Cream Shop Friday: Darn that Dream

Whenever I remember my dreams, I try to write them down the moment I wake up. This week has gotten a ton of pre-dawn ink. My dreams have been as bizarre as Auntie's pregnancy ones, except apocalyptic and scary.

The two latest:

Dream 1: James and I are shooting potato guns out in a field somewhere (the dream could stop right there on the bizarre factor but there’s more). A plane flying fairly low over the field starts to move in an odd way; its tail is swishing back and forth like a dolphin’s. I wake up just as the plane breaks apart and crashes down in the field in front of us.

Dream 2: I wake up on the commuter boat. It’s nighttime and very dark inside the cabin and I realize I’ve nodded off listening to my iPod. A Billie Holliday song I don’t recognize is playing (it’s not “Darn that Dream”but it's still Twilight Zoney) but I can’t get the iPod light to turn on to find out what it is. I suddenly realize I’m the only person on the boat. Looking out of the window, I see some really crazy lightning on the horizon and the moon looks about 20 times its normal size and keeps getting bigger and bigger. I realize, in a sudden panic, that it’s not getting bigger, it’s getting closer. I run out on deck and it’s packed with passengers screaming and pointing at the sky; it’s clear they’d been watching this the whole time and I’m appalled that I somehow slept through it. The moon (huge) hits the ocean up ahead of us with an apocalyptic boom, causing a gigantic tidal wave. I wake up just as the boat starts to capsize.

Therefore, my new procrastination station this week is Dreammoods.com which has an online dreamer's dictionary, common interpretations of certain symbols and discussions of dream theories by Freud, Jung, Albert Adler and Frederick Perls.

Interpretation of my dreams: My unconscious mind is writhing with anxiety -- or I’m a prophet of Armageddon.

Cream Shop Friday: The Hoff on the Sauce

I was planning on making this a Hasselhoff-free Friday but I couldn’t stay away.

I’m sure by now everyone’s seen the drunken video of him lying on the floor, shirtless, struggling with what appears to be a Godzilla burger from Eagle’s Deli. His teenage daughter shot the video – at the Hoff’s request – to show him what an idiot he looks like when he’s drunk off his ass. I’m sure he did not request the video also be leaked to EXTRA or other cheesy gossip outlets to show the world what an idiot he looks like when he’s drunk off his ass, but this is the world we live in now.

Hasselhoff is currently locked in a contentious custody battle with his ex-wife. The Alec Baldwin incident has ushered in this new trend of putting your dirty business on the street to use as leverage. The irony is that the act of leaking the dirty business may be worse than the original offense. I feel badly for the kids. “This is a mess,” Hoff says on the video, summing up his failed burger nosh. It’s only a matter of time before his daughters experience a similar fate. (Even more so because of that photo up there)

That said, I found the video sad but not shocking. He looks like any other drunken boob with the munchies. Who hasn’t had those mornings where you've woken up with shrimp fried rice in your bed, still clutching a chicken wing?

Also, I don’t think the Hoff will sweat this one. He’s made no secret of the fact that he’s a recovering alcoholic with wagon troubles. We’ve all seen his videos; he’s a pretty shameless guy, certainly not someone who is meticulous about image. In the wake of the “scandal,” he released a statement expressing gratitude, not contempt for his children, saying he will seek redemption in the leaked footage.

This morning, I spent some time in the Cream Shop looking at some classic Hasselhoff animations that we've randomly emailed to each other over the years. Next week, the drunken video will be the latest entry into the new Hoff Gallery, a burgeoning Internet database of all things Hasselhoff, but I will always prefer to watch this one.

Cream Shop Friday: Chasing Skipper

When I lived in the city, whenever I looked out the window, I could always count on something exciting happening outside: Furio hosing down the sidewalk for the 100th time. An inebriated neighbor shooting a bebe gun at Joe C’s dog for sniffing around his tomato plants. And let’s not forget about those midnight stoop parties during gas leaks. Now that I am a surburbanite, the only thing I see when I look out the window are our retired neighbors Lou & Nancy going to and from dinner.

That said, please try to reserve judgment on how I just spent the past 30 minutes of my life.

