Alright, so it may have appeared that this blog was slowly going the way of the buffalo — but take heart, I am about to engage in more hilarity. The last post made on this blog was dated July 6, 2007...well, as luck would have it, our firstborn son came into this world on July 8, 2007, and well, there just is nothing funny about children. All the joy and laughter has simply vanished from our lives and now I am off to start blogging about spreadsheets and global-warming.
Okay, so maybe all of that isn't true (the bit about the kid is true — Trace Reagan was born on July 8th and is now slobbering and pooping at an 8th grade level). Maybe I've just become complacent in my blogging as things at home have gotten more hectic. That is all about to change. My early New Year's resolution is to keep this blog crazy up-to-date and so f'in funny you will be cursing your monitor for making you spit out your Egg Nog lattes.
There is a lot, A LOT, of really crappy stuff to reminisce about and to take apart. Way too much for me to let this blog slide into oblivion any longer.
Avast, me hearties...it's bloggin' time — and far to much is not as cool as you remember.
December 14, 2007
Back (and better than ever)
July 6, 2007
Great Dance-off Round 3—Dead Heads of State bracket
When Saddam Hussein was eulogized after his execution, he was remembered for a lot of things...torture, murder, genocide...but many don't know that he was also a crazy-good dancer. Does Saddam have the moves or does Boris Yeltsin's Vodka-induced rug-cutting take the cake (rumcake)?
Vote below and tell us why in the "dead heads-of-state" Dance-off!
Yeltsin's soused
Saddam's Sheik Shuffle (say that 5 times fast)
June 15, 2007
Great Dance-off, Round 2—Shufflin' bracket
Maybe this matchup should be called the "ill-advised music video" bracket...
The mother of all regrettable music videos—the '85 Bears "Shufflin' Crew" show how it's done AND fake-play some instruments at the same time.
VS.
In what almost seems like an homage to the Bears shufflin' antics...Sammy Stephens dances AND raps about the merits of his flea market. It's just like...it's just like...I'm drawing a blank
Da Bears!
Flea Market!
June 9, 2007
Great Dance off, Round 2
Round 2 of the Great Dance off brings us the SNL alums bracket. Julia Louis Dreyfus was an SNL cast member dearing some dark years in the 80s and everyone knows about Chris Farley's stint on the show. I must admit...this matchup is a clash of the titans...choose wisely. Keep voting for Round 1 winners and lemme know what swayed you in our comments section.
Elaine's "Sweet fancy Moses" inducing dance
Farley nearly edges out Swayze for a job
Our embedded vid got removed, so here is a LINK to it.
June 4, 2007
The Great Dance off Round 1, Republican Bracket!
This week's dance off pits two political heavyweights against each other in an epic dance battle. From our "Republican Bracket", will it be George "the W stands for 'wiggling'" Bush or Karl "I couldn't be any whiter" Rove? Watch the evidence and vote below, and again...let us know why you voted the way you did. Also, the Freestyle Bracket is still open for voting.
Bush's African Jam
Krazy Karl
Man, that David Gregory can cut a rug too, eh?
June 2, 2007
The Big Bang Theory
In all fairness, we really didn't have a choice in the matter.
Bangs weren't allowed in the 70's and the 80's were all about the high-fashion of pop music. Don't get me wrong, Michael Jackson was actually COOL back then, and so was HAIRSPRAY. Not just any kind of hairspray, but any type of aerosol containing high amounts of chloroflorocarbons (cfc's). This hairspray, preferrably Aquanet, was sticky and strong and really quite amazing. Now, maybe the fashions just decided that they should be a showcase for the technology of the day, the jury is still out on that one.
In order to show how strong and durable hairspray had actually become, we needed a REASON to use it large quantities. Therefore, the "no-bangs, hair to the middle of your back, combed brilliantly and tucked behind your ear, method of the 70's" had to become extinct. Soon, people of all ages, sexes and creeds, needed to torture their hair in various ways to ensure that not one hair could hang in it's natural state.
Spiral perms? No, that's a whole other subject, much too lengthy to touch on here. I'm thinking of the "curl up - curl down - gigantic bangs" also known as "mall bangs". Henceforth, I will refer to them as 80's bangs.
How was this phenomenon exacted?
