Where are the Sklaar Brothers when you need them?

What is this, 1982? Airing right now on ESPN2–the famous sports network–is the World Salsa Championships. When I saw “Salsa Champ.” as the description on my cable guide, for a moment I hoped it meant there was a salsa-eating competition going on. The winner would surely get an ice pack and a roll of Charmin Ultra for his trouble. And nothing gets me going like watching Kobayashi projectile vomit chunky red stuff. It reminds me of bad Japanese horror films, even though I haven’t really seen any.

But my worst fears were confirmed when it turned out to be a salsa dancing competition. Oh, how I wish I was joking. In the early days of ESPN, this type of fare was not unlikely on their virgin airwaves. But with all the archives and access they have at their hands in 2008, you would figure they were ready to move past this brand of “entertainment”. Now we are going to have to hear sportscasters argue over whether salsa dancing is a sport, as if there was ever any question. (Of course it is!)

Unfortunately, this appears to only be the beginning. Executives of the ultimate sports network have announced the launch of ESPN-NSAA (Not Sports At All), a new sister network that will begin production in the summer of 2010.

Here are a few of the events they are thinking of including on the initial lineup:

Major League Moonwalking with host Macaulay Caulkin, who wasn’t doing anything anyway– Contestants will slide their feet to the funky sounds of Michael Jackson, but once a night, each lucky moonwalker will be thrown for a loop when a speed metal, polka or acid jazz song is tossed into the mix to throw them off. The final champion will get a free months stay at the Neverland Valley Ranch and their own pet monkey.

Drunk Trick Derby starring and inspired by Winona Ryder and her famous ping pong ball trick– Sluts and jocks from around the country will meet at various Hooters locations and compete in such events as tongue-tied cherry stems, beer pong, drunken digit-gathering and “how long will it take this chick to figure out my wang is hanging out?” The male and female winners will hook up together and the first one to call the other for a booty call will lose. The overall winner will get free rehab. Ryder herself is a favorite to take home the prize.

The first contestant to make it through all 26 miles of the Treadmill Marathon without vomiting will get smacked in the back of the neck with a Shake-Weight for going through with something so stupid.

The Gleek Games is a pretty simple premise. A bunch of bored couch potatoes will disgustingly force their saliva onto dart boards, playing by International Cricket Committee rules, of course. The first person to complete their cricket boards will receive an occupation. The event will be hosted by Michael McDonald, who is famous for songs such as “Through the Eyes of a Child” and “Fuckin’ a Right, I Bring That Funky Funk, You Mothafunker” and also for accidentally spitting up saliva and/or food particles during every live number I’ve ever seen him perform.

The Great American Crotch-Grabbing Championship is pretty self-explanitory. Host Roseanne Barr will coach competitors on how to perform the main event and also preliminary round exhibitions like sunflower seed-spitting and national anthem-butchering.

Swanson’s Hungry Man Slacker Triathlon is perhaps the biggest draw. Contestants will be scored cumulatively on three events: Tether ball, frisbee and hacky sack. Unlimited munchies and Mountain Dew will be on hand and naps and/or bad television viewing will be allowed in between each event. There is a good chance that no competitor will make it through all 3 categories. But if more than one does, the one who does it in the fastest time will win a year supply of White Castle burgers and an appearance in the next Harold & Kumar film. Possible hosts include Steve Zahn, Tommy Chong, Beck Hansen and Regis Philbin.

The Stanley Cup is pretty awesome, but winners of the Cherry Dish will also have something to be proud of. Winners of the National Air Hockey League Finals will take home the esteemed trophy. Colorful Canadian commentator Don Cherry will host.

Finally, fans of board games will be delighted to know that there will most likely be a Connect Four tourney, as well, hosted by delightful Major League Baseball player Milton Bradley. Whomever takes home the grand prize gets hundreds of free games and will also be the only contestant not to get beaten to a bloody pulp by Mr. Bradley.

While most fans of traditional sports will avoid this network at all costs, I imagine many of them will secretly grow to love this new channel. I mean hey, who knew the Food Network would last this long? Only time will tell whether or not ESPN-NSAA will bring to us the next Emeril Legasse or simply the next Screech Powers. Stay tuned.

BONUS TRACK:
They’re still trying to find the perfect name for this event:

Forgetting Sarah Marshall (2008)
Directed by: Nicholas Stoller
Starring: Jason Segel, Mila Kunis, Russell Brand, Jonah Hill, Kristen Bell, Paul Rudd, Bill Hader, Jack McBrayer & William Baldwin

Sometimes the reviews that should be the easiest to write end up being the hardest. I meant to review this film as soon as I was done watching it, but I wanted to make sure I was going to do it justice. I still don’t know if I can. But just like it’s time to move on with my own life, it’s time to get this on paper already and move on to the next film.

