Thursday, May 29, 2008

Show and Tell (Me Off)

This is either Jill's response to last night's entry, or a display of her still injured fingernail from a night of partying, or both.

Either way, I know she's telling me I'm number one. Or that I'll be getting tables for one very soon. Or she's derogatorily alluding to my manhood. So many fucking meanings for one simple gesture.


Foreplay, Part II

So before I get busy, lemme talk a little bit about...gettin' busy. That's right. This time I didn't let the moment pass like before. No sir, I went right in for the kill.

When she said "It's really a shame we haven't been doing it at all lately," I said "Yup." When she said, "Remember last night when you said we're like best buddies, so maybe the idea of doing it with each other seems kinda messed up?* That really bummed me out," I said, "Me too, pal." And then I added, "We just need to get one out of the way to work our way back up to the good stuff." When she said, "Yes, we really have to do it, but now it's late and I haven't showered and I feel fat and ugly," I said, "We all feel fat and ugly till the lights are out and we pop it in there for a bit and feel it, and then we're hot as pornstars. Let's do this thing."

How could she resist?

And when it was all over (insert premature ejaculation joke here), she said, "You're gonna blog about this, aren't you? That's why you were giggling when we started." I assured her that was not my plan.

And now I feel a bit like Fletch listening to a love-making session on his pocket tape recorder:

Woman: [moaning] You're not recording this, are you?

Fletch: No, never. Never.


*She took this out of context. I don't remember the exact context, but it really did make sense at the time. To me.

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Coin Fountain

Okay, I don't want to be gross (actually, I want to be gross but Jill's dad may be a reader - Hi, Rolly!), but I recently found something very disturbing in the toilet. No, not right after using it - I told you, I'm trying not to be gross. It was just BEFORE I was to go number one. Here's the view:

To the ladies out there who may not recognize this view, it is from the standing pee-er's perspective.

What is that little dot way down there in the bowl, you may ask. I asked the very same question, o reader of words. And then I said a little prayer before risking mad cooties to fish out the little bastard:

Two sides of the same corroded coin. I felt like Jack Crawford pulling the moth cocoon from the mouth of one of Buffalo Bill's victims.

I discovered that it was a penny that had undergone some kind of chemical interaction. Was it inside me? And, if so, for how long? I know I'd swallowed a quarter at least once before in an epic game of Anchor Man many years ago, but never a penny. Maybe some angry waiter slipped it into my meatloaf. But wouldn't I have bitten it? Also, how did it separate from the rest of the human detritus which was flushed away? I was honestly perplexed. And utterly fascinated.

I boiled it down to two theories. One, it was somehow living in the pipes for many years after being dropped out of someone's pockets and into the bowl in a haste to lower the pants, and was simply kicked back after many flushes. Or two, instead of losing change on the Kingda Ka demon coaster, I actually GAINED BACK the change I'd lost on so many other rides in some kind of Bizarro-world, karmic twist of reality. A stretch, I know, but I decided if that were the case, then I should be expecting a lot more than a penny in this filthy portal in the days to come.

And guess what? No joke, I swear, the VERY NEXT DAY I casually assumed the usual position (see above), having forgotten all about my theories, and found another coin! This one a dime! You can't make this shit up!

Looks like a penny, but I assure you it is a much distressed dime.

Doing the math (one dime is 10 times the value of one penny), I anticipate a silver dollar sometime in the near future, followed by a sawbuck, followed by a hundie, etc. Soon my toilet will make me rich!


Saturday, May 24, 2008

Flying High Again

I did not take this particular video of the Kingda Ka ride at Six Flags Great Adventure. But I did share the experience it has captured. I looked (and sounded) not unlike William, the guy on the right (camera right, crazy coaster death car left - some tech speak fo' yo' ass), except minus suit and hair.

Holy effin' poopie crap! I thought shooting guns was exciting. This ride was a spiritual experience*. I don't care what happens to me from now on because I know I stared death in the face for just a few seconds and made it my bitch. Even if I was crying like Billy Ray Valentine [at 0:55]. I'm pretty sure Kingda Ka used tear gas on me, and they use that shit on crowds.

