I have returned from my trip to Guatemala and Belize, and Zembla has returned from hibernation. There's going to be a lot of vacation posts up here for the next few days, because riding through Belize in a pimped-out Bluebird school bus for hours on end gives you a lot of time for blog ideas and questionable comedic ideas.
Some of those questionable ideas were hypothetical titles for this series. Among them:
Too self-deprecating, though I could see Michael McDonald having a great time in Central America, piloting a yacht between Punta Gorda and Puerto Barrios and going snorkeling with college girls.
So I decided on Belize It Or Guat. Enjoy the series just as much as I enjoyed drinking tap water and flushing paper down the toilet upon my return to America.
As I approached AT&T Park, I wondered if I had been too hard on Singles Night. Maybe Singles Night would actually be a fun event. So I took some photos, and from the looks of things, no, it wasn't.
According to one of the disappointed attendees, there were "no fucking chicks, man". There was a man in a Tim Lincecum jersey who weighed approximately two-and-a-half time as much as Tim Lincecum.
When I took this photo, the DJ was urging the few remaining Singles to answer trivia questions for a sure-to-be-disappointing prize. The question that was stumping the crowd was, "When they were in New York, where did the Giants play? (Answer: The Polo Grounds.) A presumably drunk woman kept yelling, "Caaaaandlestick! Caaaaandlestick!"
So I don't know if anyone found love, but as this last picture demonstrates, Singles Night is all about bringing people together:
(I am wearing my SF Giants Starter jacket from seventh grade in that photo. Commence jealously whenevs.)
Tonight, I will be attending my third Giants game of the year, but coincidentally, my second Singles Night. I haven't done the actual Singles Night promotion, which includes a ticket to the game, an adult beverage, and admission to a small cordoned-off area behind the center field bleachers, where the world's saddest DJ spins records up until the National Anthem. There's also a cash bar, and a mysterious promotion called Bachelor at the Park (emphasis theirs).
It's understandable if you thought Singles Night referred to the team's general inability to hit with power. Last time, the highlights were as follows:
1. When Giants shortstop Brian Bocock came to bat, a man stood up in the bleachers and organized a cheer: "When I say, 'Bo', you say 'Cock'! Bo! Cock!" Huh huh. Cock.
2. For some reason, a group of ten fans were aggressively booing the cotton candy vendor. Maybe they were surprised his product dissolved so easily?
3. Reliever Vinnie Chulk came in to a surprisingly huge ovation from the right field seats. Perhaps these were the Chulkamaniacs? I'd like to see Vinnie "chulk up" on the mound at least once. I think that would involve Vinnie getting angry, trembling, then tearing off his shirt and firing a pickoff throw into right field.
Any Giants home game will lead to a lot of Missed Connections posts even on normal days, but Singles Night might cause an explosion.
"I saw you drunkenly heckling the Detroit outfielders for seven straight innings. I never realized so many things rhymed with "Ordonez"! Let me buy you a churro some time."
"I was the pretty brunette wearing the 2003 NL West Champions t-shirt. You had a backwards Giants cap and a sweet-looking goatee. We made eye contact briefly, just before you vomited against the side of the N-Judah. If you're out of the drunk tank by now, we should hang out."
"To the girl who spilled a nine-dollar beer while freak dancing next to Orlando's Cha-Cha Bowl stand: Nice tits."
"You were wearing a pink visor and a Barry Zito jersey. I was shirtless, with SF painted on my chest, fingerbanging you next to the Coca-Cola slide. Want to get coffee sometime?"
The Singles Area was deserted by the seventh inning, which I assume meant that everyone found love in the first six innings, or they were making out in the deserted Speed Pitch Zone. Let's hope tonight is half as romantic as that!
The NFL is always in the news, even three months before the beginning of the season. The latest news was that wide receiver Marcus Robinson retired as a Chicago Bear. When a football player does this, it means he signs a ceremonial one-day contract, usually with the team where he had his greatest success. Usually there's a press conference, the owner says some nice things about his career, and maybe they play a clip of his career highlights.