I saw Forgetting Sarah Marshall at the first screening on opening day in Tucson, Arizona. It was not only because of desire, but also heavily due to necessity. As some of you know, my girlfriend/fiance of 7 years left me just days before this film was released. I was already looking forward to this movie, but once I found myself in an eerily similar position to the main character, I knew I had to see it right away, even if some of it was going to be painfully on point.

This film was always going to be important to me to a certain extent because it was connected so closely to Judd Apatow, who over the last few years has become one of the most influential directors in my life. (What Tarantino means to me in his genre, is equal to what Apatow means to me in his.) He didn’t direct the film, but many members of Apatow’s Army are in it and beyond that, his fingerprints are on the overall feel of this splendid comedy. But I had no idea how much I was going to need this film until right before its release. Sure, I’m from Hawaii, where much of the film takes place, but that connection was just the tip of the iceberg, but I’ll get to that later.

Jason Segel plays a musician who is dating out of his league. His relationship is one that would scare a lesser man. He lives in the shadow of his more successful mate, played by Kristen Bell, who is the star of a hit television show that resembles CSI at times and Law & Order at others. She dumps him in favor of the lead singer of a charting rock band called Infant Sorrow.

Segel decides to go to Hawaii to clear his mind, but much to his chagrin, his ex has decided to do the same, which he discovers when he awkwardly runs into her as he attempts to check into a completely booked hotel. Luckily, the stunning front desk agent, played by a newly rejuvenated Mila Kunis, who is surprisingly awesome here, pities him and allows him to stay in a special suite usually reserved for the likes of Oprah and as we find out later, Dakota Fanning. After a few nights of solo dining and loud sobbing, Kunis is nice enough to accompany Segel on a couple nights out on the town. As he falls for her, his ex begins having trouble with her new guy and suddenly feels drawn to Segel again.

The important part of the film for me was watching Segel figure out how to go on with his life because I was trying to do the same thing and still am as I type this. When the break up happens, Segel perfectly captures what someone who is dumped goes through without saying a word. All you have to do is look at his face. I was glad to see him give an inspired performance because he often seems out of place and/or underused on How I Met Your Mother, a sitcom that I enjoy, but always seems to be missing a little something. Working with Apatow and his cohorts seems to be the cure as any fan of Freaks and Geeks and his comeback performance in Knocked Up could tell you. It’s only a matter of time before this guy starts branching out, but lets hope he does a couple more Apatow films before it’s all said and done.

Relating to Segel’s performance was easy as pie for me, because I basically was his character at the time of my viewing. My girlfriend (who was probably out of my league) dumped me and I was forced to go to Hawaii to forget about her. I will be moving back there at the end of June.

At one point of the film, his ex reveals to him that she left him because they were going in different directions and also because he stopped taking care of himself. That hit way too close to home for me and it was hard to admit at first, but as time goes by, coming to terms with these things not only helps me deal with the break up, but it also is helping me figure out how to do things better next time around.

If life was like Hollywood, it would be simple. I’d just go have sex with Mila Kunis and my life would be right back on track overnight. While I can’t yet relate to how things ended up for Segel’s character, he still helped me deal with a lot of my issues at the time. I watched the film again a couple weeks later and things were even more clear and it helped me come to terms with the fact that it’s really time for me to get on with my life, no matter how painful it may be. If I end up finding my Mila Kunis, things will only get better, but I’m prepared for the worst at this point, because frankly, I feel like I’ve already been through it.

Enough about me already. The film stands well on its own I’m sure, whether or not you’ve been through a break up recently. Most of us have been through one at some time or another anyway. It’s just a damn funny film that flows nicely and brings that extra added element of fun being that it’s mostly in Hawaii, which appeals to a lot of viewers from the mainland. I enjoyed the Polynesian actors that were used in the film. They made me homesick. It’s a good thing I’m headed back soon. (Shit, I just made it about me again.)

There are tons of great performances from usual suspects and newcomers alike. Russell Brand was probably my favorite. I had never heard of this guy until I heard him on the Opie & Anthony Show a couple days before the film came out. Brand, a stand up comedian, who you’ll be happy to know sounds exactly like he does in the film, revealed that the storyline about him being a recovering drug addict/alcoholic was from his real life. He sounded like a great man and hearing him on the radio was almost as amazing as seeing him on the screen. I couldn’t help but fall in love with his character even though he had some douche-worthy moments. In the interview, Segel was also there and he, himself revealed that the Dracula musical he is working on in the film is also from his real life. Segel said that it was supposed to be totally serious and not the least bit ironic, just like in the film. And who was it that told Segel he was out of his mind? None other than Judd Apatow himself.