Well, first and foremost, you needed to have bangs. Not long enough bangs to be as long as the rest of your hair, oh no, real bangs!
And you also needed a curling iron - one with a giant ironing surface, one that could exceed temperatures of 1000ºF, one that could withstand the chemical fusion of hairspray.
And last, but certainly not least - you needed hairspray. A hairspray, in the largest quantity available, in endless supply, and at least 1 can per week, for maximum fashionocity.
First, divide your bangs horizontally into 2 equal portions. While clipping the "upper" bang away from the "lower bang" - grasp the lower bang with your intensely hot curling iron, and curl downward. While holding the curl as close to your head as possible, spray your hair while burning it in the curling iron. Count to 3, while continuously spraying hairspray. Then unroll, and release your lower bang from the curling iron, and spray the tight curl with hairspray again... count to 3, unless 5 seems more appropriate.
Then unclip your "upper bang" and grasp it with your intensely hot (and now slightly covered with burning hair and hairspray) curling iron, and curl UPward. While holding the curl as close to your head as possible, spray your hair while burning it in the curling iron. Count to 3, while continuously spraying with hairspray. Then unroll and release your upper bang from the curling iron, and spray the sticky curl with a bit more hairspray (count to 3 or 5).
You may think we're done, but we've only just started. Now, take your brush or comb, and tease (a.k.a. "rat") the heck out of those upper bangs. Rat them, like there's NO tomorrow... they will become knotted, crisp, and voluminous! The more your rat, the bigger the bangs become.
All done? Not quite. Now, you spray the entire "hair" region... including both upper and lower bang - with the hairspray, again. Make sure you use enough so that you begin to see stars, and then open a window or door, so you don't pass out (because then your hair will be flat on one side and you'll have to start the process all over again).
What a beautiful thing... 80's bangs. the greatest part was that it was a fashion trend that spanned from butt rock, to pop rock and beyond. Men, women, children of all ages - everyone could have 80's bangs, and everyone could be beautiful. That's right... beautiful.
jenn
June 1, 2007
The Great Dance Off! Round 1
First up in the freestyle bracket is everyone's favorite boss David Brent throwing down some impromptu bizness vs. Billy Squier doing God-knows-what. Watch each video, vote...and tell us why you picked the way you did in the comments box.
David Brent's Flashdance/MC Hammer fusion:
Billy Squier's full body dry-heave:
May 23, 2007
Zubaz, we hardly knew ye...
There have been many pants fads over the years. First came the stylish pantaloon (not to be confused with doubloons, for all ye pirates), then no significant advances in pant technology took place for quite a while...then some guy by the name of Levi Strauss and his buddies Jordache and Bugle Boy invented denim jeans, or "dungarees" if you are a pretentious ass. 
Many years again passed and along came corduroys, sweatpants, parachute pants and khakis—the world was now heavily pantsed and no one was left wanting for more pants varieties (except Mickey Rooney).
Fast forward to the early 1990s—Pants were still abundant and even Mickey Rooney had solved his pants crisis (he simply wore none), but two dreamers in a Los Angeles gymnasium were about to turn the pants world on its collective ear. Following such luminaries as Jonas Salk, Marie Curie and Albert Einstein; these two men developed a new kind of pant—one stretchy enough to cover even the most juiced-up quads and durable enough to survive both acid and stone-washings. The new pants were called: Zubaz. 
I don't think that I am overstating when I say that Zubaz were the most important development of the 20th century. The creators of Zubaz took an idea that was first postulated by MC Hammer—that pants could be both garish and ridiculously poofy and blousy...and they gave it life. What was this flubber-like material that Zubaz were made out of? No one will ever know (some say "rayon"). All we do know is that Zubaz were meticulously covered in animal prints, fastened with a drawstring and were impenetrable by stains. Zubaz, simply put, were awesometasticradicaltubular.
Why do the brightest stars burn out so brightly? Why must everything beautiful be so fleeting? Sadly, this ode to Zubaz is no more than a eulogy. Zubaz pants were taken from us by the government in the year 1996 (much like they take egg nog away each January). Oh sure, you can still find relics scattered here and there...on bodybuilders...cut up and used as car chamois...on Mickey Rooney...but Zubaz are largely extinct in North America. Some day, when the world is better ready to accept something beautiful without destroying it...I believe that Zubaz will return. They might be adorned with NFL logos...they might strike a deal with the World Wrestling Federation...they might. For now, all we can do is wait, ever vigilant, for their return...and be forever mindful of the glorious few years when Zubaz (pronouned Zoo-baz) ruled the world and we ALL dared...to be different.