A man in black spandex pants and a yellow windbreaker has been skipping past the house all week long. I’ve assigned him a creative nickname: Skipper. I’ve never seen such a sight before: A grown man in a full-on skip. He’s definitely engaged in some kind of workout but man it is goofy looking. Is this some new exercise trend? If so, it’s even more ridiculous-looking than that speedwalking craze from the 90s. I wonder if he only does this during the day because everyone’s at work? That way, he can be as free and sprightly as he pleases without busybodies like me peering at him from behind their living room curtains.

Anyway, I just spent the past 30 minutes in the Cream Shop trying to catch Skipper on video with my digicam. He’s gone by three times now but I can’t get close enough without him catching me in the act. And I don’t think I’m strong enough to handle how much of a loser I’d feel like if that happened.

I tried to use Paulie as a pawn, pretending to take his picture so I could get Skipper in the background but the picture is too blurry when I zoom in. Alas, he’s clearly finished his work out for today and I’ve got to get back to work anyway. I hope to post a video of Skipper soon, however, so you can share in the overwhelming excitement.

CREAM SHOP FRIDAY: Smell the Sludge, Write a Haiku

LPD officially launched Cream Shop Friday today by sending this photo around. The pic arrived via KW via Rich O. who holds this image in such high esteem, it's the wallpaper on his home computer.

This shithole pictured here is Kelleher’s in Westfield, Mass.

Behold the beveled glass windows, the filthy tattered awning, the massive dumpster just outside the doorway. From the outside, it looks like the kind of place where pool-table gang rapes are commonplace, a place where drunk townies stab outsiders with broken beer bottles. Actually, it looks like that kind of place on the inside too, but that’s beside the point.

The point is, it looks like a bar to avoid -- especially if you're a fresh-faced college student. Instead, we waited in line and paid $5 to get into this joint. And we’d STAY there until we were asked to leave. Once inside, we’d pound 50-cent drafts and Kool-Aid shots, and dance to tunes spun by a greasy throwback named Bruce Parker. And let’s not forget – although I’d like to – I would occasionally spin some tunes, much to the chagrin of line-dancing sluts who hated the Saturday Night Fever vibe I was trying to bring. (Fuck y’all) Anyway, every Saturday night, we’d show up here, get steaming drunk, dance to “Oh What A Night” at least twice, smoke on the fire escape and do some shots downstairs when the slow songs came on. Then, just as the sludge started to congeal on the floors, the lights would come up and we’d stumble out the front door and swarm the hot dog man. Wow. We were cool.

Spend some time in the Cream Shop today and send us some Kelleher's-inspired Haiku. Even if you’ve never been inside, just picture the worst dive you’ve ever been in and the imagery will jive.

LPD and I will go head-to-head to get the ball rolling:

1)
Beautiful shithole
I can almost smell the sludge
Bruce Parker’s greasy
-KJ

2) Who is that I see?
Outside wearing Girbaud pants?
LP dares to swipe
A townie's leather jacket
-LPD

3)
Hot dog man frenzy
Feel the sludge on your shoe-boots
Puke behind Baybanks
-KJ

4) Slow dancing upstairs.
Downstairs, Kool-Aid shots for all!
Closing time is here.
Let's all drink more at Church Street.
-LPD


Cream Shop Friday is a feature on this blog aimed at causing distraction.

Cream Shop Friday: The New Tom Brady!

(Jan Brady used a curly black wig to transform her image. Will it work for Tom?)

Before he started working on his own twisted version of the Brady Bunch, Tom was a white bread midwestern boy whose downhome family values were so superior, he was invited to sit among George W’s posse of slack-jawed evangelicals at the State of the Union address a few years ago. He was a devout, God-fearing Catholic boy (he’s visited the POPE for goodness’ sake.) He was an immaculate role model who floated above us, sprinkling fairy dust on all who looked up to him.

Now he's facing an image problem of K-Fed-ian proportions. Brady’s balls of fury (with apologies to WMD) not only impregnated his ex-girlfriend Bridget Moynahan, but are rumored to have knocked up current flame Gisele Bundchen too. In less than three weeks, Brady's image has plummeted from that of Golden Boy to Baby Daddy.

Worse, he is now an official member of the unholy hypocrites.

Granted, he's not nearly as bad as Ted Haggard, the mega-church preacher who made a career of bashing gay people but conveniently neglected to mention his penchant for meth-fueled rendezvous with male prostitutes. (BTW, after 21 days of “restoration counseling,” Haggard proclaims he is now “100 percent heterosexual.” Heh.) Brady is also not on par with Fatty McButterpants himself -- Newt Gingrich -- who called out Bill Clinton for his fellatio-tinged morals but was having a full-blown – no pun intended -- extramarital affair at the same time.