Kunis, as stated before, was not just beautiful, but put on a great performance. She just stayed within herself and managed to not go over the top too often. I was happy to see Segel choose her over Bell, whose character I found to be a bit annoying and very self-centered.

Rudd and Hill were excellent as always. Jonah Hill following Brand around like the plague was just precious, especially when he begged ol’ Russell to listen to his demo tape (cd). Rudd shines as a surf instructor whose best moment is when he makes fun of Brand’s accent while Brand is bleeding heavily due to a piece of coral stuck in his leg.

30 Rock‘s Jack McBrayer is also fantastic as a newlywed who is deathly afraid of his bride’s newfound sexual appetite and SNL‘s Bill Hader is stellar as Segel’s step brother who encourages him to get over Bell’s character pronto.

William Baldwin is deliciously cheesy as he channels David Caruso for his “role” in the show within the movie that he stars in with Sarah Marshall. There is another great cameo that I will not ruin for you right after the closing credits start featuring another favorite of mine. It’s only a matter of time before there is a CSI parody on TV or at the cinema. Maybe Apatow should hurry up and do it before somebody else thinks about it.

I know I made this one a lot about me, but there was no other way to do it. Nicholas Stoller just so happened to make a film about me by accident. I know they didn’t mean to, but I have to thank everybody involved anyway. I know I would have snapped out of it eventually, but Forgetting Sarah Marshall probably sped up the healing process. I haven’t forgotten about my “Sarah Marshall” yet, but I’m getting there. If only real pain lasted a mere 112 minutes…

About an hour ago, I woke up with a cold and a throbbing head to go along with it. Shortly thereafter, my heart was feeling mighty ill itself, as I was rudely awakened a second time by the news that Patrice O’Neal–one of my true comedic heroes–had passed away.

Just two days ago, my friend Helen and I were watching one of the funniest videos I’ve ever seen, if not the funniest. It was probably my tenth time watching it and Helen’s first, but both of us were in tears and at the forefront, was Patrice O’Neal.

O’Neal regularly frequented the Opie & Anthony radio program and that is where my love affair with the comedic giant grew to epic proportions. Hearing his perspective on pop culture, life and mostly love, allowed me to hang out in his brain regularly and the man was a true genius for anyone who paid attention. I’ve never heard someone rant about romantic relationships so poignantly and hilariously at the same time.

On one episode of O & A, Opie, Anthony, Jim Norton, Patrice and Bill Burr were watching bad wrestling promos and commenting on them in the way only they could. Someone has made it into a video on YouTube, synced up with the actual events they speak of (posted just below this paragraph) and as far as I’m concerned, it’s mandatory viewing for any fans of comedy. So Helen and I were watching it just two days ago, like I said and we both commented on how Patrice had the greatest laugh in the business.

Hearing Patrice O’Neal revel in the disaster that the “Shockmaster” experience was, (watch the video) is nothing short of inspiring. The man’s laugh was a revelation in itself. Beyond infectious. Everyone should have that much enthusiasm about at least one thing. And that is what I will always remember when I think of Patrice O’Neal for the rest of my existence. His laugh, his heart, his spirit. They were all far bigger than his shell and thankfully, Patrice never had a problem coming out of his.

As a stand up comedian, Patrice was one of my biggest influences. He was so good, it would actually piss me off at times. Often, O’Neal would go up on stage with nothing prepared and just talk about his day for 45 minutes and would kill every time. That is something I would like to achieve someday, but I’m not holding my breath. I think I’m a solid comedian, but it takes a one of a kind talent to be able to do what Patrice O’Neal did on a regular basis.

The first time I saw him on a Showtime special about a decade ago, I’m guessing, I instantly fell in love with him. And it wasn’t just about his personality, which was great, even when he went out of his way to make you think he was a dick. But I also couldn’t believe what a superb mind the guy had. Few comedians are that smart and those guys are always my favorite. I feel like I’ve lost a brother and it upsets me that I never got to meet or work with him.

But seeing him on Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn and hearing him on Opie & Anthony over the next decade or so, gave me even further insight into his mind and frankly, it’s going to take a lot to fill the void I’m feeling this morning. The sun shines bright and the sky is a beautiful powder blue. The air smells clean and I’m happy to have my health, or what’s left of it. But there is a hole in the sky of the comedy world today and our collective hearts are aching for this huge loss. Words cannot express how much we will miss you, Patrice. It always hurts that much more when someone so young and so full of life will never be here again. It’s inconceivable, really.

Sweet dreams, brother.

