Lost Friday – Clip Show Edition.

Lost Friday's here, ya' loser!

Another Lost Friday is upon us. We have more to discuss than I care to mention.

In honor of the “Lost: Reckoning” clip show we were strapped down and forced to watch this week, I’m taking this opportunity to briefly recap all of the Season Two episodes to this point. In addition, I’ve got all sorts of preview info for the final four episodes of the year. Are you tingling like I’m tongling? (I obviously meant to say ‘tingling’ there, but my error was too funny to delort.)

Now I’m going to ting a tong.

I don’t mind the clip shows. I think it’s always a good idea to rope in new fans at such a juncture in the season, as well as bringing the casual fans up to speed. Personally though, I don’t think you can be a casual fan of Lost. Either you don’t watch it, or you’re devoting a chunk of your life to it that used to be wasted on religion and family. Don’t let these pointless vices get in your way! Solve the mystery!

What I do mind is the ridiculous narrator and his (or her; never know) pointless blurbs. It’s almost as if the writing staff went on vacation and left the entire episode up to the editors and temps (this is most certainly what happened). What the narrator does to the show is make it sound too much like a sci-fi production, which it is most certainly not. What Lost does best is flaunting with overt supernatural and sci-fi elements, but pretending not to under the guise of characters that want to believe in logic. In essence, the show is about faith, the human condition and random acts of sweatiness.

I logically pondered the best and most efficient way to recap last 19 episodes of Lost, and I generally concluded that haikus are the way to go. Each link will take you to the specific Lost Friday post for that week (with the exception of ‘Adrift,’ for which I didn’t write about), and the info for the new episodes is at the bottom. Forgive me in advance, I like to write haikus.

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Episode 1“Man of Science, Man of Faith”

“The hatch is opened
Make your own kind of music
Lift it up, brother.”

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Episode 2“Adrift”

“The raft is destroyed
Mike and Sawyer lost at sea
Walt! Walt! Walt! Walt! Walt!”

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Episode 3“Orientation”

“Hanso foundation
Hatch clock, Dharma, Swan hatch film
Nation craps its pants.”

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Episode 4“Everybody Hates Hugo”

“Hugo loses it
Arrow hatch is abandoned
Food enjoyed by all.”

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Episode 5“…And Found”

“Shaft leads the way back
The Others leave no footprints
Jin and Sun hook up.”


Episode 6“Abandoned”

“Shannon shot in chest
After tent romp with Sayid
Nation mourns the loss.”

The Other 48 Days.

Episode 7“The Other 48 Days”

“This is our life now
The Others have a damn list
Goodwin gets impaled.”


Episode 8“Collision”

“Sawyer is messed up
Ana ties Sayid to tree
Share awkward moment.”

What Kate Did.

Episode 9“What Kate Did”

“Blows up house; kills dad
Michael has a chat with Walt
Shanon keeps rotting.”

The 23rd Psalm.

Episode 10“The 23rd Psalm”

“Charlie’s hiding smack
Eko’s a bad ass mo-fo
Smoke monster wets pants.”

The Hunting Party.

Episode 11“The Hunting Party”

“This is our island
Jack’s wife is cheating on him
Let’s train an army.”

Fire + Water.

Episode 12“Fire + Water”

“Charlie’s freaking out
Thinks Aaron should be baptized
Locke knocks his ass out.”

The Long Con.

Episode 13“The Long Con”

“New sheriff in town
Charlie tries to kidnap Sun
Jin saws his head off.”

One Of Them.

Episode 14“One of Them”

“Henry caught in trap
Hatch clock shows hieroglyphics
I’m a torturer.”

Maternity Leave.

Episode 15“Maternity Leave”

“Ethan kidnaps Claire
Others are wearing costumes
Catch a falling star.”

The Whole Truth.

Episode 16“The Whole Truth”

“What is Widmore Labs?
Sun has miracle baby
You got any milk?”


Episode 17“Lockdown”

“Henry’s a liar
Hatch map viewed under blacklight
I drink just to deal.”


Episode 18“Dave”

“Hurley’s losing it
Stop B.C. in our lifetime
Libby’s committed.”


Episode 19“S.O.S.”

“Locke loses his faith
They will never give you Walt
Michael stumbles in.”

I truly have a gift. I can drop about a thousand of them effortlessly. Jealous?


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Episode 20“Two for the Road” (Wednesday, May 3)

4 – Ana Lucia-centric.

8 – Press release reads as follows: Jack and Kate bring an exhausted Michael back to the camp, and with him, news about “The Others.” Meanwhile, Ana Lucia attempts to get the prisoner to confess, and Hurley plans a surprise date for Libby.

15 – The rumor is that Ana Lucia will be killed by the end of the episode, or perhaps the end of next week’s episode. She won’t be killed by Henry, however…

16 – There will be at least two deaths by the end of the season.

23 – Could Michael be lying to the castaways in order to make a trade with the Others?

42 – Remember what happened the last time someone planned a surprise date for someone else? I believe two people will sleep together this week, but probably not who you think.

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Episode 21“?” (Wednesday, May 10)

4 – Eko-centric.

8 – Press release reads as follows: Mr. Eko enlists Locke to help find a secret location he believes houses answers to the island’s mysteries. Meanwhile, Jack and the other survivors struggle to cope with the horrific situation in the hatch.

15 – What do you suppose this ‘horrific situation’ is?

16 – We will find out why Eko was on Oceanic 815. Libby and possibly Claire will appear in his flashback.

23 – “?” refers to the center of the blacklight map that Locke saw during the lockdown. Obviously, Locke and Eko will be searching for it and speaking in incoherent quotes. This is kind of a big deal.

42 – Libby will not be returning for season three. Does this mean she’ll be killed off?

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Episode 22“Three Minutes” (Wednesday, May 17)

4 – Michael-centric.

8 – Press release reads as follows: A determined Michael convinces Jack and several castaways to help him rescue Walt from “The Others.” Meanwhile, Charlie struggles with Eko’s decision to discontinue building the church.

