Saturday, October 26, 2013

Lies the 80's Taught Us About Adoption

Anyone ever notice that the 1980's had a lot of television shows built around rich white men swooping down from their high rises to rescue lowly orphans and whisk them away to a lap of luxury?  Maybe it was the importance placed on wealth and amassing material possessions that bled into pop culture from the Regan era.  Certainly it was a time where the gap between the haves and the have nots grew wider than ever, and it was definitely cooler to be one of the haves and be on "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" than it was to be on "COPS," for instance.  But the sit coms of the day gave kids a glimmer of hope that we could be saved from our shitty, broke-ass lives by those good-doing rich, white business men.  Truth be told, aristocrats of that era wanted all kinds of things, be it yachts, the finest champaign, sports cars, and much younger women - but rarely did they seek out their very own poor, orphan Black children.  If you knew guys like that at the time or even today, that's not something they coveted, but the 1980's TV shows would have you convinced otherwise . . .

Phillip Drummond was one such saintly tycoon who took in inner city siblings, Arnold and Willis, into his condo, and that seemed to work out great on TV's Diff'rent Strokes.  Arnold was a wise-cracking kid with adorable big cheeks and a growth defect so he stayed cute for a lot of seasons.  In real life, there are families that want to adopt inner city kids, but usually only babies, and very rarely are bachelor males doing that deed.  Phillip was a special guy.  In reality, if he undertook this endeavor without the proper care, his kids may have turned out like their actor counterparts did in real life: Willis would have a drug problem, Phillip's birth daughter would have had an even bigger drug problem and rob a video store, and Arnold would take a job as a mall cop and punch a woman in the face, or whatever.  It seems to me that Phil just got bored easily and made rash decisions that would greatly impact his family, the least of which would be exemplified by how rapidly he went through maids.

"Watchu' mean I can't stay in the penthouse?"
Punky Brewster's father abandoned her, and then her mother snuck away from her at a Chicago shopping center, which left Punky to fend for herself in an abandoned apartment where she would be found by Henry, a photographer.  Now, that story would likely have a more grim ending with some really awful photographic evidence, but in this case Henry is a very kind old man who takes Punky in to give her a better life.  My question is why didn't Punky ask anyone at the shopping center for help?  Nope, instead she immediately just fended for herself and hunkered down in an abandoned apartment.  The actress who portrayed Punky, Solei Moon Frye developed gigantic boobs and eventually opted for a breast reduction.  This has nothing to do with anything at all, or does it?  She abandoned those giant hooters like her mom abandoned her at that Chicago shopping center?  No, it is not on topic at all, and I just found a way to talk about boobs.  Let's just move on to . . .

I bet you can guess which one is Punky (pre reduction)
. . . Webster.  This plucky youngster was the son of a professional football player who pawned his son off on his teammate, offensive lineman George Papadapolis.  Webster suddenly lived with a couple of well-to-do socialites with a cool secret passageway where you could sneak out of your bedroom and out of the grandfather clock downstairs if you needed to make a super sneaky escape of some kind.  Webster also had a growth deficiency and was even smaller than Arnold.  It seems to me that if you're bouncing around foster homes as a child, your chances of getting a foster home were greatly improved if you had a rare condition to never look older than 10-years-old.  That affliction certainly helped Emmanuel Lewis remain friends with Michael Jackson all those years when you think about it . . .
Awwww.  He's perched up there like a little parrot!  
The absolute biggest fairy tale if you were child of the 1980's was the life of Ricky Stratton on Silver Spoons, the boy who meets his father for the first time only to find that he is a super rich toy designer with a house full of video games and a toy train that takes you all over the house.  There was no one on television I was more jealous of than that damn Ricky Stratton.  I wanted everything he had, even the obnoxious duck phone that would quack incessantly instead of ring.  But even as a kid I didn't like the idea of the remote control door that they would pop open without checking to see if it was a murderous rapist who would tie them up, torture them, and play all their video games.  Other than the poorly conceived remote door, I wanted it all.  That lucky bastard.  And all the girls in my class swooned over Rick, and that only further fueled my jealousy.

