I mean, the guy used to just be conniving, but know it turns out he’s got extensive weapons training. If I were on that island, I like to think I’d eventually side with Jack, but it would be interesting to hang out with Ben for a week or so and start some real trouble. Click here for the recap.
Logline: Follow two affable men in their 20s as they hang out with Ted Danson.
Plot: My friend and I just hang out with Ted Danson and his famous friends. The goal isn’t to crash parties, but rather to just get some drinks and shoot the breeze. The episodes would be largely plotless, or at least, there wouldn’t be any inherent drama greater than figuring out what I’m going to wear to any given social event, or whether we can use Ted’s influence to get free stuff, like food or services. That’s pretty much it.
Title: “Danson With the Stars”
I was in Memphis. I’d never been to Tennessee before, but I’d taken the trip from Abilene to Memphis in a weekend because my roommate’s (soon-to-be-ex-) fiancee was from there, and he and I drove out for the weekend to hang out and drive around for no other reason than that we were young enough to make the 1,300-mile round trip in a three-day weekend.
It was Halloween, too, or a couple days before, which lent the downtown scene an air of considerable decadence and insanity, evidenced mainly by the fact that I was strolling down Beale looking for souvenirs when I passed a man who’d painted his body black and adorned himself with matching wings and horns. His intent was apparently to look like Satan or one of his lesser minions, and he pulled it off. I just kept looking for shot glasses.
But the best part of the night was our decision — our being me, my friend, his fiancee, and her friend, who was to be a bridesmaid — to visit a haunted hayfield. It’s basically the same as a haunted house, only you pay a few bucks and wander through a maze with a group of other strangers while employees dressed as psychos occasionally jump out at you, wielding chainsaws and clad in blood-spattered masks and doing their best to make the young girls in the crowd lose it, at which they always succeeded. To prevent the evening from feeling too much like you had actually been exiled to a hellish limbo with no exit, the paths were clearly marked, and there were sporadic bits of metal catwalk that allowed you to climb up and see where to go and how close you were to the exit. Most of the employees — at least the ones not outfitted in masks — were young, normal-looking, generally attractive men and women.
While making our way through the maze, my friends and I wound up stuck behind a group of girls whose median age was maybe 13, which isn’t a good time for anyone. I don’t remember much of what they looked like beyond the broad stereotypical stuff that could at this point be guesswork: blonde, thin, probably some braces. But they stand out in my mind because they talked incessantly, and because they often talked about their newly burgeoning womanhood so loudly and weirdly graphically that I can only guess/hope/pray it was to catch the attention the older boys employed by the haunted hayfield company whose job it was to make sure everyone stayed safe. Specifically, I remember being on one of those short metal bridges with my friends, waiting for the girls to push on, when one of the girls said to the others, “Y’all, I’ve got menstrual cramps!” She pronounced “menstrual” like “minstruhl,” her Southern tongue collapsing the dipthong and shattering the semi-spooky atmosphere. The boy nearby grinned a little but remained unfazed by this statement. My friends and I exchanged looks and laughed about it later, but at the moment we were too surprised to do anything but hate the girls a little and mainly feel sorry for them.
We eventually reached the end of the maze, and most of the rest of the evening passed without incident. My roommate and his girlfriend broke up a couple months later. I never saw the fiancee’s friend again.
Understanding the Debt You Didn’t Know You Signed Up For
Explaining Religion to Everyone Else
Coming to Grips With Your Poorly Chosen Major
Hanging Out With Women Who Won’t Sleep With You, Ever, No Matter How Often You Hang Out or What Kind of On-Again-Off-Again Thing You Delude Yourself Into Thinking Exists: Practicum
Nailing Those Really Quick Green-Orange Jumps on the Hard Setting of “Rock Band”
Paying Your Dues: Economic Lessons in Why That Dream Job Won’t Happen Until You’re Too Old to Like It
Funny, smart, sad, good. Everything you’d expect. Plus it was filled with weird meta-coincidences, like Kristen Bell’s character worrying about how her show’s cancellation will affect her career transition into film, or the weirder happening that her character’s show is a procedural called “Crime Scene,” and Jason Segel did a few episodes of “CSI” as a man whose last name, Jansen, is shared by Mila Kunis’ character in the film.
Anyway: Click here for the review.
Also, here’s a picture:
With The Station Agent and The Visitor, writer-director Tom McCarthy is now 2 for 2. Because of this, I think we (as a nation) should reintroduce the phrase “McCarthyism” to mean anything relating to McCarthy’s work or just a general support of his work. I’m a total raging McCarthyite. Click here for the review.
Sis: layoffs at work? that sucks me: yep
we lost several, including GTHM Sis: oh wow
that sucks for them me: but GTHM
her bringing me my xeroxes of the day’s dummies was always among the 3 best parts of EVERY DAY Sis: who will you pine for now? me: I HAVE NO IDEA Sis: sad times me: oh GTHM
let me comfort thee Sis: well, how is everything else going? me: i’m also struggling against the cold and mighty wind of despair that’s sweeping through my heart and leaving me a lost and wandering man now that GTHM and i are no more to be together Sis: wow
she’s engaged me: no man’s cheap metal can purchase the heart of the woman for whom i have so long striven Sis: haha
touche me: for on the day that i consign my love to the abyss like some fairweather maiden — on that day, i shall no more be a man than the lad who has yet to know the touch of a woman as such as GTHM
[gets shakespearean in his delirium] Sis: hehe me: FIE UPON THEE, WINDS OF FATE THAT HAVE SWEPT UP MY LOVE SO