I would love to lose weight, but I have dumb reasons for wanting to do so. (I have good ones, too, like, you know, wanting to be healthier) For instance, one major reason I’d love to lose weight is so I can buy more t-shirts. A lot of awesome shirts I’ve wanted to buy for the last 10-15 years don’t come in my size. I can’t imagine what it’s like for the people that are twice my size. Yikes. I also would gain a lot of confidence from losing weight, but again, that’s more of a societal thing. I’m naturally a bit insecure probably, but the way fat people are maligned has not helped. Society has taught me that a lot of women will not date or have sex with me simply because I’m fat. And it’s true. Not across the board, but there are women like that. And men. I know, because there is a certain weight that I will not go over. Well, it’s more appearance than an actual weight. But yes, I am guilty, too. There are some women that I will not date because my brain deems them too fat. See how fucked up society is? It even tells fat people that other people are too fat for their taste sometimes. Isn’t that fucked up? Wanna hear how even more warped my brain is? There are certain girls that I would just fuck and not date, because I deem them too fat to date, but not too fat to fuck. What an asshole right? Blame society. (You can blame me, too, but I’m not really that much of a dick)

But I don’t have blind hatred for fat people. I do find completely morbidly obese people to be a bit unusual and disturbing. (I’m talking people 600 lbs. and more, basically. Those people, in my opinion have done it mostly to themselves and do little to help themselves in many cases. This is why you see so many really fat people with “handicapped” signs and Hoverounds, something as a fat person that I do not support. Go to a doctor. Figure out something else. That level of gluttony is something I can relate to finding inexcusable. And I have to admit, those people make me feel really good about myself. Society…)

But the rest of us fat people are not really all that gluttonous. (I don’t even know what you people mean by fat half the time anymore. I hear you complaining about fat people getting in your way and bothering you and all this shit, but most of the fat people I know are active and “normal”, as you would use the word. Are you talking about the same gigantic pieces of shit I’m talking about? If yes, then carry on, but I bet you’re talking about people like me, too, sometimes. So fuck you) In my case, I’ll tell you the main reason I’m fat: I’m addicted to food and I don’t give myself enough time to exercise. That right there is the main reason. Simple, right? Can’t you relate? People use drugs when they have problems. Or some people get violent. Some people drink. Some people run. Work out. Sleep. Kill themselves. The list goes on. Food is just my drug. Does that humanize it for you at all, or would you still rather blindly judge me like I’m some scary monster from the mountains? Maybe skinny people are just angry because they can’t eat empty calories when they’re feeling down, like I do. It’s okay for them to go pump iron for 3 hours a day, 5 days a week obsessively, like a juiced up speed freak, but if I have a pizza, I’m a fat piece of shit who contributes nothing to society. Convenient. Thanks, fuckers. The point is, we all have our things to go to. We all have our drugs. What you need to understand is that for a lot of fat people, food is just our drug of choice. Would you rather us be meth heads?

If you see a fat person who is a piece of shit that isn’t contributing anything, then I fully support you thinking they’re an asshole. To me, that is just an offshoot of stupid fucking people, which is an epidemic I can get behind hating. But using the word fat angrily is stupid, because you may inadvertently be hurting someone close to you and someone who has a lot to offer. Fat does not describe us. We all have personalities and layers that you could never understand if you’re that narrow minded. (And by layers, I don’t mean because I’m fatter than you, you fucking smart ass) You see a guy on the street that you can’t get around because he’s standing in one place and stuffing his face as gravy drips on his shirt and he won’t move because he’s too busy heavy breathing and he’s an assholishly oblivious to his surroundings? Then yeah, have a ball. Make fun of him. But make fun of him as a person. As an asshole. An individual being. Don’t let that make you blindly hate fat people for no reason. I’ll repeat. It makes you look as weak and ignorant as you think we are.

That’s another thing I never understood. People thinking fat people are stupid because they’re overweight. (I know I used the word fat a bunch of times in here, but as a fat person, I’m allowed to use it. See: Black people and “the N word”) What an ignorant fucking sentiment! And you think we’re stupid? Good lord, are you some twisted fucks. I know for a fact that I’ve been passed over on jobs for being fat. Definitely passed over by girls. And can’t tell you how many times I’ve gotten dirty looks just for being bigger than someone. I’ve also been that guy on the plane who the passenger next to looks all pissed off at, even though I go out of my way so much to make you comfortable, that I spend the entire flight cramped up and in pain because I don’t want to get in your way with my stupid fat. I’m not stupid. I’m actually too smart. Because ignorance IS bliss when it comes to shit like that. I wish I didn’t care. But I do. I know how you look at us sometimes. How you feel about us. That we make you sick and that makes me sick. You should be ashamed of yourself if you make fun of fat people blindly and just use it as a blanket title for people who you don’t seem skinny enough to be normal. Fuck off and die, you shallow cunts.

