Showing posts with label scrubs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label scrubs. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

"Fuck It!" - Ronnie B.

I am an island, like Dr. Cox, like Will Lightman.
I dreamt up my perfect woman the other night, with the perfect meeting. I hardly remember it, except that a ladder was involved, so I can't help but assume it was inspired by John Lennon and Yoko Ono.

Idealising is a flaw, now? I found my ideal musician (voice), my ideal comedian (delivery)- I will find my ideal woman. And I will sing this song to her.



Still, I'm an island. So until then I will stomp my feet, sing this song, and make this facial expression...



I return to the court house today. Listen to the new WH&R on Real Kid Radio, or download it Wednesday. The show has nearly replaced this blog- especially since I can't tear up Sylvia Plath books on here.

Friday, July 6, 2007

We hit and run.




I have always been a self-proclaimed king of pillow-talk - never really a big 'dirty talker' though. I keep it positive, there's loads of laughter. The Simpsons references ('This shirt is chafing me...'), the subtle hints for moisture ('It's like a desert in here...')- the stories are mythical, my personality and its sense of humor run a muck between the sheets. I'll never forget the time my Simpsons reference was taken literally:

Oh man, now my pants are chafing me..."
'Well, then why don't you just loosen them?"
Quite a bit of time was spent explaining the episode where Bart's older crush (voiced by that one woman from Roseanne) and Bart's bully were on the Simpson couch, and the bully was conning the clothes off of himself to steal bases with Roseanne actress voice, a lot more time than was spent selfishly thrusting.

I'm never more comfortable than in a sexual situation. There was a night in Massachusetts where I sung the entirety of Wanna Be Startin' Somethin' holding a woman on top of me, severely limiting my vocal abilities. One of the major highlights of my teenage years- the 'relationship' barely lasted a month.



The overnight gig is treading along nicely. It is the ideal job for having visitors, a very independent occupation where you do your work and head out. I love a job where a girlfriend can visit and you can finish your work as if there was never a distraction.

Since moving to Vegas, one of the major highlights has to be the nights spent attending karaoke at the House Of Blues. Every Monday night at the Mandalay Bay's HOB, a live band hosts a night of karaoke- a set list containing the typical Cure and the expected Billy Idol, along with some obscurer Michael Jackson songs. We've gone maybe three or four times, but the memories themselves are timeless-

  • Riggy performing and horrifying the crowd during his visit
  • Ant Saunders being Anthony Saunders
  • Drinking Jack N' Coke two at a time
  • Being rejected by married women
  • Being the only witness to Brian Garcia's obtaining of a phone number

And by far, the best of all...

There was one night we may have drank more than any of the other occasions (the 'two at a time' night, with two simultaneous straws cyphering Jack). On this night, when karaoke closed its curtains, our group was disbanded into smaller groups throughout the Mandalay Bay. One such group contained Myself, Brian Garcia, and my brother Jim. For whatever intoxicated reason, Jim decided that a funny bit would be to continuously taunt Brian, get into his face, and challenge him to a 'throw down' in the middle of the poker area. Hilarity ensued, as Brian's responses were limited to 'Yeah, okay' and 'Whatever Jim' as he attempted to act oblivious to the continuous harassment performed publicly at high volumes (with hundreds of eyes looking on). My whole gimmick during this scene was to play the middle man, with the 'He'll do it, Brian' and the 'I got your back Garcia if he does anything' comments interjected between Jim's threats.

Do something Garcia. I'll fuck you up right here, man!"

Face-to-face, face-in-face, definitely one of the greatest events I'll ever experience in a casino.

It seems as though Sid & I will finally be kicking off our podcast within' the next week- or at least recording the first show. We finally got a kick-ass studio in the house, so the equipment is here, it's just a matter of getting the long missing Sid to make the trip. Once it's recorded, its world-wide premiere will be posted on this blog. Stay updated through Literary Slumber. If you want to hear a selection of radio production pieces I've made in the past, feel free to visit the Real Kid Radio myspace, or listen to Jim & Them (Episode 7 really shows the quality of the new recording setup).



