What do you do when you become a comedic superstar? Take advantage of it.
I found out about Bill Murray's antics one night after telling the story I heard about Emma Watson in college (see my earlier post). Kyle, a friend of mine, told me the story of his friend that happened one early morning outside of Union Square.
Kyle's friend (let's call him Damien) bought hash browns from a nearby Dunkin Donuts and was waiting to cross a street. As he waited for the light to change, a hand reached over his shoulder and grabbed a hash brown.
The hand moved in one smooth motion, like grabbing a toothpick from the complimentary bin at a hostess's stand. Damien turned to confront his hash brown burglar and ended up staring Bill Murray in the face.
Bill Murray finished eating the hash brown and looked square into his vitcim's face. "No one will ever believe you."
And, he walked away.
Can anyone else really pull it off with being a major d bag? I doubt it. Bill knows it too, and has a monopoly on these candid moments of comedic gold. Don't take my word for it, take the interenet's. . .
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Before I rant, I'll lay out my back story with football. It's relatively new to me. When I was a kid, I was shunned from pop culture. Shunned to the extent of not knowing what the Superbowl was when I was 9.
Public high school and a liberal arts college did their part in giving me a crash course on everything trendy. But I've always been an outsider to the sports world. I can't speak the language of sport stats. I can't tell you what school whatever burly, short-lived sensation of a running back went to. At least, I couldn't until Fantasy football brought me in. Hard. Now, onto my rant.
Fantasy Football makes football relevant in a weird, perverted way. Granted, I don't get it half the time. But when I do, it's not rewarding. I don't feel happy when a player does well, I feel relieved. Fantasy football's a constant stream of worrying about players living up to projections, warding off injuries, avoiding season ending tackles, recovering quickly from a concussion, or finishing off a suspension for being a dumb ass and getting busted for drunk driving in San Diego. Twice.
I don't have team loyalty, I only care about certain players. I obsess over stats like Emperor Dawes (a best friend of mine who's anal about having an immaculately kept wardrobe) obssesses over wrinkles in his starched oxfords. I root against defenses and pray to all the gods for injuries to rival superstars. I watch games, but cheer for both sides. I'm a bastardized fan.
Fantasy turns football into sales and turns up the heat for every fan invovled. Like Alec Baldwin preached in his cinematic apex (30 Rock is tv, not cinema), you have to always be closing.
Posted by Matt Grim at 10:32 AM