May 7, 2007
Need an Ideal Summer Sandal?...How About the Jelly Shoe?
I can't imagine what my childhood would have been like if I had never had the opportunity to adorn my feet with the very classy, glittery, comes-in-so-many-assorted-colors, and not to mention very cheap plastic jelly shoe. Oh my how the memories are wisping about in my mind like a cool breeze. Those sweet trips to the local Kings store where you could by anything from a Cyndi Lauper concert tee-shirt to the hard to find nowadays chicostick. It was a golden palace. We are talking surplus people, that is where you'll find the bargains and not to mention the must have jelly shoe bin. 
Lets get real. For some reason I had to have them and for what; to stand there for an hour trying to untangle the ridiculous elastic strap holding the pair together from the rest of the pack. This fustration all due to the fact that there is only one purple pair left and it is all the way down to the bottom. Okay, I purchase them for a steal. There is no other sandal on the market this reasonably priced for such high fashion. I get home slip them on and I have automatically raised an inch. For a seven year old this is like wearing stilettos. All is well in the world, right? A few days go by and things seem to be pretty normal and then an odd stench begins to permeate from what is that?—my warn out dogs. I run them under cool water and move on. Strolling down the street in front of the neighbor boys strutting my stuff, and a rock gets caught in my shoe and I can't seem to get it out without taking off my whole shoe. The boys are watching, I take off my shoe, to my dismay it looks like I haven't worn shoes for weeks with all the dust and dirt that has collected on the sole of my foot. Now it is time to play all the exciting summer time games, kick the can, tea party all sorts. I hide and sneak and begin to jog, I'm on the home stretch and begin to sprint. Just when I am about to acheive victory...Snap! The plastic breaks and now my pinky toe is hanging out. I dig in and stick it out and then the whole damn shoe splits.
Walking home in defeat and utter ruin I limp home in these Godforsaken monstrosities and bury my head in my mother's chest in tears explaining the horrible chain of events. She comforts me and I cry myself to sleep. The next morning I awake and vow never to buy those tacky things again. Mom announces that she is headed to town and she might stop by Kings. Ahhhh yes, the whole saga begins all over again.
By Lacey Roberts
April 26, 2007
Love the smell of feet?
Every hardcore gamer needs three things: 1) a steely resolve, 2) an ability to completely immerse oneself in their virtual environment, and 3) a clunky, vinyl mat, that may or may not play 5 games.
If only had the latter, that is good enough for me.
The NES PowerPad was a brilliant piece of ingenuity that the good folks at Nintendo thought would look good atop your pile of worthless Nintendo accessories. The PowerPad's intentions were pure, no doubt, as Nintendo surely believed that they had finally solved the problem of how to make games more tedious and unresponsive while still making it possible for fat kids to keel over while playing them. The Powerpad, upon its release in 1988, quickly revolutionized stomping your feet. 
No more would gamers have to wildly mash at their A and B buttons while playing Track and Field...now, at long last, they could wildly stomp on a gigantic pad with arbitrary numbers and letters on it.
Don't get me wrong, it was kind of a good idea...but the technology behind the aptly named PowerPad was just not quite there and sadly, harnessing the ultimate power—body power—was at least 10 good years down the road. Parents probably put these bad boys under the tree hoping that junior would finally get some excercise and give his Nintendo thumb some time to heal, but with a whopping 5 games that were compatible with the PowerPad, the "fun" never really took flight. Another thing that got me about the PowerPad is that apparently it was Verboten to wear shoes on this thing (probably damaging to the complex circuitry or maybe just left scuff marks), so any time the old Pad was dragged out, it brought with it the intoxicating aroma of sweaty feet. Feet are not all smelly, mind you, but for 9-12 year old boys that bathe once a week and wear the same shoes to church, soccer practice, school and swampmucking definitely have a corner on the market.