Survive a ride on this phallic behemoth and be temporarily death-proof like Ryan, Laura, Chris and Holly


*Not sure if this linked site would seriously consider this submission.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Poster Child

Yeah, that's right. I'm kind of a big deal. Or I was anyway before they dropped me. Maybe they didn't like the creepy pencil-thin mustache. Anyway, if you click on the picture and read the description of what a "Fun With Ryan" party was all about, you will be amazed to know that it is all 100% true. I can attest to the fact that I was the "Life of the Party" (love how they put it in quotes like it was an expression they coined), and that "the moment [I walked] through your doors, the excitement [began]." HA! If you're wondering where all your excitement went, it's right here, writing here.


Burst Bubble

The realization has hit me like lightning, and I now look like the picture above: bald, yellow, and noseless in addition to just plain sad. I have come to a level of acceptance I never wanted. I now know and truly believe in my gut that nothing really matters. Worldwide corruption and injustice? Blah. Murder and war? Puh-lease! Starving children in parts of the world I've only heard about because there are evidently a lot of children there without food? Pass the Combos. These problems are nothing.

My TiVo has died.


Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Forget What I Said Before!


The Truth defeats King James, and a cancer-surviving, World Series clincher drops the hammer! It's all because of me!

I'm fine, seriously. I didn't mean any of that crap about "shame and remorse" and being "that guy". All nonsense, I swear. I'm okay, you see, because it's working now. My completely irrational Boston sports team obsession. It's really working. See, all I have to do is really, really, REALLY care A LOT and I am rewarded. See? I win, effers! And it's all because of me! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha....ha ha ha...ha...ha.


Sunday, May 18, 2008

God Never Blogs on Sunday... neither will I. Um, wait...


Friday, May 16, 2008


I know I said I would try not to be that guy again, but I just couldn't help it. I just felt like my boys needed me tonight. Just this once. I could stop after tonight, right? After all, the Celtics haven't been able to win one game on the road in these playoffs. And I thought maybe if I really, really, REALLY showed I cared, we (meaning the fans, the players themselves, and ultimately all of Boston, Massachusetts and its natives spread throughout the world) would be rewarded with a win for my personal efforts.

And now I am on my hands and knees, slamming my fists on the floor, wondering what I've become. O, the shame and remorse!

All was for naught, as the Cleveland Cavs and Refs (their official new name whenever they play at home due to the egregiously biased calls throughout the game) unmanned our mighty Shamrocks.

You know what that's like? To willingly do something you say you won't do again because it suffocates just a little bit of your soul every time you do it whether it seems to work for you or not? And then it definitely does NOT work? It's like falling off the wagon after several weeks and drinking continuously till 4 am and realizing you're just not buzzing. Or, in the middle of that bender which isn't working, carrying on a torturous mutual flirtation with someone until you finally say, "Okay, dammit! I'll go for it and figure out what to do about my current relationship later," only to have your co-flirter shoot you down. Or finally, having a dream job which is about 99% certain to come through, and impetuously telling your boss at your present job to fuck himself after reaming you sans lube just one time too many, only to get a voicemail saying that the 1% was actually the right % and you and your other 99% can go find another job which reams harder and pays even less.

I couldn't shed the outfit fast enough once the game was over. I was literally standing upstairs in nothing but my underwear, kicking these vestments down the stairs and then throwing them onto the floor of my closet. And that is where they shall remain indefinitely.

Unless we make it to the Finals.


Thursday, May 15, 2008

I've Finally Influenced Someone

Jill has at last succumbed to my never-ending barrage of topic-appropriate (or inappropriate) movie quotes:


For years, for no good reason except to hear my own voice and of course to emulate that heroic Everyman, Clarke Griswold, I have asked her, "You know what I think?" (That is not an exact quote of Beverly D'Angelo of course, but it is a perfect lead-in for the one-man version of the "Vacation" flip-out scene.)