Thursday, June 21, 2007

Bulletproof Blog Entry


  • Kevin Scampoli works the graveyard shift,





  • The new Elvis Costello iTunes Originals album is wonderful. It contains twenty-four tracks, twelve of which being insightful, spoken word recordings pertaining to the twelve songs selected by E.C. himself for the release. He even re-records a handful of them in the studio, it's great to hear songs like Little Triggers, Kid About It, and Motel Matches revisited. After listening to this I have developed a new found appreciation for Invasion Hit Parade.
  • Congratulations to East Side Dave and Casey for their marriage, set to be broadcast on Ron & Fez this morning. I will be listening, sniffling, and enjoying.
  • Superbad Rated R Trailer:




  • Legendary Scrubs moments:








Thursday, June 14, 2007

Literary Phoney.

Literary Slumber gives me a forum to flex my grammatical muscles drunkenly for a very small audience that consists of either family members or ex lovers whom are putting me through the corrupt American legal system. The only rule I impose and attempt to enforce is "Dont let this become a livejournal." With the recent and upcoming drama, we're going to tip-toe that LJ line very frequently this Summer.

For those following the ongoing L.S. story lines, I have returned to eating in a big big way. I am a man who loves food. Silly trials like life-altering depression can only avert my pizza gaze for so long. That is how my body keeps itself in check. Every few months it'll decide to starve itself for any number of hours, allowing the previous weeks of satisfaction to appropriately cleanse themselves. It's the numbing stomach pains I'd like to avoid- those are a little rarer, every eight months or so, yet still too frequent. Luckily I've never suffered one of those while in the company of a lover- it typically begins, middles, and ends with me near-tears in a running bath-tub like Turk after a nightful of steak.

What an odd paragraph.

I want to major in English when I go back to school. I want to pursue the whole writing gimmick, and I want to master this language. Yet, I find myself censoring a large portion of the literary universe out of my mind.

These names are on the black list:

Sylvia Plath
Ted Hughes
Charles Bukowski
Anais Nin

and others.

There's a collection of Ferlinghetti books I will be ordering this weekend that I nearly stopped myself from even researching.

When any of the above names come up, or whenever I dive too deep into the world that English majors delve into, I feel like I need to share it with Sara. As if I'm intruding on her turf.

Well, not so much intruding, more like she would know or want to know about these books.

I won't allow myself to read a Plath or a Bukowski, because I know I'll be treading ground that is familiar for her. That part is completely understandable to me, as I am still not over the entire situation that has happened and continues to progress.

What isn't understandable for me is how I limit myself from reading new works of poets or authors I've already enjoyed, just because there is an off chance she might like it as well, or because I feel like I'm supposed to share it with her.

She didn't even like my writing, and to this day doesn't buy me as a reader or writer.



Wednesday, June 6, 2007

"Why being really lonely is sometimes super awesome..."





The past couple nights have been spent in a cloud- a polluted, musky, pirate ship coloured cloud. Sid stopped by the workplace last night, which added a slight skip to my step. He commented on my rapid weight loss, a subject I've sarcastically responded to with "I haven't been able to eat in three days". Not sarcastically because it's untrue, just because people seem to laugh about it as opposed to responding with horror when I add those inflections to my speech.

I have taken on the life of a fifteen year old girl. Loss of hunger, in her bedroom, waiting for a call.

I have always been a person who desires closure. Yet looking back, I can't recall a time that I have taken advantage of a closure opportunity. I insist on continuing things, through whatever muck we've rained ourselves into (thanks to the head I've been blessed with- I rain more, and for a longer period of time). This time I will not make the same mistakes- but this time I apparently will not have the opportunity to.