15 – This will be the episode where we find out what has happened with Michael all this time. There’s a good chance that Michael’s completely off his nut by now, or perhaps working for the Others.

16 – Walt will return in this episode, but maybe only in flashbacks.

23 – Eko’s clearly stopping the construction of the church because of something he found last week. What is it?

42 – “Three minutes” refers to a specific length of time for something extremely important on the island.


Episode 23“Live Together, Die Alone” (Wednesday, May 24 – 2 hours)

4 – Are you ready for this? The episode is Desmond-centric.

8 – From what I can tell, most of the season finale is a Desmond flashback. Why he crashed, meeting Kelvin, what he knows about the hatch and the map, along with who he knew from his past (Libby makes yet another appearance in his flashback).

15 – Dr. Marvin Candle will be in this episode. So will Mr. Widmore, the man behind Widmore Construction. The rumor is that Widmore was contracted by Dharma to build the stations on the island.

16 – Michael will be returning next season as a guest character only. Where is he going that will only require him to be on camera so little?

23 – Vincent is in the finale. Eko and Charlie will enter the hatch to get dynamite.

42 – It has been speculated that the reason for the Oceanic 815 crash will be explained in the finale.

Dude, I am beyond ready for this. Sound off in the comments section, send hate mail to communistdance@yahoo.com. I’m spent.

The conclusion of the Homecoming Quadrilogy arrives on Monday.

Katharine McPhee Watch – Volume 7.

Katharine McPhee and 4 losers.

92,000 people auditioned for American Idol this year.

There are now 5 singers left, and Katharine McPhee is one of them.

Just thought you might want to know. Here are some quick thoughts:

I’ve seen Andrea Bocelli perform on TV a few times, and I honestly didn’t realize that he was blind until tonight. For the first ten minutes, I just kept saying things to my wife like, ‘Why doesn’t he open his damn eyes?’ and ‘Why is he holding that dude’s hand? Is he slow?’ Shows how good my powers of spotting subtle details are.

Speaking of spotting subtle details, I didn’t even realize the wardrobe malfunction that befell Katharine McPhee until I started reading the search terms people were using to get to my page. All at once, I got a huge spike in terms like ‘Katharine McPhee naked’ and ‘Katharine McPhee pops button.’ I knew that something weird happened on stage because she got all flustered and self-conscious, but it really wasn’t that big a deal regardless. (If you missed it, Katharine was wearing a dress with a huge slit in it, and when she stepped down, the button popped, causing the slit to be even more slittier. Not HBO slitty, but perhaps FX-worthy.) Trust me, if it was a big deal, I would tell you. I’m your friend.

That all being said, it wasn’t her best performance ever, but in the words of Paula Abdul, she looked stunning and I’d cut the throats of a thousand babies just to wave to her from a mile away. Seriously. Even if you hate the concept of AI, you should tune in at least once to see the glory that is McPhee.

David Foster is someone that I would punch in the snoot about ten seconds after meeting him. Sure, he’s got a shelf full of emmys. Sure, he’s written some terrible songs that made him a brazillion dollars. He just reminds me of every highbrow music dick that thinks they’re better and more cultured than everyone else. Listen, music is music. I have a fancy degree in this and I know what sounds good and bad; save it. I understand that you know your way around an arrangement and whatnot, but these singers are beyond coaching. Most of them didn’t do well last night because the arrangement was putrid and your advice was against the grain of everything (correct) they had been taught. From this point forward, guests should show up, sing their song, sell some records and leave the contestants the hell alone.

Ya hear me talking, Barry Manilow? You write the songs that make the whole world want to carve their eardrums out with a broken Coke bottle.

Once again, the show ran late this week, so Simon Cowell kept getting cut off. Wouldn’t it make more sense to put Paula in the last chair, since nothing she says makes any sense to begin with? Let her have the last slurred and drunken word (like she always does), and let the guys do the serious critiquing.

Taylor Hicks, like Katharine McPhee, could have done better, but was in no danger of getting booted. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s the only person this season who’s never been in the bottom three. Whoever’s in charge of dressing these people needs to stop; perhaps find a career in the carnival.

Chris Daughtry and Elliott Yamin were amazing as always, with Elliott hopefully saving himself for another couple weeks. Paris Bennett was honestly decent enough, and Kellie Pickler was horrible, which had become her new standard.

Lost Friday arrives tomorrow. Leave it to the CDP to get you all caught up on the pant-pee-fest that is season two, along with previews for the last four episodes of the year (including the hush-hush season finale). The final chapter of the almighty Homecoming Quadrilogy will be here first thing Monday morning. I’m assuming that you’re finding it charming, heartwarming, funny and sad all at the same time. Thanks, that’s what I was trying to capture.

Sound off in the comments section.

Brace For Impact.

(Homecoming Quadrilogy – Part III.)
Brace For Impact.

What started out as a night of new beginnings and retribution was turning into another textbook punch in the ear for yours truly. The night was half over and I was still alone; mouth reeking with the familiar, sour taste of rejection and failure. It tastes sort of like an old penny, or a 9-volt battery doused in mustard and poop.

I was all set to call it a night. Cut my losses and try again next year. Preferably in a different school, in a different state or continent altogether, where people communicated in beeps and clicks. Take off this horrid blazer, go home, make myself some toast and sleep until 2pm. Damn.

Every time a camera snapped near me, it was like someone was visually documenting the most pathetic and forgettable four hours of my life. Friendly faces became twisted and gnarled caricatures under the lights, cementing the feeling of loneliness that can only be felt by a wiener teenager smack-dab in the center of a puberty-soaked angst session. The me that I am now hates the me that I used to be, but the old me had no choice but to continue being me until I became the me you know now.

Excuse me, that last line gave me a bit of a nosebleed. Give me a second.

Brace For Impact.

Just when I was ready to leave, Gail walked in and I got my swagger back.