And for the first two years of our relationship, even after unwillingly hearing me quote this entire monologue several times, she didn't get the hint and would innocently ask, "What?" Then I'd say in my best Chevy Chase voice, which is not particularly good, "I think you're all fucked in the head," and would continue the monologue until she'd throw one of Keely's toys at me which would, regardless of what direction she actually threw it in, inevitably hit me in the nuts.

Now Jill knows to respond automatically to this old standard with "You think we're all fucked in the head?" And we bond. If she doesn't, I continue the monologue while covering my junk.

Another adjustment Jill has had to make since we've been together is to eliminate the word "lotion" from her vocabulary. It is understood that if she ever says "lotion", I blurt out in my best Buffalo Bill voice (and it is quite good, I must say), "PUT THE FUCKING LOTION IN THE BASKET!" Not that original, I know, but as I said, I do a really good Buffalo Bill voice.

Movies really do rule our lives. At least my life. And I use their pervasive influence in all my interactions to annoy - and eventually control - those I love.


Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Party Catalyst

This is how to cut loose, as only a true party catalyst living his American life's plan b can. And yes, that link was thinly disguised shameful self-promotion.



Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Past Revelation Under Scrutiny

This is my interview of Angelina Jolie from a 2003 press junket. I'll comment on it after you watch all three captivating minutes.

(Shameful self-promotion, I know. But it is my effin' blog after all. If I can't promote myself here, I guess I have to eff myself. Not off myself. I'm not that bad.)

Am I being a bit hard on myself, or do I come off just a bit flirtatious and sycophantic? Kind of like the "Chris Farley Show" on Viagra. To be fair though, she WAS giving me the eye. And if Angelina Jolie gives you the eye, you must melt. It is a rule of nature. Even if she's not giving you the eye, but you can see her eyes looking in your general direction, you must become a useless pile of adoration.

No joke, but my editor said that in the master tape Angelina blatantly checked me out at the end of the interview. Alas, I have no proof of this. But I do have total consciousness as a result. To quote Carl Spackler, "So I got THAT goin' for me...which is nice."


Saturday, May 10, 2008

Igorance is Bliss

I just had this conversation with an overly concerned buddy:

OVERLY CONCERNED BUDDY: Ryan, last week when you linked to Hodgman's site and he linked back to you, you were getting 400, almost 500 page views a day. Now that you're not riding on Hodgman's coattails, you're getting 20, maybe 30 page views per day, and that includes your own. Are you concerned that the popularity of your blog may be waning?

RYAN: Oh, no, no, no, not at all. I just think that, um, my appeal is becoming more selective.



That's right. It's almost business time. We're both in bed. I've got the MacBook, and she's reading Time Out New York (thus the glasses - the contacts are out when it's bedtime), so you KNOW we about to get sexy up in this bitch.

Okay, she actually just fell asleep in the five minutes between me taking that picture and typing this entry. Now I'm alone in the dark.

But there's always porn!

Dammit, she just woke up!


Thursday, May 8, 2008


Jill and I had a breakthrough session in couples counseling today. I bitched about my struggles with my mom (struggles illustrated on the left), and Jill tearily expressed her empathy for my sense of abandonment. When our therapist explained that this was a huge step in our relationship because Jill can react to my pain with emotions which I try so hard to stifle, Jill broke out laughing, and said, "I'm sorry, but this is a little too cozy."


Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Less Than Three Days

That's how long it took me to realize that Jill quitting her job to write might not be the greatest thing for me. First off, she already sold her second article before I even got out of bed this morning. I'm very happy for her, don't get me wrong. But it does put some pressure on me to produce. Especially when I am fully engaged in snooze wars till 11 am everyday.

The real problem with her being home during the week though became evident with a seemingly benign observation which came completely out of the blue while we were refilling our coffee cups:

"I don't think Regis likes Kelly."


Tuesday, May 6, 2008

Baby Steps

This is my day.


