It Takes Two 2 Make A Thing Go Right

There are a few great pairings in the history of the world; peanut butter & jelly, Count Chocula & milk, Run & DMC, a cold beer & a hot day, Bill Murray & Harold Ramis, Romeo & Juliet, pork chops & apple sauce, etc. You get the idea. But truly there is one pairing that stands above them all and puts the rest to shame.

Buddy Cop Movies.

As an art form, buddy cop movies are close to perfection. Forget Hamlet, or King Lear. Forget the Cat in the Hat. Buddy cop flicks got ‘em all beat. We can all remember where we were the first time Riggs and Murtaugh complained about how they were “too old for this shit.” The constant repetition of the name Mike Lowery is forever etched into our brains.

Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?

From your Eddie Murphys and Nick Noltes, your Tangos and Cashes, to your more obscure team ups, like Jay Leno and Mr. Miyagi, (yeah, called Collision Course, and since Leno was in it, it had to be about cars,) or Billy Crystal and Gregory Hines in Running Scared, buddy cop duos run the gamut of possible team-ups.

And why stop there? Animals can be buddies too. For every Turner, there must be an equal and opposite Hooch. Every time Chuck Norris wants to beat up some terrorists, he takes with him a tiny dog named Betty into the fray, and who can blame him? Hell, Jim Belushi and his K-9 have at least 3 movies together under their belt and collar respectively.

Dogs not doing it for you? How about having a cartoon for a buddy? Perhaps a rabbit with a smokin’ hawt wife and who has been framed for wacky murder? No? Not up your alley? What about an obscene, uncouth puppet with a penchant for skeet, skeet, skeeting all over the place? Maybe a clumsy dinosaur from the future who wears clothes and is named Theodore Rex? If that’s not your thang, we can always team you up with you mom, Estelle Getty. She loves to shoot! If you act now, I can set you up with an alien with a weird raisin head and a love for copious amounts of milk. Or my person favorite, the zombie buddy cops in the underground classis Dead Heat. Such a tasty treat!

But hold up fellas, Let’s not try to steal all the buddy cop movies here. Let’s be some classy gents. The Heat, starring Sandra B and Melissa M wasn’t too bad.* According to Wikipedia, Miss Congeniality counts as a buddy cop movie, I don’t know if I believe that, but if true, and  you throw in Demolition Man and Speed into the mix and Sandra Bullock has got the female buddy cop game on lock!

And on top of that, they don’t even have to be cops. They can just be two people forced together by circumstances, who have a mission to complete. Either to clear their own names or to stop an evil villain, or save a bunch of grubby orphans and their filthy orphanage. The possibilities are endless.

What is it about buddy cop movies that endear themselves to us so much? Why are they so timeless? I’m no film school nerdlinger or anything, but I got a theory or two. First of all, people like seeing friends. True not all buddy teams start as friends, and that leads me to the second theory: buddy movies are often about people from opposite sides of the tracks, with different philosophies and views on life, who have to overcome their differences and learn to work together for the betterment of both parties. Each buddy cop movie is a microcosm of those famous words from the right honorable Rodney King: “Can’t we all just get along?” It is in that spirit that a fast-talking cop from the hood can end up being best friends with a Chinese kung fu cop who’s clearly 20 years older than he is, at least.

Also, we like these movies because while the pair is working for the greater good, they can’t be shackled by the lesser rules and regulations that hamstring most officers of the law. They work outside the law to get things done. They’re loose cannons! They’re off the rails! You can have my badge and gun captain, that won’t stop us from bringing down that Amish porn ring!

In the end, buddy cop movies are a little pocket of optimism in this sea of despair in which we live. They show that people can work together despite their differences and get results, and along the way do at least two sick ass car jumps, shoot a dozen people and probably high-five or some shit like that at the end.

So please, take the time this week to get nice and cozy, snuggle up with the one you love, (or at least tolerate) and watch your favorite buddy cop movie. It does a buddy good.

*It wasn’t too good either. Paul Feig sucks at this stuff!

Remember When

I remember

Memories.

That’s all we are. We are made of them. Defined by them. We are also other people’s memories. Memories are all that are left when we leave.

Some memories we kill to keep. Some memories we kill to get rid of. Sometimes literally. Sometimes figuratively. Some people self-medicate. Some go crazy, We’ve all been there. It’s the human condition.

I remember when I was a kid, and the fear of death and the eternal wouldn’t let me sleep. So I’d stare out of the window at the top of a conifer in my neighbor’s yard. Much like how people daydream and see shapes in clouds, I’d see shapes and figures in the utmost branches of this tree and I’d make up stories. Anything to make me forget how small and pointless my life was.

These days, death doesn’t keep me up at night. I’ve been to war three times. I haven’t had that much personal tragedy in my life, but we’re all surrounded by it. Mot a day goes by that I don’t read a news story about some random person killing their entire family for reasons we’ll never understand. Wish I could forget that shit.