‘Gail’ was a female friend of mine, like Sadie, that I knew mainly from the bus we rode together. We had partnered up for a few projects in Spanish class, in particular, making a paper mache’ pinata. We got to know each other a little more after spending a few long nights together in her bedroom, meticulously dipping newspaper in slop and constructing what could be considered the most terrifying clown pinata ever viewed. Candy or not, this thing was going to scare the hell out of some Mexican children.

She had told me she was bringing some people to the dance and wanted to introduce them to me and my friends. She strolled in with two ladies who were looking for company, or at least that’s what she was telling me at the time. We’ll call them ‘Kim’ and ‘Charlotte.’

You can’t blame me for being hesitant; even a bit scared. So far tonight, my record with mysterious women was 0-2, and I really saw no reason to go for the hat trick of rejection. I needed some insurance as to not go into this alone, so I went and grabbed ‘Vinny,’ who you remember from the prior ‘J. Crew’ incident. If something bad was going to happen to me, it was going to happen to him, too. Truth be told, nothing bad ever happened to Vinny, so I was using him as kind of a crude karma shield; a St. Christopher’s medal that smelled like french fries and Brute.

Kim was exactly what you want to receive out of a first impression. She was charming and alive, sporting bright-yet-cavernous eyes and high cheekbones. She talked almost exclusively with her hands, and wasn’t the least bit superficial. She seemed like a genuinely nice person, wearing a simple black dress with matching simple makeup. Within seconds of meeting her, I could tell that she was going to turn my night around. Heck, I might even make a new friend out of the deal.

Of course, Vinny was thinking the exact same thing for himself. Before I could even squeeze the word ‘Howdy!’ from my windpipe, Vinny had swept an arm around Kim and led her as far away from me as he possibly could. They were a blip on the radar within seconds.

For the countless time this evening, I stood alone with my jaw to the floor. It was at this point that Gail introduced me to Charlotte, and I got a first impression I will truly never forget.

The first thing that I noticed about Charlotte- or the first thing that anyone with eyes noticed about her that night- was the fact that she was wearing a massive, white neck brace. Her beautiful blue dress sparkled at every angle, her hair was expertly tossed and curled, her makeup was applied with wild teenage precision, and it was all overshadowed by the foam device wrapped tightly around her neck like a medically prescribed scarf.

She was also crying. Hard.

I looked to Gail, an obvious rictus of complete confusion on my face, then looked back to Charlotte and cocked my head to the side. ‘Charlotte, this is Ramone,’ Gail said, which was my Spanish class moniker at the time. She held out her hand and attempted to say ‘Hello, Ramone,’ but got choked up somewhere near the second syllable and buried her face into a soaked and tattered piece of Kleenex. I slowly brought my arm back to my side, fairly certain a handshake wasn’t in order.

You see, Charlotte had been having a bad week. She was injured in a car accident just days prior, which led to not only the neck brace, but a totaled vehicle. If that wasn’t awful enough, the day before the dance, she was savagely dumped by her boyfriend right after buying the very Homecoming dress she was wearing as she stood before me, sobbing and red-nosed. In reality, she was having a far worse night than me, which I thought was impossible up to this point.

Brace For Impact.

I did the only thing I could do. I fled the scene. I had problems of my own; I didn’t need to get bogged down with hers. That’s what the old me would have done; piss his entire night away talking to someone about some jerk she’s just dying to get back together with. I had a lifetime of experience dealing with people in this situation, and I knew that Charlotte was on a rebound so fresh that it was still flopping around on the plate. Not now. Not tonight. I left her and Gail to fend for themselves.

In the meantime, I talked with friends, told a few jokes and settled into a quiet routine. Every few minutes, though, I’d check to see how Charlotte was doing. I wouldn’t let her know I was keeping an eye on her, I just wanted to see if she was having a good time. She, of course, was not. Having now been abandoned by both Kim and Gail, I found her sitting alone, on a chair in the middle of the dancefloor, bawling hard and unable to turn her fractured head in any direction. Mascara was everywhere.

I tried to ignore her, I really did. However, every time I saw her, I knew exactly how she was feeling, and it weighed heavy on my conscience. My heart and body started to clash with each other, fighting about what sort of person I was destined to become. My body told me to stick with the plan and give up the soft guy I used to be. My heart was aching to make this girl feel better, even though I didn’t have the foggiest idea who she was and whether or not she was clinically insane. Lord knows I wasn’t the person to do it, but I knew that nobody else was going to.

Giving in to what I knew was right, I stepped up to the plate for a total stranger, perhaps as some divine retribution for all the crap I was being hit with that evening. I pulled a chair up to Charlotte- again, right in the center of the dancefloor- and we started to talk.

Well, sort of. She couldn’t turn her head, so she didn’t realize I was there for about 5 minutes. Thinking she wanted to be alone or ignored, I just sat next to her while she wiped her nose on her dress and sobbed. When she finally noticed me, then we started to talk.

Charlotte proceeded to vent and emote all over me. I had heard it all before; the boyfriend, the lack of attention, the secrets and whatnot. I did what I always did; I smiled, nodded and agreed. That was exactly what she needed, and after about 20 minutes of this, I coaxed out her first smile of the night.

In the distance, I caught Vinny and Kim dancing in the corner, laughing and swaying without a care. I secretly fantasized that he was being played like I had earlier in the evening, but to no avail. They couldn’t be any happier. That metallic taste started rising up in me again, as my night of becoming a new man was destroyed at the hands of the very person who wanted to change.

For the rest of the night, I stayed close to Charlotte. I got drinks, did anything to stop the crying and retrieved handfuls of Kleenex when I wasn’t successful. She continued to call me ‘Ramone’ right up until midnight, when it was time for everyone to go home. I led her back to where Kim and Gail (and Vinny) were congregated and hugged her goodbye, as she thanked me for being such a good listener.

It was the meanest thing anyone had said to me the entire night.