"Yee haw!  All aboard to Awesome Town!  We got it all, Ricky!  Screw those broke losers!"
The 1980's made it look like taking in orphan children was no harder than rescuing a dog from the local shelter.  The harsh reality is that almost never have broke orphans been saved by random acts of kindness from rich people, but the 1980's sit coms tried to keep that glimmer of hope in the back of our minds.  Hell, I wanted to be "rescued" into that awesome house in "Silver Spoons," and I didn't even need saving because I had a middle class family that loved and cared for me.  The 80's made kids want stuff they didn't need just as it convinced the adults of this.  The poor inner city kids and orphans had just as tough of life as they do now, but being plucked out of the ghettos and orphanages and directly into mansions was never a realistic option.  The truth is the real life Arnolds and Websters of the world grew up poor, hungry, and really, really short.      

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

"The 40-Year-Old Freshman," "Treading Death," and an Awfully Mean Coach

I had this dream that I was a college water polo coach, which is weird because I know almost nothing about water polo other than it's like team hand ball in a pool and it's hard to tread water for that long.  

What's also odd is that I had two celebrities on the team: Actor, writer, and funny-man Seth Rogen and Lars Ulrich, the drummer for the most successful metal band of all time, Metallica.  Perhaps they were going back to college and still had eligibility to play, even if they're old and out of shape, respectively?

It was a rag tag group of water polo players to say the least.  

"Back off me, toots.  I got a big game in the morning."
I really needed Seth in an upcoming match to be my outside wing offensive guy, or whatever, but he made a conscious choice to travel with the basketball team instead because he felt he needed to cheer them on.  This made me so mad that I was throwing projectiles at him at the next practice, and my violent tirade was filmed and aired on the local news, which probably would have gotten me fired if the dream continued much longer.  

"I'm the goalie because I'm always in charge even if I'm not all that good."
Lars was a goalie with some pretty quick reaction time and instincts, but what was bothering me was how short he was.  He couldn't even reach the cross bar to stop a high shot, and to be honest, I have no idea if it's an asset or not to have a tall/long armed goalie in water polo or not.  In the dream it was infuriating to have him in there, and I was whipping high shots at him over-and-over to demonstrate this.

I was a mean coach.  

What do you think, guys?  Throw Will Ferrell in here and we got ourselves a crappy sports comedy?  Or am I just totally nuts for having dreams like this one?

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

This Has To Be One of My Best Accidental Texts Ever

So, this text just went out to Mrs. Noisewater:

"Have I told you lately how proud vCard am of you?"

As you may know, a V-Card is something you cash in when you lose your virginity, but it had nothing to do with what I was trying to text her tonight.  Truth be told, I just got my first smart phone after years of whipping open my flip phone like Captain Kirk all these years.  And I'm not to accurate with it, as you may see.

Still, did protective text really try to sneak a V-Card into this conversation?  That is unbelievable.  

Mrs. Noisewater's response?

"No.  You've never told me how proud you are of my V-Card."

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Writer's Bars

Mrs. Noisewater and I were at a book sale outside of a church on Sunday, and I picked up a book called "The Chicago Way" about a private detective in Chicago.  As it turns out, the character in the story drinks too much at too many bars - just like me!   

At one point he references Kelly's Pub.  Hey, I've been there!  The managers there love heavy metal and were cranking up some Diamond Head for me the last time I was in there.  They also sold my buddy, Night Train, a rogue tall boy of Coors Light that he spotted in the fridge and no one working there had any idea how it got there . . .

Another time the main character winds up ordering a Guinness at Cullens.  I know that place too.  For whatever reason, it was the best bar to go to on a Sunday night if you happened to have that Monday off, decided to just take it off, or simply wanted to drink like an animal on a Sunday.  My partner in crime back then always seemed to get lucky there on a Sunday, but it just wasn't a good home game to me.  He would actually get laid totally randomly. late afternoon on a Sunday, and I had to tip my cap to him.

Later the author makes mention of The Hidden Shamrock.  Come on!  That's just down the street from me, and I have been there dozens of times.  The bartender in the story was a full blown Irish gal with the accent and everything, but when I was going there regularly it was an Irish American red-head.  We had a thing one night (on a Sunday!) but it turns out she was just using me while she was on a break from her boyfriend.  But, whatever, us boys don't get as upset about being used because it's like, hey, I got laid, right?  We're pretty simple beings when you come right down to it . . . 

Friday, October 11, 2013

Darth VS Jody On a Bookshelf Far, Far Away . . .