I wish I could forget the time I peed my pants in fourth grade during a field trip in front of everybody. They had to give me jeans from the lost and found of whatever random school we were at.

I wish I could forget the intimate moments. The special moments I had with people. Because they are gone. And are never coming back. It’s funny, people say to not live in the past, but that’s all we can do. We can’t live in the future.

I feel bad for people with Hyperthymesia. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. To have total recall of everything in your life is so much torture. I’d rather be Guy Pierce from Memento. If you can’t remember, you can’t be sad.

Maybe I’m seeing all of this the wrong way. Maybe I’m supposed to cherish the memories. Maybe I should visit my memory palace more often. Swim in Lake Me.

You guys remember that time…?

Blue Jeans

Parking Lot Pimpin'

I recently had the opportunity to be employed at a location (Dr. Brooks’ Dry Erase Board Emporium), where I had the pleasure of watching people in their natural habitat: the parking lot.

Allow me to elucidate. You see, any given parking lot, from a Walmart to Deacon’s Squirt Barn, has an underlying sameness to it. A certain cultural oneness. Spend a day observing people trying to park and you will achieve a level of Zen that only Siddhartha can relate to. You can create your own religion by watching people in a parking lot, (or car park, if you’re Australian.)

Studying individuals in a parking lot gives you an excellent microcosm view of the macrocosm that is humanity. It’s amazing to see what people will do when they think nobody is watching. Don’t believe me? Watch how many people throw away their recyclables when the recycle can is right there. Or how many people don’t wash their hands in the bathroom, (hell, for that one, people just don’t care if others are watching or not.)

My first example is actually something a lot of people do, so maybe I’m in the wrong. But nobody has been able to properly explain it to me: people who back into parking spaces. What is the purpose? 

I’ve been told that it’s a time-saver, but any time saved at the end is just added to the beginning. I’ve also been told that it helps people who need to see around larger cars parked next to them. But again, I don’t see how it helps. You wouldn’t blindly rush out into the parking lot regardless of how you park. I dunno. On a side note. A lot of people actually do blindly pull out into the, for a better word lane. I’ve seen my fair share of needless accidents because cell phones are more important than paying attention to what they are doing.

Anywho…

Even weirder are the people who have the opportunity to pull through two spaces so they can end up facing out when they leave, if they so desire. It would be both easy and convenient. But they don’t.

Stranger than that are the people who not only pull all the way through both spaces, but out into the lane, just so they can back up into the space they were just in. What tomfoolery is this? Why the extra step?

Something that has always amused me are the people who circle the closest spots to the store, like vehicular vultures, for 10 to 15 minutes until one close to the door opens up. Meanwhile, there are plenty of spots further out. You just have to walk a whole extra (gasp!) 100 feet! Not to mention, the closest spaces is where all the traffic is, from pedestrians to other lazy ass drivers. But hey, that peoples for ya.

Speaking of drivers, and this is just a vexation of mine, are people who drive a little too fast for a parking lot. Sure, it’s not the road, so I guess that maybe speed limits don’t apply? But there’s more people on foot in a parking lot than one typically finds on the road. I may be an old fuddy-duddy, but it doesn’t hurt to slow it down in a “lot”. God, I sound lame.  

I’ve seen my fair share of people locking their kids or pets in hot cars, with their excuses being that the windows were rolled down a crack, or the kids were sleeping. The place I worked at didn’t necessitate rushing to get there. If you can’t get a babysitter immediately, then come when you can. There’s no rush, my fiend*.  

On the topic of rushing, I’ve seen people leave their driver’s door open. Who does this and why? You could tell me that porn was buy one, take home Jenna Jameson for free (1998-era Jenna) over at Deacon’s Squirt Barn, and I still wouldn’t be so pressed that I’d leave my car door open. You could tell me that a school bus full of children is about to go careening off a cliff and I’m the only one who can save them, and I’d still take the time to close my door.

I’ve seen people leave their cars ON, with the keys in the ignition and the car in drive. The only reason why the car hadn’t plowed through the whole lot is because it was stopped short by the bumper of the car in front of it. But the driver did give me a $10 tip for saving the day. Or, there was the time the car was on, but the drive was in neutral. However, the doors were locked, so there was nothing I could do. The reason for the situation haunts me to this very day.

See what I mean about the Zen philosophy thing? I am but one small mortal on this great blue marble. It is not for me to try to understand the logic and reason behind the things people do, the way people think (or don’t think, as usually seems to be the case). For I am just another piece in this great puzzle called life. I’m a middle piece, I can’t begin to comprehend what goes on in the mind of a corner piece, (damn, that’s the best analogy for life anybody has ever come up with!) All a cog, like me, can do in the considerable machinery of humanity is observe, be content with my place in all things and not stress about…­

Oh my God, he’s about to hit that car!

*Not a typo

The Story

What is the ultimate story? 

What is the one story that every single person in the world can relate to? No matter how rich. No matter how poor. No matter your race or your gender. What story is so universal that people don’t even bother saying “oh hey, I can relate to that!” they say “no shit, did you just figure this out?”