On the way home, I thought about what I expected from myself, versus what other people expected from me. In my quest for maturity, I almost reverted to my id in a feeble attempt to grow up. In the end, I realized that no matter what I thought I was missing out on, I had made the right choice. Many years from now, people won’t remember random men and greasy liars they made out with in corridors and stairwells, but they will remember the guy that drove them home when things got a little too out of hand. It was the role I was destined to play, and I was good at it. My attempts to change were ludicrous and worthy of the karma-like retribution I had received. I wasn’t supposed to change.

When I got home, I looked up at the cloud-free, moonlit sky and smiled. My terrible night was over, but I was a better man because of it.

As I put the key into the lock, I could hear the phone ringing inside the house. Knowing that it was almost 1am at this point, either it was someone that I knew, or someone was dead. I rushed in to answer it, mainly to spare myself from getting yelled at when the whole house woke up.


‘Hey! It’s Vinny! What’s up?’

‘Well, I just got home and I want toast and sleep. Why?’

Then I heard it. The sound of a Gail’s SUV tearing down my street with reckless abandon, waking neighbors and scattering wildlife in its powerful wake. I ran outside in time to see it crank hard into my driveway, side door flinging open. There sat Gail, Vinny, Kim and Charlotte.

‘Get in,’ said Charlotte.

Tomorrow: Katharine McPhee Watch – Volume 7.
(I’m picking either Kellie or Paris will get booted; am I right?)

Friday: Lost Friday- Clip Show Edition.
(Get all caught up and prepared for the final 4 episodes.)

Monday: Homecoming Quadrilogy – Part IV.
(Show up to see how it all comes predictably crashing down.)

J. Crew & The Mystery Girl.

(Homecoming Quadrilogy – Part II.)
J. Crew & The Mystery Girl.

Still reeling from getting wretchedly betrayed (and almost killed) earlier on in the night, I kept a low profile for about an hour, chatting with close friends and wiping tears away with my oversized blazer. I didn’t dance too much, for fear prospective dates would notice the huge pee stain that had been forming since that big guy yelled at me. I refused to stand in any open spaces or under any lights, certain in my neurosis that Nutass Boyfriend Rage-aholic would lunge from the shadows, John Rambo-style, slitting my throat with ninja-like precision and malice.

This was simply no way to live.

After all, this was supposed to be my night! I was supposed to arrive and emerge as a contender from a sea of pretenders, making a stand and acting like the straight guys do in John Hughes’ movies. If there’s one thing that 80’s teen films have taught us, it’s that what happens at a High School dance will have a direct emotional effect on the rest of your waking life; perhaps even beyond the grave. I needed to make sure my chance counted.

My only chance at succeeding tonight would have to be at the innocent mercy of a woman who was fortunate enough to not already know who I was. Most of the women at my school already crossed me off the big list of prospective mates in their mind many, many years ago. In the fifth grade, I accidentally wore my mom’s blouse to school in what would be remembered as a tragic laundry mix-up of epic proportions. Since then, most people, teachers especially, looked at me a little cockeyed. In addition to that, my best friend all through middle school was a bona fide homosexual, so the deck has always been stacked against me when it came to being taken seriously as a man.

J. Crew & The Mystery Girl.

Across the dark gym, on the other side of the dance floor, my mystery girl sat by herself. I had been watching her for most of the night, and she looked absolutely beautiful. I had seen her once or twice during school, but never enough to form a solid opinion of her. She normally wore hooded sweatshirts and baggy jeans; tonight she was simply radiant.

As if her dress wasn’t perfect enough, she was proudly sporting a cast on her broken arm, which she had meticulously decorated in a sparkly magenta. The 30 feet between us might as well have been a black hole full of pudding and sharks; there was no way I could muster the balls to approach someone like her for no good reason.

‘Why don’t you ask her to dance?’ said ‘Vinny,’ a male friend of mine, as I stared off into space; thumping bass and strobe lights pounding in my head.

‘Why don’t you?’ was all I could muster. To this day, I still can’t think of a better comeback. Although, ‘Why don’t you go to hell?’ comes pretty close. I was a little touchy at that point in my life.

I wasn’t one of those guys. I wasn’t a guy that thought so highly of himself to ask a stranger to dance and get away with it. I thought it was rude and arrogant, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

‘Fine, I’ll ask her myself,’ Vinny responded, who was certainly one of those guys. It always worked for him, too, which bothered the living hell out of me. I grabbed him by the shirt half a step later.

‘You can’t ask her to dance,’ I said. ‘She’s mine.’

Vinny put his hands on my shoulders and looked me square in the eye. He only did that to me when he had something very important to say, or when he was about to knee me in the testicles. I got into the habit of bracing for impact no matter what.

‘Listen dude, you’re probably not going to get a chance like this again. She’s sitting over there all by her damn self; just ask her if she wants to dance. Look, if it’ll make you feel better, there’s a girl I’ve been meaning to ask, too. If you promise to go over and ask her, I’ll do the same thing. On the next slow song, we swarm like locusts. Deal?’

Such men we were, daring each other to ask women to dance. I couldn’t believe we hadn’t already been scooped up by some bikini sorority cult.

J. Crew & The Mystery Girl.

After a couple numbers, a slow song started to waft through the speakers and into the gym, as Vinny and I looked at each other with wide, non-gay eyes. This was it. We nodded without words and went our separate ways, as couples started to meld together like cells in a Petri dish.

She was still sitting where she had been for the whole night, looking rather bored and despondent. Her hair was curled yet silky; reflecting off of the lights like something straight out of a putrid shampoo commercial. Her sparkly cast bounced light around like a disco ball. I swallowed hard, shook my head in disbelief, and started walking through the crowd to get to her.

The dancefloor was packed with swaying people who already had dates, already were happy. ‘Jerks,’ I thought to myself, ‘every last one of ’em,’ even as I was moving heaven and earth to join the ranks of the taken. I pushed, shoved and said ‘excuse me’ about a dozen times before I made it to the other side of the gym, losing sight of her and doubting my every step. I looked left and right, trying to remember where she was sitting.

