, however, doesn't seem to have the seamless entrance back into the world of adventure like Indy did. Given her role in the plot, this, also, seems plausible, but her character suffered the most from the lack of development.

The true surprise--for me, at least, as I was unfamiliar with his work--was Shia LaBeouf. He was believable in his role as "Mutt", and worked into the plot easily. As far as a sidekick, he was much more believable and capable than Short Round--not to mention far less annoying. Another pleasant surprise was Cate Blanchett; even though I'm not a big fan of hers (I don't know why, I'm just not a fan), she does a decent job as the main villain in the story, though you never truly feel menaced by her presence on the screen. Only once did I want to make a Lady Galadriel joke, which is good for me.

At times, the story was a bit too goofy and some of the events were far to coincidental--the tree and the river being the one that really made me roll my eyes (if you've seen it, you know what it is) and the sudden inclusion of Spider-Man to the cast of characters (again, you know what I mean). Other times, you could tell that most of the set was done in a room on a certain ranch in northern California. Unfortunately, even Spielberg's mastery couldn't keep the stink of Lucas' touch from this movie, and were again treated to sweeping, obviously faked vistas. Also, it's good to see that Russian soldiers aren't any better shots than Stormtroopers or Nazi soldiers. BUT, the action is constant and solid and enjoyable, though the dialog is, well, what you'd expect from a movie where George Lucas had any input.

Overall, I really liked the movie. I liked it much better than the three Star Wars prequels--combined! If you're a fan of Indiana Jones, well, you've probably already seen it. If you're a fence-sitter, unsure of whether to see it or not, you should see it. Overall, it's an enjoyable movie, just remember to bring along quite a heavy dose of suspension of disbelief. It won't win any awards, but I can almost guarantee that it'll be a better X-Files movie than the X-Files movie that will be in theaters later in the summer.

LooKKKKKKKKKKing BacKKKKKKKKKK

Do you remember what you were doing ten years ago, today? I don't remember, either, except that I know I was four days away from graduating from St. Joseph's College. I'll hazard a guess and say that I was drinking beer while on the toilet shitter in the Gallagher 1st middle stall, drinking a beer in my dorm room, Gallagher 117, doing something stupid and druken with partner-in-crime Will Shannon, and probably planning another clumsy, awkward pass at Jamie Bach[1] later in the day. I think I might have also destroyed a phone against the exterior of Gallagher Hall later tonight, and I'm also going to guess that there was, at some point, a drunken trip to the Trail Tree in or Grandma's late in the night for either a Big T Trucker Sandwich or Biscuits and Gravy (and an eggy sandwich if a certain priest-to-be came with us).

The reason for waxing nostalgic is that today is the 10th anniversary of Kerry Wood striking out 20 Astros in Wrigley Field. This instantly put his name on the baseball map and made us all wonder just how many World Series rings he would bring to the North Side of Chicago[2]. Unfortunately, as productive as Wood was/has been striking guys out, he's been just as productive when it comes to injuring himself. Elbows, wrists, shoulders...everything on Wood's body seems to have broken down at some point during his career. Blame Dusty Baker if you want to (and I do), but some of Wood's injuries have been completely non-baseball related, such as injuring himself in a hot tub.

Despite all this, Kerry Wood remains one of my all-time favorite Cubs players. I don't know why, either. Maybe I'm still locked in the nostalgic hope of seeing him achieving his potential. Maybe I keep thinking that some day he'll wake up, hop out of bed and decide that today is the day he's going to strike out 20 batters again (which would be really difficult, since he's been relegated to the bullpen these days). Maybe because his marvelous feat of 20 strikeouts came in those waning days of my college career, when things were looking most hopeful and promising and I had the whole world figured out. Maybe seeing Kerry Wood pitch takes me back to a happy place that I have locked away inside of me. I don't know, but he is, without a doubt, my favorite baseball player. Here in the Triangle, there is a city called Cary and, in Cary, there is a road called Cary Wood Dr. Ever since I saw that, I have looked for an affordable house on Cary Wood Drive, just to say I live there, because that would be so fucking cool, and all because of Kerry Wood.

Wood's career has been one of unfulfilled potential. However, if you look at the recent spate of baseball news and think back, Wood (from Texas and a high-strikeout pitcher) was compared to Roger Clemens (from Texas and a high-strikeout pitcher). It was thought their careers would follow similar paths and Wood would be racking up Cy Young's along with wins and World Series titles. Fortunately--thankfully!--it seems that Wood is nothing like Clemens, as the injury-prone body and extended stays on the DL would point toward a lack of using steroids and HGH, and, well, there doesn't seem to be a string of trashy women with hordes of skeletons stashed in their closets following Wood around.

For all the bad that has surrounded Kerry Wood's career, I'll never forget looking up through my Miller-Genuine-Draft-inspired haze and saying, "Holy shit, Will, this guy's struck out 20 batters. Hand me another.[3]" So, Kerry, here's to you, man. Happy Anniversary.

[1]: In case you were wondering, she looks a lot like the Snorg Tees girl, just with a smaller chest and incisors and a stronger proclivity to wearing knee-high stockings and very short skirts.
[2]: That would be a big, fat 0 and counting...
[3]: Obviously, nowadays, it would be most appropriate to toast Kerry's feat with a 120 Minute IPA from Dogfish Head Brewery, as it's 20% ABW. That's 1% ABW for every strikeout. I can do math, me.

Is this a Bad Sign?

Do you think it means anything when I have a very long and very detailed dream that Mike Rowe and I are driving a truck filled with dry ice from Texas to California in order to help make some Hollywood special effects for a movie about fish?


I didn't think so, either.