I have some weird habits.  The kind where if I don't do them then my whole world might spiral into ruin.  One such habit is every so often, when my life is looking not-so-good, slightly adjusting the Jody Davis and Darth Vader figurines on my book shelf could alter my destiny.  These two have been in an epic duel for around 10 years, Darth with his light saber and Jody with his catchers mitt.  Hardly seems fair, right?  The saber could slice through bone like butter without even swinging very hard, while the mitt could stop a fastball but your hand will still probably sting a little.  What's more, Darth is an intergalactic tyrant with the galaxy at his fingertips, and meanwhile Jody Davis is a lifetime .245 catcher for a team that loses most of their games, the Chicago Cubs.  

I couldn't rotate this picture, but to hell with it.  I like it better like this because with Darth on top, Jody is getting dominated even more.  He is the power bottom (of the division).
If you'll notice in the first picture, Darth has his light saber ready to slice off Mr. Davis' head.  This is when life has me by the balls and it looks like there is no hope.  

"The Cubs join the Empire?  Never!!!!"
But not so fast!  Jody has slipped his glove to the inside, blocking Darth!  This ever so slight of an adjustment can be made on any given day and everything can turn around for me.  And I actually believe this can help matters.

Anyone else do stuff like this or am I just completely nuts?

Friday, October 04, 2013

Carpool Humping Lane

Once again I long awaited for inspiration to sit down and write another post, and this time my muse was an unattractive couple having sex while driving down the Eisenhower Expressway in my home town of Chicago.

I put off posting about this so long that A) everyone has probably already seen it and made fun of it before me by now and B) Many of the videos have been deleted.  After searching for it for a few minutes with no luck, I remembered that it was an old friend of mine who first turned me onto it on Facebook and that link still worked.  Thank you, old friend, for sharing this dangerous and hilarious sex act caught on film!

Now, let's begin the commentary as only Dr. Ken can . . .

0:10 - Despite the fact that the woman in the passenger seat is sure that she's "totally got it" with the video camera on her phone, the woman driving (WD) is really doubting that she does.

0:20 - Passenger side woman (PSW) is starting to think they have filmed enough evidence of this and is fairly sure the fornicators in the car a mere 7 feet away have noticed that they are becoming unsuspecting porn stars.  "No no," says WD.  "It's called safety."  Just what does she mean by that?  "Is that his hand or his foot?"  I thought the same thing, and if he is having sex while driving with his foot, that is highly unsafe, unless he is a professional stunt driver and porn actor.  However, if she is worried about the well-being of her fellow motorists, wouldn't she just alert the authorities rather than make 7 or 8 passes to film them?  I'm starting to think WD is really getting off on the whole moving-car-sex-thing . . .

0:30 - "I want to get her bouncing again.  She's just laying on him."  Yup.  She's a perv.  I was half expecting her to yell some more directions at them and perhaps suggest some new positions.  PSW says she is looking away from them and plans to just watch her video later, but WD is quite obviously gawking at them and speeding up and slowing down to go by them so many times that eventually it looks as if the dude is waving at them while he screws.  A baller move, if you ask me.

0:50 - "Angle it down, you're getting all sky," the director tells her camera person, at which point PSW says I'm done and turns off her phone.  I would agree that she has amassed quite enough footage and has had enough bossing from her half-assed director.  WD would have filmed all day if she had the means.  I sort of think she was hoping they would crash, and she would have the world's best snuff film - she seems just that sick to me.
Here are my thoughts on this whole thing: Sure, when this couple started humping one another in broad daylight on the highway, they opened themselves up to other people on the road watching and perhaps video taping.  However, they didn't need to be hounded like this.  Just have a laugh (maybe a quick video) and be on your way.  WD was hell bent on filming this thing from the foreplay all the way to the money shot all over the dashboard, and maybe even the clean up.

Meanwhile in the other lane, I can't at all blame the guy for having a shag while driving.  How can you pass that up?  But my man needed to do a better job at distancing himself from other cars.  I have only had a few similar experiences in my wilder days, but when I did, I like to think I could enjoy myself pretty well while keeping the other cars out of view for the most part.  Then again, I was never pursued by anyone with a tenacity quite like WD.

What do you think, Seven Readers?  Are the days of doing it anywhere with reckless abandon ruined by the modern cameras, cell phones, and youtubers everywhere nowadays?  Anyone want to share a crazy place they tried to do it and were busted?