She was gone, for the moment. The song was half-over at this point.

My friend was right; I stalled and lost my chance. That was my one big moment to meet her, and it was over. My big night of becoming the jerk I always hoped I’d be was going over about as well as a concrete balloon.

Truth is, it wasn’t over; it was about to get much worse.

No more than 5 feet away, I saw her sitting at another table, but not on a chair. She was sitting in the lap of a guy I’d never seen before.

As my crooked smile faded, I saw her smile growing. They were laughing, having a good time. There wasn’t room on that chair for a third person, even if I was only 100 pounds at the time. Up close and under the lights, she was even more beautiful than I imagined. Her boyfriend looked fresh from the pages of a J. Crew catalog, and I secretly wondered how I could find his address so I could mail him half of a cat. Half of his cat. I bet he smelled like Polo and had a closet full of rugby shirts with popped collars, each one sexier than the last.

What an asshole. I didn’t know the first thing about either one of them, but I knew he didn’t deserve her. Neither did I, really, but at least I knew who Larry Csonka was (see part 1). I stood there alone, watching the two of them like a car accident until the song mercifully ended.

Dejected and heartbroken for the second time tonight, I waded through the crowd of happy people, back to where I was talking with Vinny earlier. He was waiting for me, and he was also by himself. That made me feel a little better.

‘How’d it go?’ he asked me.

‘Um…couldn’t find her.’ I fired back, lying for about the tenth time that night. ‘How about you?’

‘She didn’t want to dance. What a bunch of crap.’

‘I hear you, dude. Oh well, still plenty of time tonight, right?’

‘You got it.’

We stood there, trying our damnest to save face after such a wicked turn of events. He eventually disappeared into the darkness of the dance floor, and I tried to get the image out of my head of J. Crew with my mystery girl on his lap.

I didn’t see her again that night, mainly because I didn’t want to. There were plenty of other ways I could torture myself if need be. Besides, the night was barely half-over. There was so much more left to do; so many people left to reject me.

In case you haven’t caught on by now, the mystery girl was the Missus.

(Tomorrow: Part III.)

Love Tha’ Player, Hate Tha’ Game.

(Homecoming Quadrilogy – Part I.)
Love Tha' Player, Hate Tha' Game.

I walked into the Spring Homecoming dance alone, but I was planning on leaving a man.

True, I had no date and arrived with a bunch of better-looking people who did, but that was all sure to change, because tonight was the night! This was the night that I shed my inhibitions and stopped listening to common sense and reason.

No longer would I be the nice guy, the PG-rated guy. The guy that the ladies would talk to when their boyfriends were being selfish and unfaithful, only to leave me for their arms when I quelled their salty tears. No way. From now on, I would be the guy who did the dishing out and taking, and women would line up in front of me, begging to be stepped on and hurt again. My high school legacy had just begun, and I knew I had an opportunity to write it as I pleased.

The night belonged to me!

I was mentally and physically prepared to rule that night. My super-tight, tapered slacks subtly led your eyes up to my oversized beige blazer, sporting shoulder pads large enough to be endorsed by the Miami Dolphins very own Larry Csonka (Super Bowl VIII MVP; ‘you’ve been czonked!’). A simple black t-shirt underneath said, ‘I’m trying, but not hard enough to look sad and desperate.’

Topping off the ensemble was my not-so-secret weapon, six tablespoons of Old Spice, strategically dallopped and slathered in various locations on my body.

I reeked. I also looked sad and desperate.

This night also predated my 5-year stint with braces, mind you, so my teeth looked as if they were retreating from the front of my mouth, turning inward and making a beeline for my uvula. I was drenched in flop sweat before I even walked into the dimly-lit gymnasium, and it was 40 degrees out. My finely-groomed group started to congregate and form a semi-circle near some bleachers, while I began the hunt for the woman that would change my life.

Love Tha' Player, Hate Tha' Game.

The night was no less than 10 minutes old, and I was about to get the crap beaten out of me.

I ran into a female friend whom I shared a spot with on the school bus. Living in a small town 30 minutes from school, you had no choice but to ride the bus until you got your driver’s license. This girl, who we’ll call ‘Sadie,’ had brought along a friend from another school; we’ll call her ‘Marie.’ Sadie introduced me to Marie and the three of us started talking. Sadie was nice like that; always looking for someone to set me up with, and Marie was right in my wheelhouse. Why me and Sadie never hooked up was pretty obvious, considering that she smoked more weed than Woody Harrelson at Burning Man. No, thank you.

Knowing that Marie had absolutely no idea who I was, I used this time to try out my newfound attitude towards the art of seduction. I told her I played guitar and was an accomplished songwriter; perhaps I’d write something for her someday. She giggled and brushed against my blazer, her eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree as I continued to lie through my crooked teeth. I was definitely on to something. I could see a very short, awkward and dishonest future with her, and I was okay with that.

After chatting for a few minutes, someone else needed my attention for a bit, so I excused myself from Sadie and Marie, making sure to let Marie know how much of a pleasure it was to meet her. I turned to step away when Marie grabbed me by the arm and spun me back around. ‘Where’s my hug?’ she asked, eyes glistening. Amazed at how quickly this new method was working, I gave Marie a most tender hug and swaggered away, confident there was nothing that would keep me from the prospect of more hugs in the future.

It felt good.

Love Tha' Player, Hate Tha' Game.

I went over to talk to the person who requested my attention; a girl we’ll call ‘Becky.’ Becky had lost one of her high-heels, as one of my friends thought it would be a witty jest to hide it on her. She wanted to know if I had seen it, and I told her I would look around. I walked around the perimeter of the gym, pushing around chairs and bending under tables. Eventually, I found her lonely shoe under the chair of a huge man I had never seen before. My school was rather small; we all knew everyone, and this guy certainly wasn’t from around here. He looked like Jesse ‘The Body’ Ventura, and was very mad for some reason.

