Before I get started with this week's 3hree Things, I want to thank those of you who shared kind words with me via twitter, the comment section here, and/or my blog during my hiatus. December of 2010 and January of 2011 were, without a doubt, the most difficult months of my life, and to have people sending me words of sympathy and notes of encouragement definitely helped make an awfully rough road a little smoother. So, thanks for that.
Disclaimer: I apologize if it takes me a few weeks to dust off the wit and snark that you were used to in these columns previously, and really hope I don't stumble through these first few like a newborn deer. It's entirely possible though. Bear with with me. We'll get there. And as always, thanks for reading.
The following three images have been playing on repeat in my brain for about a week now; dancing in and out of my train of thought like the frames of porn Tyler Durden spliced into family films in Fight Club. And now I'm going to spread the horror wealth and splice them into yours.
1) Indecent Exposure
Last weekend, my mom and I drove up to Los Angeles to see "Voice Lessons", a play starring Lori Metcalf ("Roseanne") and French Stewart. You might remember Stewart as Harry Solomon on "Third Rock From The Sun". I had a vague recollection of him, but until I found out I'd be seeing him on stage, I had kind of forgotten that French Stewart existed. In retrospect, I'd be awfully happy if it had stayed that way. With about a minute remaining in the play (which, for the record, was actually quite good), Stewart's character, clad in nothing but a boxer shorts, dropped his skivvies to reveal his "Hairy Solomon" to the audience. Now, I'm not sure what the appropriate reaction to unsolicited penis display is (or if there is an "appropriate reaction" per se), but I'm guessing a collective gasp (akin to the noise made in a movie theater when a zombie breaks dead silence by jamming its hand through a door) is not the preferred response. It's not that it was a horrifying member. It was fairly normal penis as penises go. I just think it's safe to assume that there wasn't a single soul in the audience that went into that theater thinking they'd walk out with French Stewart's plumbing as a part of their mental photo album.
2) The Flame Deluge
I drive a Mini Cooper (and have been on the receiving end of plenty of ribbing for it), so far be it for me to point a finger and chuckle at a guy for driving a brand new VW Beetle (even though the new Beetles seem to be the preferred coach of many a teen girl), but I'm going to do it anyway. And sure, this image isn't as shocking as an unexpected wiener, but it's just as absurd. I'm not pointing this guy out because he of his choice in cars, but because his VW Bug had giant orange and yellow flames painted on the side of it. Giant. Orange. And Yellow. Flames. Like a hot rod. On a new Beetle. That's like guy getting "BAD MOTHERFUCKER" embroidered on his purse. And I'm not just pointing him out because of his terrible taste in painfully-cliche and obnoxiously-sized custom paint jobs, but because he was wearing a matching short-sleeved button-up black shirt with GIANT ORANGE AND YELLOW FLAMES on it. I'm no fashion maven, but I can't possibly fathom a situation in which I'd think that wearing a shirt that looks like my waistline has burst into cartoon flames would be a good idea (unless I were to dress up as The Food Network's resident platinum-coiffed ubergoon, Guy Fieri, for Halloween.) And even if I did decide to douche it up and wear a shirt with flames on it, you wouldn't be able to get me within a ten mile radius of a car with a matching paint job. The only thing missing was actual flames to engulf the entire aesthetic catastrophe.
3) Stranger Than Fiction
That child is crying on behalf of humanity, and I thank him/her for that.
I realize that that clip is old, but it's new to me, and I find it hilariously carnal, potentially offensive (sorry to those who found it to be such), and further proof that truth is always stranger than fiction.