But, like so many holy rollers before him, Brady has proven himself to be to "good" to be true.

I usually subscribe to a “live and let live” philosophy. However, the uber-religious tend to be very judgmental by nature, claiming that anyone who does not believe exactly as they do is a sinner. I despise that kind of provincial thinking, so I can’t help but pile on St. Tom.

In all fairness, the list of people who WOULDN’T want to have Tom Brady’s baby is short one -- Most of my friends would, James would, I would, and I know JAL would. Face it, when someone says “You’re the man,” the man they are referring to is Tom Brady. You can understand how looking at him may make someone ease up on the birth control -- consciously or subconsciously.

But the current rumors make him look like much less of a man. The rumor that Tom dumped Bridget Moynahan *because* she was pregnant then took up with a much younger Gisele because she was *not* (and probably did not want to be any time soon): Caddish.

So, with Gisele rumored to be PG as well, what now? If he moves on to another hot-looking babe, won’t that make him look even worse?

To be pondered in the Cream Shop: What will Tom Brady’s proverbial black wig be? If you were Tom’s PR/image consultant, what would you advise him to do? Claim true love ala Brad Pitt and settle down with Gisele even though he’s not ready? Convert to Mormonism and marry them both? Go to rehab for sexual addiction? Tearful repentance at a mega-church? Or do nothing -- “I’m Tom Brady for fuck’s sake.” You be the judge.

*Fabulous artwork courtesy of T-Bag.

Cream Shop Friday: The MEEZ

I'm writing a story on fashion avatars -- which are basically graphical representations of yourself that you can embed in programs like IM, MySpace, Facebook, blogs, online forums, etc. You can even add your avatar into the body of an email or to your email signature. In only a few years, these avatars have evolved from tiny animated smiley faces and immobile clip art to full-on 3D identities that you can dress and animate as well as assign moods and personality. You can change your look and mindset on a whim. You're free to be who you are or the person you've always wished you could be. You can be a punk rocker or a figure skater. Wear couture or acid washed jeans and a mesh half shirt. You can carry a Hermes handbag or a hockey stick. You can Breakdance or do the Thriller dance or sit slackjawed with an iPod. The combinations are infinite. That said, you can spend several hours in the Cream Shop assembling your online persona. I experimented on Meez.com this morning. I tried to make my avatar as close to my personality/look as possible but plan on reinventing myself as a lounge singer over the weekend.



In case you've forgotten, Cream Shop Friday is a periodic feature in the PU devoted to the biggest distraction of the week.

Cream Shop Friday: FED-EX

K-Fed, we hardly knew thee. While you were mostly known as Mr. Britney Spears and for tacking the word "ass" onto all of your adjectives, you touched all of our souls and made them feel icky. However, we now know that you're an intelligent creature after you recently opened up to GQ about your "amazing ass" GED scores. You've always had a way with the skanks and when you turn on that charming-ass charm, nothing can stop you. "Any of you sexy-ass ladies wanna dance with a pimp." That's the stuff...what a sweetheart. We'll never forget you.

The Pointy Universe invites all to pay tribute to this glorified wigger by taking in an encore performance of him here jamming out to one of his own songs, a "Brazilian ass shaker" called Popozao. This instant classic captures the true essence of all that was K-Fed. I'm thrilled he will be immortalized on YouTube for generations to come.

Cream Shop Friday: Zmed Heads

(photo: Zmed-Headband)

I knew T-Bag's mention of "that guy" Adrian Zmed in my article about co-ed bachelor(ette) parties would draw appreciation but I had no idea that it'd become the central focus of the piece. Who knew there were so many Zmed Heads* out there? I believe a revival is brewing -- one of Hasselhoffian proportions -- for Zmed, whom aside from his role as Jay O'Neill in 1984's Bachelor Party, was most memorable as Vince Romano on Bill Shatner's 1980s cop series TJ Hooker. While the show has been off the air for 20 years, Zmed's character is nevertheless immortalized in a rare collectible action figure.