The fact is, I contribute a lot to society. And I care more than most. I pay attention more than most. I consider you, even though you don’t consider me. I make sacrifices, even though it’s because you are selfish. And I am happy. That’s right. I’m fat and I’m happy. Does that piss you off? Maybe you’re just mad because you have to obsess in order to not put on weight. Maybe you’d be happier if you just did what you wanted (within reason, of course). Society fucks you over, too. The reason you work out obsessively or starve yourselves is because society has told you that being fat is being a monster. A laughing stock. A farce. You’re not a human being. You’re fat. Do you know that if I’m having an argument with someone and I’m winning, a lot of times they will pull out the fat card? I can’t tell you how disgustingly true that is. Happens a lot to me, because, well, I win most arguments. But it doesn’t feel good when they do it. Even though I still feel like the better man. If you use that weapon in your arsenal, you ultimately lose, in my opinion, but sometimes you make us feel like losers, too. Think about that. Your words hurt. You may just think throwing around the word fat is harmless, but it hurts us. You have a fat friend and/or family member who is wounded by such words. Knock it off, Skeeter.

But yes, I’m happy. As we all should be. We should all find our happiness. I might be a bit more comfortable and happy if I was thinner, but some of the reasons would be wrong and I’m not going to let being fat make me be unhappy. I’m going to live my life one day at a time and enjoy each second as much as I can and try to leave my mark. (Not on your couch, you fucking smart ass.) And you know what? I get laid a lot more than many skinny people I know. So go eat a cheeseburger, you hate mongering douchebag. And if you do decide to get a cheeseburger, invite me. Because they are delicious.

Thank you for reading this. I hope it had some sort of impact on you. I hope it resonated. I hope if you’re overweight, you have my back and I hope if you’re not, you will think twice before you say something potentially hurtful in the future. The bottom line is I think everyone should be judged on an individual basis. I’m not a fan of labels, because you inadvertently hurt people, who you maybe don’t even mean to hurt. The only people I don’t feel sorry for are assholes. That’s the only group of people I can’t stand. And if you keep carrying on like that people that I explained above, you are an asshole and no one wants to be an asshole, no matter what they try to tell you otherwise.

I’d love to know what you think about what I said. If you agree or disagree. Please leave a comment below if anything I said inspired you or offended you. I will gladly hear out either side and I never delete comments, even negative ones. Share with me a story that relates to anything I said. And tell me if you think a shorter version of this rant (with more funny asides) would work in my stand up act, because I’m planning on doing it soon. Thanks for reading and for all your support.

I imagine myself at the pearly gates, being briefly…um…debriefed by Saint Peter Steele. He looks over my paperwork with a puzzled look on his face before saying, “The Big Guy Up Stairs wants to see you, bro.” He gives me a pamphlet with directions to the escalator and drives off in a Hoveround, while humming “Black No. 1″ to himself…

Halfway up the escalator, I freak out when I see Ronnie James Dio coming down and he gives me a high five and says, “Welcome to the club, kid…hopefully.” Before I can think of anything to say, I’m at the top of the escalator.

I approach a long haired, bearded man primping himself in the mirror while a big screen TV airs a rerun of the sadly overlooked Jon Cryer sitcom the Famous Teddy Z. I think to myself that this must be a message from God. Or Jah. Perhaps even Sting.

I stand behind the long haired hippie and he clearly ignores me, so I tap him on the shoulder. “Sup?”, he says. I’m like, “Jesus?” and he’s like, “Yup. The one and lonely. I mean only. Whoops. What a Boyd-ian slip that was.” “Um, don’t you mean ‘Freudian’?”, I reply and he says, “No. Boyd-ian. I heard former Boston Red Sox pitcher Dennis ‘Oil Can’ Boyd say that in a post game interview one time. Anyway, what’s up man? How can I help you?” Slightly perplexed, I manage to get out, “Um, Peter Steele said you wanted to see me…” “Really? Me? Weird. You sure he said ‘Jesus’? Or ‘J-Bird’ or ‘the Jeeze’?” “Well,” I say, “he said ‘the big guy up stairs’. At first I thought he meant God, but then I saw a banner that said ‘God on vacation ’til whenevz’, so unless you know someone else, I guess he meant–”. Before I could finish, Jesus the Jeeze says, “Oh, the Big Guy Up Stairs, huh? That would be Farley, my friend.” “As in Chris?”, I say and Jesus says, “As in yup.” and he points to a large, jovial fellow being fanned by a gaggle of big breasted brunettes wearing “Farley Rulz” visors. Sure enough, it’s one of my comedic heroes, Sir Christopher Farley.