In the case of Marcus Robinson, I'm not sure what those highlights were. Under "Career Highlights and Awards", Robinson's Wikipedia entry lists "No notable achievements". I'm sure he's a nice guy, but Marcus Robinson is the worst player I've ever heard of that still did the "retiring as..." routine.
Not that signing a ceremonial contract isn't ridiculous even when great players do it. Jerry Rice hadn't played football for almost two years when he retired as a 49er in 2006. Fans might have thought, "Didn't Jerry Rice retire from football a year earlier? Wasn't he on Dancing With the Stars last year, not a football team?"
Yes, but he retired as a 49er. Perhaps Rice hoped that when people reviewed his career, they wouldn't talk about his sucky final year on the Raiders, or the time he spent as the Seahawks' fourth receiver in 2004, or his aborted tryout with the Broncos in 2005. Instead, it would be like he never left the 49ers in the first place.
If Rice had signed his ceremonial contract with the 49ers this offseason, they would have found a way to screw it up. The contract would have carried a pro-rated signing bonus that landed the team in salary cap hell three years later. Old owner Eddie DeBartolo would have given Rice a new car and a plasma TV that mysteriously fell off a truck. Giants GM Brian Sabean would have made it a three-year ceremonial contract and given Rice a no-trade clause.
I wish this were possible with other parts of life. On the eve of closing escrow on my first home, I would go backtomyshittycollegeapartment and sign a one-hour lease. Or two weeks before getting married, I would go back to an girlfriend for a ceremonial handjob.
Could regular people ceremonially retire with NFL teams? If it's a fake contract anyway, I'm sure there are guys out there who would pay large sums of money in order to hold a retirement press conference at a real NFL facility. It could be a great promotion: the first 500 fans at the home opener get to retire as 49ers. They get to take a photo with the team owner, and receive 1/3650th of a full NFL pension. Of course, this wouldn't work in the NBA, as ceremonially retired fans would be in danger of being shipped to the Memphis Grizzlies in lopsided trades. And because of NBA trade rules, some fans would have to wait until July 1st, and re-retire then.
What if I offered 49ers owner Dr. York $1,000 for the privilege? I bet the cheap bastard would take me up on it. After all, I'm as likely as Marcus Robinson is to catch a pass for the 49ers this year.
One Iron Man post is not enough. Here, I discuss why my friend Gene is eerily similar to Iron Man Tony Stark:
Gene and Tony Stark both believe in wearing the most protective clothing possible. for Gene, it's Carhart pants and Kevlar-reinforced motorcycle gear. For Stark, it's a highly-sophisticated suit of near-sentient armor.
Both enjoy having a drink.
When encased in the Iron Man suit, Tony Stark constantly runs self-diagnostics. Whenever Gene stands up and relocates, he always pats himself down to ensure he still has his wallet, keys, 1999 cell phone, and Trapper Keeper.
Both men are fond of Jeff Bridges's work.
Both Gene and Tony Stark regularly sport unorthodox facial hair.
At one time, Gene had to wear a heart monitor. Tony Stark has a device that maintains his heartbeat, constructed from space-age metallics. Because Gene has health insurance from Kaiser Permanente, it is far more likely that his heart device was made from aluminum or copper wire salvaged from a condemned building. Would Gene be able to figure out how to attach his heart to a car battery, if events necessitated it? I think he would.
Gene's best friend has commissioned a wardrobe's worth of bespoke Syrian clothing, in hopes that such tailor-made clothing will last for decades. Tony Stark's best friend, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, envies Tony's prototype iron suit, which is also nearly impervious to wear.
Welcome to a new feature on Zembla, called Box Office Poison, in which I discuss movies and movie-related things in an untimely fashion. Look, I don't go see movies on "opening weekend", or "in theaters at all", so excuse me if some of these observations are "dated" or deal with films you "don't even remember anymore". I'll blog at my own pace!
On the plus side, no spoilers! Unless you haven't seen Iron Man, in which case, stop reading now! And maybe don't read the next post, either.