I have never been able to write while in pain, either. It's very odd, and would explain why a lot of my writings may have come off as phoney to Sara in the past. I will not be able to write anything of significance about this situation until I have completely moved on and committed sexual acts in a moving car with somebody else. Being a poet, I've still tried- some attempts can be found on that dreaded myspace blog of mine.

I know I've been Scrubs-happy (I knew I could muster a positive word) lately, only because it is hands down my most reliable collection of DVDs. Rory doesn't understand- she's a girl!

In that clip, not only does JD get it- but Cox with his baby jealousy, and Turk because of the engagement. It hits on all ends, what a success rate.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

I hear the bells...

Music: "Let It Be... Naked" - The Beatles



Scrubs has been a very important part of my last three or four years. There have been many weeks' weekends spent watching full seasons in consecutive hours- exposing new viewers and sometimes just to satisfy a personal need or create an escape.

This season continued Scrubs' trend in running directly parallel with life's misfortunes. John Dorian's pregnancy related issues, along with Elliott's marriage and the effects these character's issues have on one another has been all too easy to relate to. The difference? These characters are doctors, these characters are thirty years old. My position contains a few more problems as pertains to having children and getting married.

That's what really gets me. How serious was I?

It is a bit frightening to think about how close I came.

Now, make no mistake about it- marriage is never the correct decision. That is a belief I will forever stand behind, now with complete confidence. Feminists should really take a look at the marriage laws before they go complaining and not wearing bras over their rights. Hell, they might want to read over the entire justice system. It's a woman's court-room. You want the workplace? Well, for one, you already got it. But in return lets give the other gender equal rights, legally. The prenuptial agreement exists for a reason- and it's all we have, and remains the only thing that might get me to walk the aisle.

Have I ever loved? The above paragraph would lead anyone to believe I have never experienced the feeling. I don't believe I have. I've been engaged.

The entire concept of 'not enough time passing' works both ways, as feelings continue to exist on each extreme side of the emotional spectrum. However, even living through it, even saying the words... the doubt was there. Depending on who you talk to that could be completely natural, especially given the age. Given the age the words might mean that much more, as they are said against the powerful current that is everyone else's opinion (which may even be the reason behind the doubt). It can be interpreted any number of ways.

I do know that it would have been a mistake. This is not to say I have any regrets.

It also depends on what time you ask me, or what journal you read. I've felt enough pain to say I've loved, but I'm not sure I've experienced enough love to say it. I also have an oddly scientific belief that love cannot exist without reciprocation- as an electric current cannot exist without two sources. You really need to be given love (notice I didn't say 'accept') to feel, return it (the 'accepting' is part of the giving).

I really am full of excitement as pertains to this subject, it's not all "fuck marriage, blahhblah". I anticipate the future because of this subject. I cannot wait to meet new people, to ruin some lives and have my life left in shambles once again. This is why we're alive. Everyone should spend time in jail, and everyone should cheat on a significant other with that lucky person's best friend or sibling.

Just live your life, pick one out of the bunch, and die drinking a glass of chai tea they made for you.

Oh, and laugh a little bit.




Saturday, May 26, 2007

Woody Allen directed my birthday get together.

Music: Nuggets


The martini glasses shown bright (in black and white), the T.M.N.T discussion was brewing, and the whole room revolved around us in the corner. We had our pseudo-intellectual debates, but masked them in such topics as "Horror Movies" so that we could criticize pseudo-intellectuals moments later. We didn't need dates or drugs- but that's not to say those nights aren't just as exciting.

My drink theme, as per usual, consisted of the two I knew from television and film. The John Dorian Appletini (easy on the 'tini), the Lebowski White Russian- then a collection of feminine shots between glasses of Light beer. My drink count for the night was a staggering number, not quite hitting the teens but lingering in the double digits. I have to say- that 'Wet Pussy' has an incredible flavor.