I approach nervously and before I even get within comfortable distance, Farley yells out, “Sparkles! Get over here, buddy!!!”, and extends his arms as if to hug me. I run over there like I’m an adopted boy meeting his real father for the first time, except not as awkward and I embrace him. I babble incoherently for a minute or ten about how big a fan of him I am and how much I have missed him on that mortal coil and when I finally shut up for a second, Chris jumps in and says, “Dude. I’m a big fan of YOURS!” Agape, I mutter out, “Um…you’re a fan of…mine?” “Yeah, man! I love your Twitter page! Good stuff.”

The next few minutes are a blur. Chris starts reciting tweets of mine word for word and I am blown away, super excited and kind of embarrassed all at the same time. But the one thing that stuck with me, is one of the last things he said to me, before giving me my transcendental pardon: “Hey, Jon. What’s with all the emo tweets, man?” “Oh…yeah. Sorry, Chris.”, I say and he jumps in apologetically, “No, no. It’s fine. I understand. But the thing that bothers me is there were a lot of girls who were actually into you, but you were looking in all the wrong places…” “Tell me about it”, I say. “I was probably hitting on all the wrong girls, but you know…I had no idea…” and Chris says, “No, I mean literally. You were looking in all the wrong places. There was only one place you needed to look. A bunch of girls were looking for you there…” “Oh yeah?” I ask half modestly, “Where should have I been looking?” “You know Craigslist?”, he asks and I say, “Yeah.” “Well”, he says, “Missed Connections. Everything and everyone you were looking for was right there under Missed Connections.”

Story of my death.

“THE CAROL LINE”
Listen, as I read you
I’m blinded like sharks in muddy waters
Backyard parties and open doors send us to the floor

(chorus)
If tomorrow ends up being nothing
I’ll make sure that you still feel something
There’s so much left to do today
And I’m sitting on the pane just listening to the rain

Enemies gradually turn into friends
Promise to send to me, pictures of the end
Label me something that’s meant for you
Then try take a walk in your own shoes
Hey hey hey hey
Listen up, pay attention
This is ours to share, this dissent
Release the pressure; add relief
Put an end to my pain and your grief
Grit your teeth, and stroke your ego
I stand here with delicious intentions

(chorus)

Living off the grid is tough
The rocks are hard, and the words are rough
Give me something to work with please
I’ve slipped once more and I scraped my knees
The hurt is only inside
Hey hey hey
Ride along the beaten path of neverending wrath
Don’t fall off the track
Few have made it back
Eternal mistakes breed hate
Internal mistakes spring from lies
And self-destructive let downs
But I’d still take what I can’t get now

(chorus)

Four armed men wearing camouflage appeared out of the basement. They spoke a language I didn’t recognize. One of them gestured for me to take my shoes off. He made me wear mukluks, then he tied me up and put a sock in my mouth. Steve was still in the basement, and I could hear him yelling and mumbling simultaneously. Apparently they had “socked” him, too.

The armed men then pulled out a compact disc and proceeded to play death metal music on my stereo. The vocalist appeared to be singing in the same language as the four armed men in my living room. Whenever it came to the chorus, the men would shout out the words in unison and gesture towards the heavens. It seemed as if the music was “possessing” them in some sort of way. They were building adrenaline and steam faster than the thrashing guitarist was shredding his strings.

One of the men left the room for a minute and when he returned he had gasoline and one of those long red lighters. All I could picture was my mom wondering why I hadn’t called her in awhile. Morbid thoughts filled my mind. Selfish thoughts. I started to wonder which people would remember me. Or I wondered if they’d just nonchalantly ponder “What ever happened to ‘that one guy’?”

At first, panic was the only thing I felt, but after a few hours, I had absorbed every emotion possible and had room for nothing else. I was ready to die. It was sort of liberating. Everything felt so…clear.

The sweat that I was drenched in, started to feel like a cold, soothing dip into the most serene waters. My mind drifted back to the swims I would take in the public pool as a child growing up in Tulsa.

I could no longer feel the pain of the bruises on my face from the numerous blows from the butt of the gun, or my skin peeling off from the tight rope cuffing my wrists together.

Happily distracted, I started to think of all of my favorite songs. I could practically picture my iTunes playlist scrolling through my brain and I started to hum some of my favorite tunes. The comfort of knowing my time was up left me relaxed. That’s the only explanation I have for what I did next. I guess the peace of knowing my destiny made me feel like singing. Seconds later I was belting out the Beatles’ “In My Life”. Tears started rolling down my face.

I closed my eyes as I reached the chorus and out of nowhere, a calm, steady hand put a cloth over my face, and gently tied it to the back of my head, as a blindfold. As I finished the last line of the song, I heard 4 gunshots.