Box Office Poison: Iron Man
The movie has been out for weeks, everyone in America has seen it multiple times, and they've already announced the release dates for two more sequels, so I am not going to write any conventional review. Instead, here's some disconnected observations about the film:
The only thing more amazing than the suit is the cable package
One underrated aspect to Tony Stark's wealth and fancy Southern California mansion is that his cable system offers a variety of magical, cable channels devoted solely to exposition. Normally, Stark wouldn't watch entertainment news while tinkering with his robotic suit, but E! Exposition Television is a different story. So, it totally makes sense that he'd be inspired to attend his company's charity event.
On that subject, Leslie Bibb ostensibly plays a reporter from Vanity Fair, but I suspect she freelances for one of the exposition networks. Why else would she go to Tony Stark's charity event carrying a collection of gruesome photos from Afghanistan?
"Tony Stark is a billionaire and an engineering genius - but he can't get a lock with a deadbolt for his office?"
Trenchcoat Man
We had the privilege of seeing the movie with an Iron Man superfan, living up to stereotype with his ponytail and black trench coat. He made the movie so much more enjoyable because of his over-the-top enthusiasm,
At the end of the movie, Trenchcoat Man had his moment. RDJ stood at the podium, fielding a question about his connection with Iron Man. As he paused to decide what to say, Trench Coat Man yelled, "Say it!", and RDJ said, "I am Iron Man!" As Black Sabbath kicked in on the soundtrack, Trench Coat Man shouted, "Yeah!", then raised his arms in victory, and walks out of the theater, banging his head.
When reached for comment on the sidewalk outside, Trench Coat Man said, "They got it right.! They fucking got it right!"
You'd think Stark Industries wouldn't need the cash
The product placement is some of the most over-the-top in movie history. A portion of the climactic fight scene is in place for no other reason than to demonstrate how well an Audi can brake, accelerate, and escape from mega-robots. RDJ demands "an American cheeseburger" upon his return to the US, and the chauffeur takes his billionaire ass to...Burger King, so he can spend the next scene eating the worst burger in America front of a throng of reporters. They have Burger Kings in Afghanistan, dammit!
I'm not sure it beats the brazenness of Ron Howard's The Paper, where one of Michael Keaton's character traits is his addiction to Coca-Cola. Not caffeine in general, but specifically Coke. When Keaton ponders tough ethical and journalistic questions, he stands in front of the Coke machine. He finally decides to stop the presses (and urban racism) with the help of his newfound over-caffeinated moral compass.
Obadiah Stane hates uTorrent
There's an implicit anti-piracy message in the film. Bridges taunts Iron Man after stealing his design, saying, "Just because you have an idea, that doesn't mean it belongs to you!" Of course, Bridges does not survive the film. The message? Don't download Iron Man!
I got a paper receipt after I voted this year, though I'm not sure why. I have a feeling that this goes back to the disputed election of 2000, possibly as part of a litany of whiny voter complaints. "The butterfly ballot was confusing, and it was too hard to push out chads all the way, and it was cold in the polling place and I didn't get a receipt either!" Or it was remorseful Nader voters, hoping that in future elections, they could go back and exchange their votes.
The three places in San Francisco that are most insistent about making you take receipts are polling places, Walgreen's, and Ross Dress-For-Less. At the latter two, they fine cashiers five bucks if they forget to give one out, while at the polls, refusing a receipt will make an elderly woman from the League of Women Voters cry. In all three places, you will often leave feeling confident about your selections, but very quickly feel like you just got ripped off.
Legislative panhandling
When I look at the San Francisco ballot, I often feel like I'm getting panhandled:
Measure A: "Sir could you spare a quarter..."
"...of a percentage increase in the city's sales tax? I'm just trying to get a cost of living increase for teachers, maybe get something to eat."
And of course, my reflexive response is, "No, sorry, no, gotta go." Then I rationalize my callous behavior by deciding that the schools are just going to spend that extra tax money money on booze.