‘Excuse me,’ I said, ‘Can I grab that shoe from under your chair?’

Just then, I realized why this guy looked so big. It was because he was sitting on some guy’s lap. Someone even larger than him; and he was being restrained. Poorly.

‘You’re f***ing dead! DEAD!’ He screamed, as the man under him kept a tight bear hug on his frame. The angry guy squirmed and swung for a few seconds before the guy restraining him said to me, ‘Go dude, just go!’

For a few seconds, I didn’t even realize that the guy was yelling at me; it just didn’t make any sense for some reason. I quickly kicked the shoe out from under the chair and got the hell out of there. I got about five steps away when I heard more commotion. It was the big guy dragging the angry guy out of the gym, still furious and more than ready to crack me like an egg.

That’s when it all hit me like a high-heel to the face. I had been played like a fiddle.

You see, that was Marie’s boyfriend. Knowing full well that he was watching her from afar after a fight they had, she used me to get back at him; flirting and hugging me solely to piss him off and send him into a textbook rage. Her and Sadie had set the whole thing up; laughing at my stupid jokes, nodding at each well-placed lie. I knew it was too good to be true, but I didn’t listen to my gut and I almost got killed because of it.

Look no further for proof that women are messed right the hell up. Instead of just telling him that she was mad and running the risk of ruining the night for herself, she ruined the night for two guys instead, one of them a completely innocent bystander. That’s not even close to cool, and I would never do that to anyone.

Then again, was I really all that innocent? After all, I did lie to her about almost everything. While trying to remain in charge of a courtship through dishonesty and hormone-driven motives, I got strung along and hung out to dry like millions of other losers just like me. I deserved it; it scared me straight. If women are messed up, it’s because men lead them to it.

I was shaking in fear for the next 15 minutes, looking over my shoulder and asking anyone who would listen to check and see if the guy had left. To be entirely honest, my night of manly retribution and female attraction wasn’t going as well as I hoped, but the night was just getting started.

At least I got Becky’s shoe back.

(Tomorrow: Part II.)

Lost Friday – Mediocre Edition.

Call now!

Another Lost Friday is upon us. We have nothing to discuss.

Seriously, this post has almost nothing to do with Lost; I’m just cashing in on the brand, so to speak. Feel free to hang around, though. I did, however, find out that the name of the season two finale will be called, ‘Live Together, Die Alone,’ so don’t say that I didn’t give you any news today. Next week’s Lost Friday will get you all set with everything you need to know about the remaining episodes of the season.

For those of you who show up solely for Lost Friday, you should know that six days out of the week, I’m talking about other stuff on here. Usually better stuff. Who knows? You might just find another reason to come here besides hunting for shirtless photos of Jin and Sawyer. The things that people search for never cease to amaze me. If you want to catch up on the CDP, click on the ‘First Time Here?’ link at the top of the sidebar. You’ll thank me later.

Call now!

So, what did everyone do with their Lost-free Wednesday this week? Me? Well, I got a lot done. There was a new Mythbusters on, along with the American Idol results show. I wanted to use yesterday to catch up on a slew of TiVo’ed Supernatural episodes I’ve been meaning to watch, but to no avail. Then I watched the Brewers game and fell asleep on the floor. It was really something special; I can cross a lot of things out of my day planner.

Call now!

In car accident news, the Missus is able to rent a car on the dime of the dude that hit her, so she’s currently speeding around the city in a new Chevy Cobalt. As you would naturally assume, she hates the damn thing with a passion. The early projection is that her ’99 Taurus is totaled, so I guess we’re going to have to start looking for a new car. As I’ve said before, if we could afford a new car, we would have bought one by now, so if anyone wants to go ahead and purchase a new car for the Missus, shoot me an e-mail and we’ll talk. Her neck is feeling a little better.

Call now!

Let’s talk about beer for a second. In the beautiful city of New Glarus, the New Glarus Brewery manufactures my absolute favorite beer in the history of mankind, the Tail Wagger Barley Wine. For those out of the loop, Barley Wines are viciously strong beers, about 12% in some cases (read the article in the link). If you prefer wine over beer, a good Barley Wine is a gateway to enjoying brews just as much. Also, it will floor you after one bottle.

Anyways, the folks at the brewery apparently had a problem with the bottling of their last batch of Barley Wines. From what I can gather, the distributor sold a 6-pack for the cost of a 4-pack, and when the stampede was over, the New Glarus folks barely broke even on the sales (Barley Wines are a bit pricey). This caused a shutdown of the manufacturing of the Tail Wagger, and the rumor is that it might never be made again. This hurt me deeply.

Quickly, I got in touch with a beer expert I know who has connections. The plan was to buy out every remaining bottle of Barley Wine in the state. With New Glarus being a local brewery, Wisconsin is the only place where this brew exists, and we were running out of time. After weeks of phone calls and writing checks, we each got hooked up with a case of what could be the last bottles of Tail Wagger ever made.

Call now!

My goal is to ration out these bottles over the course of a lifetime. Only certain special events and circumstances will be ‘Barley-worthy,’ and I’m not sharing with anyone, ever. My plan is to drink 14 bottles tonight, and when I wake up from the coma it will be 20 years in the future, when they will have found a way to clone the precious Tail Wagger for worldwide consumption. I’ve got it all figured out, and nobody’s stopping me.

This weekend; not entirely sure what’s going on. Post a comment or send an e-mail, and if I’m not busy I’ll show up at your party. My rates are reasonable and I’m always open to new things.

Call now!

I feel like I’m forgetting to say something. Oh yes, Evangeline Lilly was in a sex line commercial from years ago that still airs on late night TV. This is incredibly funny to me; I actually saw it for myself a few weeks ago. I can hear the phone calls now, “I want to talk to Kate! I want carte blanche!”

It goes without saying (and I don’t want to ruin your fantasy), but if you expect to talk to anyone even vaguely resembling Kate (who’s no prize pig, to be quite honest), you will be sorely mistaken. I do bet that the company gets a lot of calls from guys who want the ladies to act out Lost fantasies with them, and that helps me sleep a little better at night.