When the shooting was over I could still hear Steve moaning from the basement. I shouted out “Hello?”, and listened for signs of anybody else’s presence in the living room. I couldn’t see anything. I waited a couple minutes, then I stumbled to the basement.

I checked the doorknob, but they had it locked from the inside. I backed up a few feet and charged with all my might, shouldering my way through the door. Steve was apparently right behind the door, so I inadvertently knocked him down a bit, but he was too excited to see me to care. He was understandably shaken up, though.

He used the fingers behind his back to untie my rope. A couple minutes later, we were both untied and I could see again. The first thing Steve said after I took the sock out of his mouth was “you look awful”. We were too shell shocked to laugh. We didn’t say much after that.

He could tell by the way I was looking at him, that he didn’t look too great either.

We didn’t know whether to leave through the basement, or go back upstairs and see what the hell happened. Like idiots, we crept back towards the living room like rookie detectives.

The silence was haunting, but also kind of beautiful, after the bizarre day we had been a part of. We reached the living room and were shocked to see the four armed men lying down in one big community pool of blood. The police informed us later that the four men stood in a square, aimed their guns at each other and pulled their triggers simultaneously. Some kind of suicide ritual, or a sacrifice to John, Paul, George and Ringo? Who knows?

One thing I remember for sure is Steve and I just staring at each other dumbfounded, wondering why we were still here. We had been prepared for death, as if it was our only option. Although we had accepted our ill fate, once we were done not dying, we were pretty relieved, to say the least. I thought knowing my destiny was freeing, but that was nothing compared to finding out I had a second chance.

I’ll always remember being in a daze in that living room and asking Steve “Whaaat h-happened?” After gingerly peering around the room for a minute, all Steve could say was: “ARE WE DEAD YET?” Then after a few minutes of complete silence he said “Alex…? Why are you wearing snow boots?” I said, “They’re mukluks, Steve.”

“Mukluks?”

“Mukluks.”

It was a valid question, though and I wish I had an answer. But I didn’t and to this day even the police supposedly have no idea why I was wearing mukluks and frankly, they didn’t seem to care that much. The men weren’t from Alaska. They weren’t Eskimos. Turns out they were from Iowa, actually. One thing the fuzz did figure out is that this quartet had made up their own language to disguise themselves. But why would they do that if they were planning on dying that day anyway? Some things are better left to the imagination. Makes life more interesting.

Not that I need any help in that department anymore. Second chances have this weird knack for improving every aspect of life…

“And these memories lose their meaning when I think of love as something new.”

F. SKA FITZGERALD

SKA RASTAFARI

SKA WOBBLE

SKADE

SKANNIBUS SKATIVA

YO-YO SKA

SZKA-SZKA GABOR

SKA BAIO

SKA TREK

JEFFERSON SKASHIP

SKA TISSUE

THE SKACROW AND MRS. KING

the SKALET LETTER

SKABOROUGH FAIR

CAMPBELL SKATT

SKAUCASIAN

DESU SKA (for japanese ska fans only)

SKARMA CHAMELEON

Waikiki’s Pimpbot have been both quietly and loudly building steam over the last few years. While many who witness their pure ska fury are prone to instantly fall in love with the band, you still don’t hear their name mentioned nearly enough when people discuss the best band in the state. In other words, to know Pimpbot is to love them, but Hawaii is not always the easiest place to stake your claim. I know a lot of true fans of music who’ve never even heard of them and/or never seen them live (no matter how many times I try to get said people to remedy this). Their fans are fully aware that they’re one of the hardest working and most respected bands in the scene and they are probably the nicest and funniest of the bunch. They’ve played in countless venues and toured all over the world, but Pimpbot’s third, self-titled album, is perhaps their best opportunity to claim the scene’s vacant championship belts and to say that the band does not disappoint is frankly an understatement.

When I first saw them play 2 years ago at a bar near the University of Hawaii, I immediately saw something that I hadn’t seen in a local band since the great Tantra Monsters disbanded, but I had no idea what was coming. Basically, to me, this album etches in stone a tiny glimpse that I had on that night. Not since the demise of the Tantra Monsters has a band been so universally thought of as the best band in Hawaii, but whether or not they planned it that way, I feel as if this album is Pimpbot’s statement that the wait is finally over. What you get here is not just an album that defines what they’re all about, but an album that may reshape the entire music scene in Honolulu.