After TJ Hooker, Zmed replaced Deney Terrio as the host of Dance Fever, officially marking the season that the show jumped the shark. While Terrio's been reduced to a self-tanning disaster who recently appeared on "Star Dates," reruns of "Dance Fever: The Zmed Years" would likely garner huge ratings for E!, VH1, or anyone daring enough to broadcast such filth. Zmed's already mysteriously hinting at a comeback with this "coming soon" Web site where he sports some wispy Romanian facial hair. If that is not enough evidence, may I direct you to eBay where the bids are up to $15.50 for a used cassette recorded by Zmed in 1984 that includes a cover of "Oh What a Night." Bring it on, Zmed.

NOTE: Once again, I am being merciful with the artwork here. KT, a confirmed Zmed head, sent me this photo which I originally planned to post. However, in the wake of the Hasselhoff debacle, I decided it was way too early for anyone to see an abundance of hair where it shouldn't be when one is donning a speedo. 'Nuff said. Click at your own risk.


*phrase coined by T-Bag.

Cream Shop Friday: D.W.W.I

(Cory Favreau gets book thrown at him after opening a can of whup-ass on his McPheeverish Mom)

Since fewer things say “family fun” than getting shitfaced with your mom, Cory Favreau & Jan Chagnon of Plattsburgh, NY engaged in a classic mother-and-son boozefest while watching the American Idol finale together on Wednesday night.

Apparently, Chagnon (mom) and Favreau (son), while heavily intoxicated, were discussing the two finalists when the mom said that Katharine McPhee would have a successful career despite losing to Taylor Hicks. Favreau allegedly stood up, made a nasty comment to his mom and then struck her in the head with a sharp object hooked to a bicycle chain.

Defamer.com reports that “the McPheever-beset Chagnon knew her son was a Taylor Hicks fan, but she had no reason to believe her comments would incite him to swing his cherished Official Soul Patrol™ Mama-Whuppin' Chain with optional dangling, puncture-wound inflicting object, accompanied by the threateningly 'nasty comment' that he was going to 'warp your motherin' skull just like Katharine warps the high notes!'

To be pondered in the Cream Shop: Is this a sign of an increasingly warped pop culture, the Apocalypse, or just a typical mid-week drunken scuffle among northeast rednecks in places like Plattsburgh, NY. Also, why did this guy have a bicycle chain resting on a coaster alongside his Busch Light?

While an unfortunate occurrence, this incident will – at the very least – raise awareness on the dangers of Drinking While Watching Idol.



Cream Shop Friday is a periodic feature on this blog detailing the biggest distraction of the week.

Cream Shop Friday: What's Really Happening Today

1. Paris Hilton is Still Really Stupid:

Sometimes it's humorous when people accidentally call something or someone the wrong name. My personal favorites are when James mistakenly referred to Casa Romero as "Cafe Rodriguez" and the Circe's Grotto sandwich shop in Scituate as "The Groratoria." However, nobody is paying him buckets of cash to represent these establishments. Paris Hilton, as usual, is a whole nutha story. She made a brief appearance at the Electronic Entertainment Expo to promote her new video game "Paris Hilton's Jewel Jam" but repeatedly referred to the game as "Diamondquest." WTF. Doesn't even sound like Jewel Jam. I can't figure out if she's mildly retarded or a publicity genius: Her slip-up has made every online, print and television news site today and sent me right into the Cream Shop wondering what was she thinking -- but then I realized she doesn't.

2. Auntie is Really Pregnant:

Celine marked the halfway point of her pregnancy by installing a step next to her bed as she's having trouble heave-ho-ing the fetus and herself in and out of it. "I may soon have to start rocking her to get momentum in getting up there," said Bags.




3. Paulie is Really Stuck in the Dora the Explorer Tent:
This behemoth of a tent has overtaken our living room alongside the Dora patio set. It's a small world within a world here where we've all been living like shut-ins because of the crap weather. Unfortunately, Paulie's so burly that every time he enthusiastically bumrushes the tent, he gets tripped up in the folds and overturns it. This makes Caroline absolutely livid. I've had to dislodge him from the folds at least five times today.


4. Caroline Really Loves Hide-N-Seek:

And because she loves it, she insists everyone else love it too. She's the hide-n-seek enforcer, the hide-n-seek Nazi. "Will you go hide, Mama. I'm serious. GO HIDE. NOW!" I'm running out of places to hide but it doesn't really matter because she peeks. Ready or not, here she comes.



Mama needs to get out-the-house. Who's up for South Shore cocktails tonight?