Call now!

Maybe we’ll find out on Lost that the phone sex lady Locke was talking to in season one was Evangeline Lilly, pretending to be Kate, whom Locke wanted to be addressed as Helen, the woman he lost at the hands of a con with his father. Man, this show has so many twists and turns! I’m going to pitch that to the writers; maybe they’ll buy my wife a new car.

Not only is next week the last week of April, but it’s another ‘5 posts in 5 days’ stretch here at the CDP. I’ll be kicking next week off with an essay that rocks so hard I had to roundhouse kick it into quarters. It is an all-true quadrilogy that I’d turn into a movie if I had the good sense to make some serious cash. Come on back; you don’t want to miss ‘oot:

Monday – Love Tha’ Player, Hate Tha’ Game (Part 1).
Tuesday – J. Crew & The Mystery Girl (Part 2).
Wednesday – Brace For Impact (Part 3).
Thursday – Three Strikes, You’re In (Part 4).
Friday – Lost Friday – Clip Show Edition.

Katharine McPhee Watch – Volume 6.

Katharine McPhee and 5 losers.

92,000 people auditioned for American Idol this year.

There are now 6 singers left, and Katharine McPhee is one of them.

Just thought you might want to know. Here’s some quick thoughts concerning this week’s installment:

Rod Stewart seemed like a nice enough bloke, but I still cannot stand most of his music. It looked as if he spent more time trying to be funny than actually helping the contestants nail the songs. In his defense, he really had nothing to teach the contestants, and he said that himself, which was quite introspective and humorous. I’m glad that Taylor Hicks got a kick out of his SNL sketch; it was pretty hilarious. If I ever become a flash in the pan popular enough to be spoofed on SNL, that will basically allow me to die in peace. Since I was 6, I’ve wanted nothing more than to host that show. Chris Daughtry and Katharine McPhee are two of the best contestants AI has ever had; if they end up in the finals together, the earth might finally fall into a constant state of peace and unity…until we nuke Iran and subsequently get vaporized. Paris Bennett had a good night, but the act is wearing thin and she’s up against two other women who snag more votes. Singing standards is in her wheelhouse, but everything else makes her look like an amateur. Kellie “I can’t believe these fools keep voting for me” Pickler should be sent packing next week, if we’re lucky. Every week, I cringe on the couch each time she opens her craw, certain that anything and everything she says will be idiotic and embarrassing. Elliott Yamin is still the best technical singer on the show; I hope he sticks around as long as possible. His overall look and appearance, although just fine with me, might stunt his progress in the show. Hopefully he can keep picking good songs that showcase his prowess over the rest of the pack. Ace Young looked like a greasy small claims lawyer (‘Have you been injured in an automobile accident? call Ace!’). When you lose the hair, you lose the fans who like you for your looks and are willing to overlook your shortcomings. He’s like a modern-day Samson.

Happy 4-20, duuuuude! Lost Friday arrives tomorrow…or does it?

My Last Day On Earth.


Sometimes, I’ll have an idea for an essay that bores me about halfway in. I’ll do a decent job on the opening act, but get sick of the concept and scrap it right then and there. This happens to me all the time, leaving me with a Word file brimming with half-finished ideas and rubbish.

This is one such unfinished story. Actually, it’s a direct plagarism of an episode of The Simpsons, but what isn’t?

For April fool’s day, I wanted to write an essay about my last day on earth; what I’d do, so on and so forth (see? I’m bored already). In thinking of a circumstance that would give me 24 hours to live on relatively healthy terms, I used the old Fugu trick, immortalized by The Simpsons many a year ago. It was because of this blatant rip-off that I chose not to continue with the story, but still wanted to share the introduction with you. I don’t like to give up on posts, no matter how uninspired and weak. Consider this post the Blogger equivalent of a B-side or rarity.

Here then, enjoy the first and only act of ‘My Last Day On Earth.’



I should have known better than to prepare the Fugu myself.

According to the doctors, I ingested a lethal amount of toxins when I ate the poisonous fish for dinner last night. I went straight to the hospital, but there was nothing they could do. They say that by 9pm tonight, all my muscles will atrophy and paralyze, and I’ll eventually suffocate. They told me to go home and enjoy what little time I had left, and have my wife contact them once I keeled over for documentation purposes.

I was so proud of myself when I caught the fish, considering that Fugu isn’t remotely native to this part of the world. I wasn’t really even fishing; I hit it with my car on the way home from work. I considered this a sign from above, so despite my oath of vegetarianism and eating poison, I made an exception for this miracle Pufferfish. The Missus did not partake is this venture, and chose to eat rice and beans instead. For that, we are both grateful.

I had never prepared a fish to eat before. I remembered watching my Dad do it when I was younger, and it all seemed so effortless and second-nature. The Fugu’s scales are rock-like in nature, and after dulling all of my knives in the process, I opted to swing it around by the tail and beat its head against the refrigerator for several minutes. After my arms got tired, I threw the whole thing into a pot of boiling water, stirring in a stick of butter and a tablespoon of Mrs. Dash.

It tasted like heaven.

My wife kept looking up at me, shaking her head in clear disgust. “I can’t believe you’re eating that crap,” she would say. “If it doesn’t kill you, I will.”

“You don’t understand!” I fired back. “This is a sign! I was meant to eat this fish. You just wait and see.”

10 minutes later, she drove me to the emergency room. We took her car, and I threw up four times on the way; once into her air conditioning vent by accident. Long after I’m gone, she’ll think of me every time she turns on the heat.

After some embarrassing tests and an unnecessarily stern lecture, the news was broken to us. We were too shocked to cry or be angry, so we just drove home and didn’t say much to each other along the way. We got home at 11pm, and finally sat down to talk about the situation. We worked out all of the depressing details, and I got to work making a list of all the things I wanted to do over the next 22 hours.