Hillary isn't quitting
Even though she has been mathematically eliminated from the race for the Democratic nomination, Hillary Clinton is not giving up and dropping out of the race. In a related story, I am not yet given up on my pursuit of becoming a professional baseball player. Sure, I can't hit a curve ball, or throw the ball from third base to first on the fly, or make an out with crying and blaming my allergies, but the important thing is to keep fighting, and never give up on your dreams. In the next couple of days, I will be deciding how to best continue, and I invite all Americans to share your thoughts with me here at Zembla or at Sean Keane Comedy Dot Com. In addition, I am still accepting donations.
I would, however, settle for a front office position with a professional baseball franchise. Any team that hires me would automatically receive the support of my 18 million readers, so I think they would have to consider it.
Slowly, but surely, Comedian Sean Keane is climbing the Google ladder. Musician Sean Keane still has the top spot, as well as superior numbers, but the lower rungs of the Sean Keane results increasingly involve comedy and blogging, rather than tin whistles and Killarney. The man with the finest tenor voice in Ireland still holds the top spot, but the comedian from SF has #3, #5, #8, and #12. My MySpace page barely edges out his Wikipedia page, which doesn't seem right, but I'll take it.
There are a contingent of new Sean Keanes around the web. Before I add them to the master list of Sean Keanes, let's take a close look at the Sean-Keane-come-latelys. As always, I will be analyzing each Sean Keane to see which, if any, pose a threat to my Google search result supremacy.
Sean Keane is a member of Cub Scout Pack 961, in Hillsboro, VA. Technically, he came in second, but look at those standings! Only Hunter Smith beat him, and Hunter Smith is a Webelos I. Meanwhile, Sean Keane is only a Bear, but he still beat everyone except Hunter, AND all the people in Webelos II. Besides, Hunter's dad probably totally helped him out, and did a lot of the sawing for him. Among the Bears, Sean Keane was #1, and no, I am not talking about my popularity with heavyset bearded men in my neighborhood.
Verdict: If he wins the Webelos I division next year, I am officially worried.
He rollerblades professionally, and he goes by the name "Sean Money". Sean Money made a movie called "Whether It Makes Cent$, or Not", and another called There And Back, which is about rollerblading all over America. He also makes art. And as of this weekend, he's a college graduate.
Verdict: This guy is so much cooler than I am, it's ridiculous. Rollerblade Sean Keane is a serious threat, not just to my Google standing, but to my self-esteem.
This Sean Keane has an extensive background in lighting and photography. Lucky for my Google standing, his full website is still under construction. I'm jealous of his impressive expertise, and of how many light kits he owns, but I'm not jealous of his page rank.
Verdict: A talented Sean Keane, but not a dangerous one.
I have decided that this Sean Keane is Canadian based solely on his pronunciation of "about". Based on his material about airbags, VCRs, and call waiting, I assume he appeared on TV sometime during the 1980's He's very polished, and an excellent post-punchline dancer, but I can find no mention of him other than the page of Youtube user "vicdunne". "vicdunne" hasn't responded to my messages requesting more info, so this Sean Keane will remain a mystery.
Verdict: If more old clips emerge, he could be trouble. That's why I plan to re-record all oh his material and upload them to YouTube myself, under the name of Master Sean Keane.
I feel close to this Sean Keane, because thanks to the rhythm method, I was conceived in the state of Wisconsin. Dr. Sean Keane graduated from Irish medical school almost 50 years ago, so I don't expect him to be tech-savvy. Irish medical school is just like American medical school, just with a greater focus on liver ailments. Also, your professors often get drunk and throw scalpels at you.
Verdict: Dr. Sean Keane isn't a Google threat, but he is a threat - a threat to people's pre-conceived notions of what an immigrant can or can't do. And how nice Milwaukee can seem if you grew up in a Third World country.
Like the orthopedic surgeon in Wisconsin, this Sean Keane is a doctor. However, while the former Sean Keane got his degree from the National University of Ireland, this Sean Keane attended the Starfleet Academy. Some stats:
Full Name: Sean Patrick Keane
Age: 22
Place of Birth: Athenry, Republic of Ireland
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Weight: 152 lbs
Height: 6'1"
Hair: Red
Eyes: Green
Distinguishing Marks: 4 inch scar on left shoulder blade, 9 inch scar across chest