The first song on the album–which is also the first single–is one I heard on that fateful night 2 years ago. I remember early on thinking that there was something special about it then and it’s been rightfully gaining some huge momentum during Pimpbot’s live shows as of late. “Meet You At the Bar” is a song that it’s evident right away has huge potential for universal mass appeal. I only hope this song gets in the right hands and some big shot programmer somewhere gives it a chance, because this tune has all the goods. It’s one of those songs that’s both deeply personal and also tongue in cheek. Vocalist Fernando Pacheco only half-jokingly sings about how hopes and dreams will only get you so far in life and on some nights, you just need to say “to hell with it” and have an adult beverage. The song is so sonically joyful that you end up feeling triumphant about your constructive cynicism and ultimately leaves you with a feeling that everything is going to be okay despite one of the main themes being giving up hope.

The following track, “Tiger” is an up-tempo toe tapper with an almost hip-hop beat being laid down by drummer Eric Lagrimas, as the inner animal inside of Pacheco rages on. Guitarist Tom Coleman also really shines here shifting from fast, rhythmic high tones to sludgier strumming later in the song. In a ska band it’s easy for a guitarist to be overlooked, but Coleman reminds you throughout the album that he’s a force to be reckoned with and like every other member, a key component.

The third song, “Ish” details an unfortunate night out for one of the band members and the tale is delivered magnificently. The song’s alluring harmonies sound very familiar and completely original at the same time. A song that started out as a silly inside joke ends up resonating due to passionate vocals and the melodious instrumentation, highlighted by Pacheco’s stellar, recognizable trombone and newcomer Nic Ramos’ fantastic trumpet playing. Ramos’ addition to the band was a genius move and he has definitely added that extra, intangible element that transforms a band from good to great. His backup vocals throughout the album are equally excellent to his trumpeting. Bassist Rylan Yee’s grooves in the middle of the song are also quite infectious. Yee has a knack for laying down perfect, understated rhythms that help set the tone for Pimpbot’s signature sound. “Ish” ends with a steady bang, as every band member sees you out with head-nodding synchronicity.

Another massive highlight–and another song that deserves to be heard by the masses–is the phenomenal “Zombie Fasi” which imagines the late former mayor of Honolulu, Frank Fasi reappearing as a modern day candidate. A zombie candidate. “Fasi” is, in a word, epic. But it’s the most fun you’ll have with a 6 minute song this side of “Bohemian Rhapsody”. The simple chorus of “Zombie Fasi…whoa-oh!” will have you singing along for months and Lagrimas’ rapid fire drum fills are something to behold. The horn section is once again a highlight here, sounding off as if some important news is set to be announced. And in a way, I guess it sort of is.

“Used To Have Fun” is the 7th track here and it’s another long time live staple that finally gets it’s just due on a record and it’s quick, simple, fun perfection.

“Native John” has something so comfortingly familiar about it. It’s a fun, silly song about a man they met while touring Canada, but again, the band is so great at creating calming, thought-provoking backdrops, that you can’t help but reminisce from time to time even when you know that the subject matter has nothing to do with what you’re thinking about. That’s a special talent not many bands have. “John” has been a live favorite for years, but it sounds even better and more promising in studio and it’s another that could catch fire.

Before concluding, I must say there is not a weak track to be heard here, but I didn’t want to bore you with details about every song. I want you to experience some of the beauty and surprises for yourself, after all and this album is full of both of those things. Get ready to have this on constant rotation for the foreseeable future. While the main sound is undeniably “ska”, the band often transcends the genre and there are little tastes of everything from metal to salsa.

Speaking of surprises, the final cut on the album is a pleasant one titled “Beer and Homies”. It’s a song that has never been performed live by the band. The only music on the song comes from Coleman’s acoustic guitar and the vocals come from the entire band, Kevin Tit of local bands False Crack and Substitoots, local comedians Aaron Pughes and Jonny Sparkles and Demetrius “Duke” Guerrero, formerly of the band On Top. (These cohorts also appear on the preceding, equally hilarious song, “Roll With the Punches”) It’s sort of what you might call a “posse cut” if this were a rap album. Fans of Sublime’s acoustic songs on 40 Oz. To Freedom and Dynamite Hack’s cover of Eazy E’s “Boyz-n-the-Hood” are in for a treat.

In these hard times, it’s nice to have something to believe in and be proud of. The band has already achieved that among many of their fans, through their live shows, but now is the time for that to grow exponentially. This album is a mirror image of that pride and is an achievement 10 years in the making. The highly respected baby steps being taken by the band over the years are now about to leave some giant footprints. Other bands in the scene have been warned. But don’t be afraid. Be inspired. This album isn’t just a great thing for the band. It’s great for the scene and for the state. Hopefully next time we meet at the bar we’ll be celebrating all the accolades this album is worthy of. If dreams are for suckers, I’ve never felt so proud to call myself one. Pimpbot is the stuff that dreams are made of and scenes are shaped by.