I fell asleep making the list, and we both woke up at 10am the next day.

(As a closing to this post, do a Google image search for ‘delorted’ and see what pops up. Fantastic.)

It Ain’t Fiction.

Screw you, Roger Rabbit.

In February of 1990, the pop music world was shaken, or at the very least, uncomfortably altered, when ‘Opposites Attract’ by Paula Abdul rocketed to the top the charts for three straight glorious weeks. ‘Opposites Attract’ was Abdul’s 4th top 10 hit from her debut album, solidifying her as a pop music sensation for the remainder of the 1990’s and to this very day. She has since won 18 Grammys, been nominated for 3 Oscars, donated over 100 million dollars to the ASPCA and once delivered a baby in a taxi cab.

Perhaps more importantly, ‘Opposites Attract’ was remembered mostly due to its groundbreaking and trendsetting music video, where Abdul dances and interacts with an animated MC Skat Kat. Not at all ripping off Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, one of the greatest movies ever made, the Gene Kelly-esque number wowed the MTV generation and set couches ablaze with the obvious sexual tension between Abdul and Mr. Kat.

More like MC Sex Cat.

Rumors surrounding their relationship reached a fever pitch when Kat was spotted engaged in a fistfight with John Stamos outside of the Viper Room in June of ’91. After photographers snapped the two in combat, Stamos was suspended from the set of Full House for three days without pay. From that episode of Full House forward, Paula Abdul’s poster was no longer displayed in the bedroom of Stephanie and DJ Tanner.

Everywhere you look!

As we all know, Abdul went on to release two more hit albums, before landing her current gig on American Idol. MC Skat Kat, however, started hitting the inhalants pretty hard, and can now be seen working the door for a Chuck-E-Cheese in downtown Beverton, Oregon. John Stamos went on to marry Rebecca Romijn, only to have her leave him for the fat kid from Stand By Me.

Here then, the reason for this post.

As a bit of a wordsmith and a stickler for consistency, I’ve always had a problem with the famous chorus to ‘Opposites Attract.’ Particularly, the following lines:

Ms. Abdul‘I take two steps forward,’
Mr. Kat‘I take two steps back,’
Both‘We come together, ‘cuz opposites attract.’

Think about that for a second. Assuming that they were facing each other, if person A (Abdul) steps forward and person B (Kat) steps back, how do they come together? In reality, they would end up the same distance apart from where they started. Let’s go to the chart for this one, shall we?

It's all coming together now.

Now, the only way these chorus lines could be correct, is if MC Skat Kat wasn’t facing Paula, essentially stepping backwards into her arms. This is not only a ridiculous concept, but it’s far too gay and submissive to even be considered by someone as egomaniacal and misogynistic as Mr. Kat.

That way, after taking their aforementioned steps forward and back, they would indeed end up together. They really should have thought about this more when her and Mr. Kat were writing the song together.

After 16 years, I’m finally able to speak my case about this and let it go. I hope you’re singing this song to yourself for the rest of the day.

Lonely Crashing Lonely.

Rear Ended.

This is the Missus’ car.

Well, at least it used to be. Allow me to explain.

First off, I want to let everyone know that she’s okay. I took her to the hospital immediately afterwards, and although she has whiplash, the doctors say it should heal by the end of the week. She’s laying very still on the couch as I speak, popping Advil and icing the back of her neck. I guess with whiplash, tomorrow’s going to be hell, but if it’s a normal neck injury it will get back to normal soon thereafter.

Now, here’s what happened.

We both had today (Monday) off; she was headed to an allergist appointment at 8am and I was sleeping on the floor of the living room. Easter ran a little late last night and we were both a bit exhausted. The plan for the day was to clean the house and check out some homes for sale in the area when she came back from the doctor.

On the way to the allergist, the Missus exited the highway and stopped at a red light in the left turn lane. When the signal changed, she was looking around to see if anyone was coming so she could turn. She heard a squeak and looked into the rearview mirror just in time to see a Jeep Liberty’s grill smash into her back end at 35 miles an hour. Microseconds before the crash, she had the amazing sense to put her hands behind her head, arrest-style, which probably spared her from a much worse neck injury.

When the Jeep hit the back end, her head snapped back and went forward into the steering wheel; her car rear-ending the one in front of her and so on. The Jeep that hit her didn’t break at all; there were no skids anywhere near the site of the accident.


The Missus, upon assembling her bearings, got out of the car with the full intention of killing whomever was behind her. Full of adrenaline, she made her way back to the Jeep to see a frail, handicapped man, not a day under 80 years old. This fool actually told her that not only did he see her and not even think to hit the brakes, but that it was his third accident in the last 3000 miles with this newly-leased Jeep. “This time, they’ll take my license,” he mumbled; she tells me that she could barely understand what he was saying.

The Missus called the cops and then called me. I arrived on the scene a few minutes after the police, who had actually dealt with this man in the past. They exchanged insurance information and all that wonderful stuff, before getting a tow truck on the scene. The Jeep smacked the fuel pump on the Missus’ car, essentially totaling it for the time being. Considering the damage to the trunk and body, the early reports state that this car is totaled, period.

Old Jeep Guy got a ticket, and will most likely lose his license; which should have probably happened years ago. He was properly insured, so here’s hoping we won’t have to pay a dime. They’ll even cover the medical bills, towing costs and whatever else has to happen with the car. Sadly though, the Missus is in a lot of pain, we’re short one car that we’ll probably never get back, and buying a new one isn’t really something we wanted to do anytime soon. That all being said, with all the things that could have gone wrong today, we’re focusing on all the things that went right.

For example, we get to drive to work together for a while. I always like that.


The car’s at the impound lot right now, waiting to be checked out by a claims adjuster. We’re going back and forth with the insurance agency right now, making sure we’re doing everything we can to settle this as soon as possible. I’ll keep you updated.

If you have any questions, comments or concerns about this, sound off in the comments section. Send any well-wishings to the Missus in there, too. Thanks.