The PowerPad, though not as worthless as the Powerglove, worked poorly at best. Any hopes of increasing your sprinting technique went out the window when the Pad was plugged in. Players had to resort to a kind of shuffle step to actually see results and then jump to other "buttons" or off the pad completely for hurdling or *shudder* pole-vaulting. All in all, the PowerPad was probably the 3rd best Nintendo accessory right behind the zapper and the electrical cord. It was probably best to just avoid anything with "power" in the name.
April 19, 2007
L 7 Square
Tetherball? Are you kidding me? No, no… the biggest waste of time during elementary school recess? Four-square as played under “Siedenstricker Rules”.
Don’t get me wrong – Four-square was the most popular of all 5th grade recess games. The bell for recess would ring, and the stampede would begin, the race would be on! We would run as fast as we could to get to that gravel-covered asphalt court, emblazoned with bright white squares. Those that were too slow to make it into a square, would stand on the sidelines, hoping to take the place of the next loser. One square was always occupied by our teacher, Mr. Siedenstricker. He would call “Siedenstricker Rules”, and we would play as hard and fast as we could trying to get him out of the “winner square” by the end of recess. Big kids, little kids, ugly kids, popular kids – everyone united with a single goal – Beat Mr. Siedenstricker.
Looking back on four-square with our arch-nemesis teacher, I realize that he was just a mean teacher with “little-man-syndrome”. Those rules ensured that he would win every game. What a loser! Making rules so that 5th graders can’t win a recess game? So, in hindsight, four-square may have been fun, but getting beat by our height-challenged 5th grade teacher was not so cool.
April 18, 2007
Pole Position
Ah, hindsight, my trustworthy friend—tell me what game wasted more of your time growing up...
What's that you say? Tetherball? Oh yes, tetherball. The game of champions. A game where only the nimble, strong and crafty survive!
Tetherball was a great game to pass the long lunch recess hours and a fantastic spectator sport, but I have to tell you: tetherball is not as cool as I remember.
First off, you could NOT play a game of tetherball for more than 30 seconds without your hands getting absolutely filthy. It was like you just tossed a clay pot on the potter's wheel, plus this was well before Purel hand sanitizer was invented. Also, if you took just one semi-flat tetherball to the face, you might as well have been hit by a truck. The worst part of tetherball, however, was the neverending litany of rules. There were usually no less than 20 rules for each game which usually sounded like this: "Alright, first one to officially 'tether' the ball to the steel pole wins...BUT, there will be none of the following: ropies, fruit loops, helicopter spins, airplane dizzies, hand-jives, around-the-worlds, striking the ball with an open palm, roundhouse kicks etc..." The game was FREAKING TETHERBALL! The sole purpose of this game should've been to not strangle yourself with the nylon cord!
Then the cheaters came. Most tetherball games were so fraught with infractions that the outcome was violently disputed.
The most agregious cheaters (besides those that used roundhouse kicks) would enlist a chum who would give them a boost so they could "jack up" the cord to the top of the pole, thus making it too hard to defend against a tether by those of average elementary school height (2'6")
All told, tetherball was a decent way to mix things up from the usual recess routine of chasing girls, throwing rocks and silently crying in the music room...but as far as sports go it was lame—unless you play with NO RULES WHATSOEVER...cuz that's how I roll.
