Well, thanksgiving has come and gone, and once again, it was a memorable evening in the Smith household. Let me just say, that it wouldn't have been Thanksgiving if not for such time honored Smith family traditions as:
1. My aunt walking in on her husband, my uncle Joe discussing her "Sexual Appetites" with her sisters and mother, then unleashing the "Don Zimmer Staredown Face" and refusing to talk to him for the remainder of the night.
2. Everyone around the table trying to remember the Navy fight song, then simultaneously bursting into a hearty rendition of Popeye the Sailor Man. (no . . .i did not make that up.)
3. Once again, my uncle Joe shocking and awing the rest of the dinner guests by telling that involved him, Melonball shots, a topless waitress, bad dancing, vomit, and a pair of Gucci shoes.
4. My grandfather, who wore a Santa Clause tie in the firm belief that we were celebrating Christmas Eve, unabashedly hitting on my girlfriend.
Yep, fun times at the Smith household. Anyway, there is lots to talk about, so let's get to the RAMBLINGS.
Moneymaker, Vaehdi . . . The World Series of Poker! only on ESPN! (sorry couldn't help myself)
Just a few thoughts on Poker. . . .
My two favorite new players in the Tournament are Dutch "Doogie Howser MD." Boyd, and the guy who kind of looks like Tiger Woods. Then i'd have to go with Chris Moneymaker, and the Persian guy who looks like he produces upscale porno videos.
In an effort to ride the monstrous wave of popularity that is Televised Poker, Bravo is coming out with a new "Celebrity Poker" show. I was pretty excited about it until my buddy Slex pointed out that it's probably just going feature such notable celebrities such as Fred "ReRun" Barry from GoodTimes, Lorenzo Lamas, Jazzy Jeff, and the black guy from Walker; Texas Ranger.
If Bravo was smart the show would feature celebrities with noted gambling problems. I personally, would to see Pete Rose pull out his hairplugs because Michael Jordan went up half a million dollars after hitting the ace on fifth street to end up with a full house.
If I was running my own network, I'd cash in on the gambling popularity by starting a show called "The Death Row World Domino Tour", which would be an outdoor event, held in such areas as Rucker Park and a generic backyard in Compton. There would be a catch to this show, however. Every episode would conclude with Suge Knight getting angry and slamming his fist through a table, than stabbing the winner to death.
Lastly, this Christmas break, me and my buddies are organizing a father-son poker tourney.
Let me just tell you how terrible an idea this is. Take 10 college kids, just back from college with sub-par GPA's, multiply that by competition, money and alcohol consumption. I imagine that by the end of the night, at least 6 of us won't be talking to our fathers, and at least 2 won't be living at home anymore.
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I don't know if I can determine which was the most predictable event of the week: Lawrence Taylor admiting he was a crack-head, or another Portland Trailblazer being arrested.
I went old-school this week, and played NBA JAM TE for SNES. You have to love that game, if only for the reason that it allows you to pit Ronny Siekley and Horace Grant against a super-team consisting soley of Eric Montross and Dino Raja.
Speaking of old-school, the LA Clippers have brought a bonafide superstar out of retirement to lead them into playoff contention. Yes, the man, the myth, the legend himself . . . Olden Polynice.
(apparently Bryant Reeves and Greg Ostertag were busy filming Celebrity Poker)
In New York football news that doesn't involve Jim Fassel's impending disembowelment, The Jets pulled of a remarkable upset against the Chiefs, thanks in part to Curtis Martin's 133 yard game and Chad Pennington's gigantic ears.
I wish I could by stock in things like "On the first play from scrimmage, Mike Vick will pull off an improbable 56 yard scramble, but fail to reach the endzone when his leg falls off on the 7 yard line, thus ending his football career."
Ok, I'll ask, can we just turn the entire Eastern Division into a sort of NBA developmental league now, or do we have to wait for Jermaine O'Neal and Allen Iverson to sign with the Sacremento Kings first?
After watching Rich Girls on MTV for the past few weeks, I've come to a few conclusions.
1. Jamie Gleischer is an amalgam of every dumb, fat, ugly rich girl you ever knew in High School. You know, the type who, in an effort to feel popular, would routinely throw parties that would inevitably lead to three events; the destruction of a valued vase, the raiding of her father's liquor cabinet, and the hostess crying because no one is talking to her.
2. If I ever saw Michael C. on the Street, I would not hesitate to punch him in the face.
I firmly believe that his fake crying jag might have been the worst single piece of acting on Cable Television all year. And yes, I included Playmakers in that statement.
3. The argument between Michael C. and the
Crazy Dancing Guy during the graduation episode, will go down in history as one of the all-time funniest TV confrontations, along with the Vince MacMahon-Bob Costas showdown and CT "working" the 5'2 British Guy on the Real World: Paris.
The first Joe Millionaire guy, Evan What's His Name, won the title, of "Number One Reality Television Icon", narrowly edging out Mandy from Tempation Island, and that fat chick who got disqualified from American Idol after nude pictures of her surfaced.
If anyone ever wanted a good defenition for the term "dubious honor", look no further.
I'll leave you with this final thought.
I saw David slap Irene on the "Real World: Seattle". I saw Puck spit on countless people during his tenure with MTV, and I watched with shock as the airing "Paradise Hotel" signaled that the demise of moral standards in American Television, but nothing . . . NOTHING . . . will possibly compare to tonight, with the airing of the Paris Hilton- Nicole Ritchie supershow, "The Simple Life"
The only scenario in which this show could ever be topped would be if the judges for the upcoming season American Idol Junior are Pete Townsend, R. Kelly, and Michael Jackson.
Cause if it ain't Scottish . . . . IT'S CRAP!
till next time . . . .