The names in attendance were Brian Garcia, Jake Sprague, Casey Andreen, Anthony Saunders, Josh Wood, and we Scampoli brothers- with cameos by Carlos, DDP, Corey, and my nameless lookalike. People with cameos don't get last names.

Of course as the night grows older the drinks begin to spill and voices travel farther. We all managed to leave at reasonable AM hours without harm. The final bill was close to $250, divided between two servers- birthday boy drinks for free.

Everybody is in good health, and great humor. They haven't missed a beat in the lost five months. It's great to get my face back into the mix after the lengthy separation. I've missed these men.

One topic that came up last night was the state of film- the times of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Secret Of The Ooze vs. the times of T.M.N.T. A conversation sparked by a group of people bringing up and arguing over T.M.N.T, who had in turn never ever seen it (yes I was part of that no holds barred debate).


The typical stance was 'everything is a remake, nothings original anymore!' The Scampoli stance was- film has become more intelligent since that late 80s period, and overall better films are made now, you just have to look a little harder, etc. It was all wrapped up in a turtle bow- "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles may not have been a remake, but it was based on a comic book and was still awful,"- with a Vanilla Ice exclamation point coming later.

By no means were any of us claiming that these Turtles films defined this or that era, it was just an easy assessment, and we had green martinis on the table. There was also a sub-argument over which Turtles film was less credible as far as it being made solely for commercial reasons- queue Vanilla Ice exclamation point.

We all came to terms with the fact that Shaun Of The Dead and Squid & The Whale are just a couple of examples of intelligent, modern, great film making. It was obviously not a disagreement over box office mojo- more of an acknowledgment that great film and television still exist. Most people are too busy complaining over the reality shows or the summer popcorn flicks to find the incredible achievements which have been buried beneath it all. Meanwhile we're losing whatever Veronica Mars' are left in this world.

It all came to an end when the unfocused "everything is remakes!" side forgot their argument and began to bring up great films from the late 90s (Fight Club, The Big Lebowski). Both sides agreed on the grey area, and a toast was made.

Though this blog doesn't really attract a wide reader base outside of the five people who have the link, I'm interested in reading some comments on this topic. Favorite film era? Favorite films?

The more I thought about this after the fact, I realized Raging Bull, Star Wars, Annie Hall, Manhattan and a wide array of great films came from that late 70s to late 80s decade. I still stand firmly behind the point that today's great films were made then, but the future's great films are being produced now. Time will separate them.

That is one example of the night's bizarre conversation. I'll get into the blasphemous Vince Young Madden cover another time.

For those wondering, I think I was able to recapture Sweet Jane- at least as a behind-the-wheel song. There is an indescribable emotion that can only exist after hearing this:

And, everyone who ever had a heart
They wouldn't turn around and break it
And anyone who ever played a part

Oh wouldn't turn around and hate it!

Sweet Jane! Whoa-oh-oh!

After the barroom shenanigans we grabbed some food (nothing makes me hungrier than alcohol) and I finally watched the latest Office. The decision to increase the show to an hour is great, in my opinion. If they can make the jump from an Undeclared to a Freaks & Geeks, then it has some serious potential to shatter the UK Office. Reading that statement now, I laugh. Anything is possible I guess.


Today is a day off with no plans. I count on a Sweet Jane drive and possibly a movie showing.


In closing, I recommend everybody find a way to listen to Nuggets: Original Artyfacts From The First Psychedelic Era. It is a four disc set of underground 60's band's one hit wonders and lesser known tracks. There's a lot of fuzzy organ and Mick Jagger impersonating- though I get more enjoyment out of this than any Rolling Stones release. A lot of the songs are instantly recognizable, a lot are covers, and all of them offer something. I've already stumbled across a handful of groups I will seek out the full albums of.

One group, Mouse, in particular, are said to do "Highway 61 Revisited Era Bob Dylan" better than the man himself.

I discovered this due to the words of Phil Wilcox. Check out his ramblings, he's got the most entertaining entries on Livejournal.

Five Thousand.

 
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