Monday, May 5, 2008

No Free Rides

Here it is: the "Top Gear" audition paragraph I had to turn in to my agent that will launch me into fame and fortune. I hope they don't think I'm some kind of "hooker" fanatic.

I love cars so much that I don’t own one anymore. I would not want to put any car of mine through the agony of living in Brooklyn again. I had a brand new 2003 Mini Cooper for a few years – the perfect car for a busy city. Ah, but the guilt of the abuse I put her through (the potholes, the stops and starts in traffic, the bumper bumps and the occasional neighborhood kid throwing a pal onto the roof) for such a limited amount of actual driving (usually just to the other side of the street for street cleaning twice a week) compelled me to let her go. And now to fill the void I simply rent whenever I feel the urge to drive somewhere. Sure, I don’t have any kind of meaningful relationship when I hire a sexy but somewhat trashy Mustang convertible, or a spunky and feisty little Dodge Caliber, or even a sensible yet eye-catching Mazda CX-7. But I don’t have to care about them either. And I get a nice variety, too. From a mousy Chevy Aveo, to an athletic Hummer H2, to an elegant Cadillac DTS, for better or worse I can experience them all. I pay for their services and say goodbye, and that’s working just fine now, thank you.


Eagerly Jumping Through the Same Hoops Again

This morning I had to turn in a paragraph to my hosting agent explaining my love of cars so I could be considered as a host of the upcoming American version of the BBC's "Top Gear", an excellent show I must say. I had a bit of deja vu when I received the assignment, and I realized it was because I had auditioned for this show about two years earlier.

Just to be considered then I had to make a short video of me discussing the features of my Mini Cooper (I've sold it since - sniffle) as well as write about my autophilia, er, love of cars. And then they had me stay for about 4 hours at the audition to read with several other potential co-hosts. Usually that's a pretty good sign for a "talent", so I thought I was really in like motha-effin' Flynn.

But I never heard back. Tear. But I also never saw the show. After all that (and of course my little part of this typically epic development process was about 0.0001% of a drop in the bucket), the American version was never produced. I guess this is why.

This is the business we call show. My amazing "audition paragraph" to follow.


Saturday, May 3, 2008

Getting Married? Shoot!

I think a guy needs one last chance to feel like he actually has some power before he gets married. My evidence? The last three bachelor parties I've been to have involved shooting guns: the first two were paintball excursions (I got shot in the neck both times, once from close range - frickin' ow!), and the latest was a trip to the West Side Rifle and Pistol Range. YAY! I'm not even kidding. That is a very sincere "YAY!".

I walked in there a pathetic, cowardly little sally, flinching violently at the sound of the muffled shots on the other side of the glass, and I emerged a confident, virile and yes, even seasoned and wise, man. I'm not typing with my fingers if you know what I mean.

And I'm pretty good with the aim, as you can see above. That was from, like, a hundred yards away or something. And for those of you gun novices out there, the rifles are .22's, and can easily take an elephant's head clean off with just one shot. Yeah, that's right. An elephant. You can only imagine the strength it takes to keep the weapon steady from the kickback. And I have that strength now.

I gotta go now because Jill needs me to paint her toenails.


Friday, May 2, 2008

Do YOU Know a "Boogie Nights" Look-Alike?

I do! Tell me Josh doesn't look like Todd Parker* from "Boogie Nights". I dare you!

I will admit that Hodgman does not resemble Hoffman (Scotty J.) at all...

John Hodgman the PC vs. Philip Seymour Hoffman the pornstar groupie

...but it is very funny to see them together.

I showed you mine, now show me yours!


* Forgive me for the annoying audio loop on the link.

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Ah, Youthful Aspirations...

I was touched to hear some of the youth of America, represented by three adolescent girls on the 2 train today, discussing their desire to become amateur film-makers. One of them said she wished she had a video camera so she could "whap, pow some mu'fucka and put it on YouTube like dem otha bitches." Then one of her friends wisely advised, "But you gotta make sure you don't start till right after the doors close." They all instantly agreed that this would be the most effective way to get the best shot.