April 12, 2007
Third times a charm...unless your last name is 'Macchio'
For the film purist, nothing is more desirable than a story about young love, teen angst, unbridled passion and young and old learning from one another—except,maybe,a story about karate, pottery, decorative trees and a millionaire industrialist/vietnam hero/martial arts expert/Steven Seagal lookalike. .jpg)
What movie could possibly fulfill this tall-cinematic order, you ask? I will tell you... if you promise to never run off and join a cult-like karate dojo—and never, I mean NEVER use the crane technique for anything but good, and the occasional dance competition. We have an agreement? Very well. The film of which I speak is none other than Karate Kidd part TRÉS. Karate Kid III begins much like Karate Kid II, explaining just what the heck happened to Daniel-san's girlfriend from the previous movie. I think that each KK movie wanted Daniel to have a clean slate, or maybe girls were interfering too much with Larusso's true love—a geriatric Okinawan by the name of Mr. Miyagi. Karate Kid III, no doubt in anticipation of a Karate Kid IV, decided to not get into the whole messy girlfriend business with this one and decided rather to give Daniel a girlfriend with whom there is no chance of romance because she is only in California for the summer and already has a boyfriend. Back to the story...Daniel once again, wisely decides to forego his own future and invests all of his college money on a bonsai tree shop for Miyagi, did I mention that Daniel-san loves Mr. Miyagi? It seemed cute in the first two, but in KKIII, Daniel has a full on crush on the old guy. We soon find out that John Kreese, the sensei from the dreaded Kobra Kai dojo has fallen on hard times, presumably because one of his students lost to Daniel Larusso in the all-valley karate championship. Apparently, Kreese's whole livelihood was destroyed when Larusso won the karate championship from Kreese's star pupil, Johnny...makes sense. Kreese seeks out the help of an old army buddy by the name of Terry Silver to get his life back on track. I should mention now that Terry Silver is probably in the top 5 of all evil people named "Terry" in history—just behind Terry Bradshaw, Terry Hatcher, Terry Dactyl and Terry Bin Laden...I mean, this is one bad dude. Not only is Terry Silver a multimillionaire martial arts expert, but he dumps toxic sludge in developing countries, sports a maniacal ponytail and bathes almost exclusively in large, marble bubble baths. Terry Silver elects to help Kreese out the only way he knows how—by taking Kreese's sworn enemy under his wing to train him for a tournament he was forced to enter...and punch sundry things with his bare knuckles. A small montage of Terry Silver's most diabolical moments are below...please note, these are not for the faint of heart.
As you can see, Silver and Kreese spend a lot of time laughing about their nefarious plans. These plans are as follows:have Daniel-san defend his title against a "ringer" that they have brought in by the name of Mike Barnes. If you haven't heard of karate's bad boy, Mike Barnes, then just where have you been hiding? Mike Barnes is good at one thing and one thing only, roundhouse kicks...and punching women in the stomach...and breaking bonsai trees in half...and having a flat top. Okay, Mike Barnes is good at a LOT of stuff and they all involve being a bad boy. The problem here is that Daniel will not sign up to defend his title, much to the chagrin of Mike Barnes. Barnes is quite persistent in his attempts to get Larusso to pony up and eventually gets him to sign on the dotted line (and all it took was three beatings and dangling Daniel over a cliff). The fight is on! Daniel gets wise to Silver's deceit and finally gets Miyagi to teach him some "good" karate, but not before Miyagi gives the Kobra Kais the slowest beating of their lives. Building toward the climax, do I really need to tell you what happens?! Larusso retains the title (against all odds) by using Miyagi's "kata" technique, which resembles a slow and deliberate yoga session, remains good friends with his female companion and asks Mr. Miyagi if he'll marry him.
Karate Kid III lacks the punch (no, PUN INTENDED) of the first two. Too many speeches, too few groin kicks...too many pottery montages, too few Peter Cetera songs. You get the idea; Karate Kid III, while necessary to complete the greatest film trilogy ever devised, was just not as cool as I remember. I'd love to champion some of its finer moments, but like a true visionary once said "the enemy deserves NO mercy."
What's NOT to love?!
The Powerglove was indeed, bad—but not in an ironic, Michael-Jackson-wearing-black-leather-covered-in-zippers type of way.
The Powerglove was a craptastic piece of crap, so crappy that the Colecovision voice modulator looks at it and snickers. Why did the Powerglove suck so badly and profoundly? I mean, it looked cool, right? Well, for starters (and enders) it didn't work. The smooth-as-silk movements of the Wizard's antagonist (who we'll just call the love-child of that dude from The Greatest American Hero)could NOT be duplicated in actual gameplay. Usually, the lucky person who donned the Powerglove spent his time making jerky motions, mashing buttons and trying to get the dumb sensor bars to quit falling off his TV. The Powerglove, rather than providing an edge for the gamer, (or at least a fun experience for the gamer) was actually a frustrating, disappointing steaming pile—but man, did it look AWESOME! The BEST part of the Powerglove was putting it on (feeling like a medieval warrior strapping on a gauntlet with velcro straps), putting your acid-washed denim collar up and then wildly flailing around for a half-hour playing Kid Icarus. The SECOND best part was taking it off and using the regular control so you could actually play your games. By the way, Fred Savage OWNED that punk with his snappy comeback, end of story.