Sadness

The pathos.

I mean, shit, you can’t even name a Disney movie that doesn’t have sadness. Comes with the 

territory.

What is it about people and sadness? What came first, being sad, or being told sad things are gonna happen to you?

I’ve been sad for a few years now. It doesn’t effect my humor, I’m hilarious regardless. But the lest three years, have kinda taken their toll. I try to not be emotional, but recently, I went full out and decided to be happy. It fell like Icarus with wax wings. So now I have a choice: try again and let emotions dictate my actions, like a rom-com dude running through an airport, or seal them back up, let them dry up and evaporate? I’m leaning toward the second one. People are jerks. Just ask Steve Martin.

I’m trying to come up with a joke here. But that seems like I’d just be forcing it. I’ll just let the joke juice flow as it always does. Often on motel sheets and walls.

The frustrating part? People want to help. They want to make things better. And that’s not bad! But life isn’t an episode of Full House. You can’t solve problems with an ice cream cone after 22 minutes or whatever. I’m always appreciative of people looking out for me, that’s how human beings work. My last girlfriend helped me through some rough shit. But good intentions aren’t enough to fix a broken person.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not emo or The Crow or whatever. Just a dude. Just an awesome dude with biceps as swole as his brain, (wait, is that a good thing?). Anywho, just trying to express myself the best way I know how. I likes dem words.

P.S. I blame John for all this damn Kurt Cobain shit the last few months. Listen to Rafi or some shit!

P.P.S. Sorry for the short entry. I kinda ran out out steam halfway through. Those damn ninjas made me exhausted!

P.P.P.S. Oh! Cookies and cream! I'f you're offering!

Wicked Game

I’m clearly no type of poet. My prose is too flat and stilted, and I don’t have a true romantic’s heart. I’m also, obviously, not a singer or songwriter. My grasp of metaphors and fantastical imagery is severely lacking. In addition, they got it easy, they can just sing the word “love” eight times in a row, then go home, do some whip-its or whatever and still go triple platinum and get a Grammy or five. All I can do is write like I write. So here I go.

Clichés are clichés for a reason, (hell, even that is a cliché.) It’s hard to try to redefine or discover a new way to express love and joy and beauty that hasn’t already been done. 

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Nah, Billy Shakes already covered that.

You’re beautiful? Nope, James Blunt got there before me.

God only knows what I’d be without you? Lovely sentiment, but the Beach Boys made that point decades ago.

And I’m pretty sure Prince has covered everything else that could be expressed about love.

There’s nothing new under the sun. But I’m gonna try anyway. Sincerely, for once.

Whew, this is hard. I’m so rarely sincere. It’s so much easier to make jokes all the time, you know? But you’ve inspired me in a way I’ve never been previously inspired. From the day I first saw you and your big Tootsie glasses and I awkwardly tried to start a conversation with you.

“Uhh, so what’s a bar like you doing in a girl like this? I mean, what’s your sign? I mean, uhh, me Josh, who you?” As you could tell right away, I’m smooth as all get out.

Over the weeks, I would sneak glances at you when possible, no mean feat for a blind dude.  Eventually, a conversation was struck and I got to discover you for being more than a pretty face. And I learned just how fascinating you are.

I specialize in interesting, non-mundane people, and you crack the top five. I know you don’t see it, but I do. We never have a boring conversation and I never get tired talking to you. I learn something new and exciting every time we talk. When we converse, it’s like a breeze on a hot day. It travels from my neck, down my spine and cools me in a most satisfying way. Hell, just being with you is like the sun radiating light after a bleak, sepulchral day. (Too many meteorological-based metaphors?)

I don’t smile. It’s one of my traits. (Gotta stave off them wrinkles!) But being with you has made me smile more than I’ve done this century. It’s weird for me to be happy, I’m not used to it. In fact, typical Josh would do something to sabotage our relationship because I don’t feel that I deserve happiness.

But maybe, for once, I do. And I thank you for that. I’m becoming a positive person in some ways. More optimistic. I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks. Every day with you is the first day. A new beginning. Another chance. When I was at my lowest, even though you barely knew me, you were at my side, dragging me, kicking and screaming out into the light. It’s kind of humbling. You saw me fragmented and not as the cool, suave guy that everybody knows and loves, and you didn’t run away.

I can only hope to make you feel the way you make me feel. That I can bring luminosity to your cloudy days and maybe make you smile with one of my terrible jokes, (just kidding, all my jokes are hilarious.) God, this is the corniest, most awkward thing I’ve ever written. Like I said, I’m not used to being sincere in my work. It’s easier for me to end this by saying ninjas jumped out of nowhere and killed everybody with throwing stars, than it is for me to be honest.

Anyway, all of this is just my way of expressing my love and happiness. And hell, I didn’t even get into the fact that you’re also smoking hawt. Totes out of my league.

Simply put, this is my love letter to you. Keep it twerkin’.