Hey there ‘Redheads… Welcome to the eagerly anticipated season finale of the blog, where all of your questions will be answered. Questions like, “Seriously?” or “Really?” or “No, seriously, really?” One question I’d love to answer is why I put off fixing the air conditioning in my black truck. It hit 90+ degrees today and I’m pretty much driving a solar panel with cup holders. I tried to beat the heat with a frosty float, but that melted faster than that guy’s face at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark. I’m here to wrap up all of the nebulous minutiae into a neat little package. I feel like I’ve got to keep pace with the Fantasia broomstick army of finales that’ve ambled down the pike over the last week, each carrying its own bucket to douse our expectations. I had varying degrees of emotional stakes in the big three tv finales of Lost, 24, and American Idol. I’ve seen maybe 3 episodes of Lost, I’m a huge fan of 24, and I always seem to get sucked into American Idol.

Like I mentioned, I had no idea what was going on with Lost, outside of the fact that there was a bunch of them marooned on an island. For all I knew, the Professor was going to make an airplane out of coconuts just as the Harlem Globetrotters arrived. My thinking was, if I caught the last 15 minutes of the finale, everything would be made clear. I could get the payoff without the five year emotional investment in the characters. No fuss, no muss. The person who got a payoff was M. Night Shamylan, who apparently sold the ending of The Sixth Sense to the show’s writers. So, they were all dead. The whole time. The island was some kind of purgatory. They’ve been blowing the smoke monster up the viewer’s ass for five years. They could’ve pulled the plug on this thing at any point during the five year run and played the “They’re Dead” card. Like I said, I’m not pissed about it, because I’ve spent about three hours with this show, but there are some fanatics out there who have a few more questions…

After the Lost dud, I dusted off the edge of my seat to gear up for the last two hours of the last very bad day for Mr. Jack Bauer. I’ve been all-in with 24 since the very beginning. Jack had me at, “You probably don’t think that I can force this towel down your throat. But trust me, I can. All the way. Except I’d hold onto this one little bit at the end. When your stomach starts to digest it, I pull it out. Taking your stomach lining with it. For most people it would take about a week to die. It’s very painful.” Bad. Ass. I’ve seen Jack tear out a terrorist’s jugular with his teeth, fake his own death, and tangle with just about every cast member of RoboCop. My friends and I have made two 24 fan films (feel free to watch Guys Watching 24 I & II, conveniently linked to your right…I’ll wait). So, with a heavy heart, I watched Jack take down a presidency for the greater good one last real time. The 24 finale pistol whipped Lost in the catharsis department. Everyone got what was coming to them. I especially loved seeing President Logan put a cowardly bullet in his brain as his world crumbled around him. Very Shawshank. And at the last real minute, Jack was saved for the greater good…the 24 movie. Which will hopefully be in 12 parts. Otherwise, you can only call it 2…or 2 1/2. Jack, you have the thanks of a grateful nation.

Last night, I checked out the culmination of weeks of semi-decent elimination karaoke to crown a new American Idol. And it was craptastic. In one corner was the dry white toast of Lee DeWyze versus the clearly more talented 5th Non-Blonde, Crystal Bowersox. The evening was duet after duet with some crusty rock legend. Seacrest might as well have cracked open a sarcophagus for some of these acts. Joe Cocker? That’s the target demo you’re shooting for? He looked like he was just barely getting by with a little help from his friends. They also devoted some time to some Simon Cowell retrospective, since he was leaving the show. My favorite moment of the night cam during an attempted roast of Cowell by none other than Dane Cook. He had a guitar of his own and was singing a ditty comprised of insults that Simon had hurled at the most delusional of the contestants he’s heard. Then, in a decision the producers would later regret, they let a bunch of these lunatics on stage to dance around. Long story short, Cook had his mic stolen by another idiot who thought he was being funny.

I haven’t seen Iron Man 2 yet, but if it’s half as cool as this, I’m in…

To be continued…

Blog #129

Hey there ‘Redheads… Welcome to November…only 53 procrastinating days left until 2008. I’d like my readers to rest assured that the Hollywood writers strike will have no adverse effect on the quality of this blog…it’ll be just as shitty as ever. I swung by my local 7-11 and rounded up a couple day laborers to pick up the slack. I hope the strike ends soon, though. I found this disturbing little tidbit in this morning’s USA Today

The clock has stopped on 24. Fox confirmed that the real-time thriller’s seventh season, which was to have run from January through May, will be delayed indefinitely. It is the first major casualty of the writers’ strike, in its third day Wednesday.

Get your shit together, Hollywood, before Keifer Sutherland gets hammered and starts torturing writers with a pair of pliers and a blowtorch. If it doesn’t get resolved soon, I’m here to offer the services of the writing team who brought you GUYS WATCHING 24. Pick our scabs.

Here’s another nugget of news that I found amusing…

Michael Jackson appears on the December 2007 of Ebony Magazine to celebrate the 25th anniversary of the world’s best-selling album, Thriller.

For the issue, the magazine will temporarily change its name to Irony. Really? Thriller is a great album, but Michael Jackson looks like the photo negative of an Ebony cover. Vincent Price has more color than Michael Jackson. He would look less out of place as the spokesman for Gap Kids.

‘Redheads, find yourself a piece of cake and a balloon and wish my impossibly cute nephew a happy birthday. He’s the big 0-1. Stand by for pictures from the par-tay…

I’ll give you some time to recover from that stampede of cute. Your senses are no doubt completely overloaded by this dimple dyna-mo. Since it was his 1st birthday, it took him a little while to realize that it was all for him. Once the presents got opened, I think it sunk in…MINE! I have to think that’s the predominant thought in a baby’s head anyway, but he seemed to noodle it through the he was even more special that day.

I plan on adopting Mo’s mentality in about a week, when I step off a plane and hit the strip in Las Vegas (I will NOT use the phrase “VEGAS BABY” at all…except for just then). I’ll be down there in support of my buddy, Chris White, who is taking part in the Las Vegas Comedy Festival. There will be much poker played. Hopefully, I won’t come home wearing a barrel. Can’t wait.

Tonight, I’m heading out to catch my friend’s band, Kid Goat, at the Quarry House Tavern. I’m excited, not only to see the band but because the Quarry House is right across the street from another place I’m eager to check out…Piratz Tavern. A pirate themed bar, with wench-themed waitresses. It’s Hooters with scurvy.

Finally, just in time for gas prices to get higher than a roadie for the Black Crowes, I’m hittin’ the road for a weekend of shows in the land of Dunder-Mifflin, Scranton, PA. I’ll be at .Wisecracker’s trying to force feed laughter to the Scrantonians. If you’re in the area, come say hi.

To be continued…