Nerdiness

If you're all of a sudden gripped with a powerful urge to give me a wedgie and take my lunch money during this post, maybe you should skip it and come back some other time.

I'm just warning you now.

Okay then.

Here I go.

I saw G.I. Joe last night, and it confirmed my worst fears. Because, you see, it wasn't completely terrible.

I mean sure, Stephen Sommers can't direct traffic, let alone a movie, and his action scenes could have been so much sweeter. And Channing Tatum, the Mumbling Doofus, is a terrible Duke (and plotwise, he was a terrible character - always screwing up, letting the enemy escape...hell, Marlon fucking Wayans as Ripchord was a bigger hero, and he was the comic relief!). But the explosions were bright and shiny, and the effects were pretty sweet. Even the ninja fights were cool (especially the little kid ones - tiny psychopathic killers are the cutest!). No, it wasn't the footage or even the inane dialogue that killed it for me - it was what they did to Snake Eyes.

For G.I. Joe nerds, Snake Eyes is the Man. Silent, deadly, and a super fantastic ninja, he's the pinnacle of nerd love, for those of us who don't get down with superpowers. So when I first heard there would be a G.I. Joe movie, my first gut reaction was, "Great. How are they going to mess with Snake Eyes?" Just a further example - when I linked above to the Snake Eyes Wikipedia page, I first had to read it all, and then close my office door and perform ninja moves until I calmed down. Snake Eyes is AWESOME.

So he's all scarred, and had this thing with Scarlett, and that's why he doesn't talk and is all supercool. So what does Stephen "Moronface" Sommers do? He gives Snake Eyes a vow of silence, and hooks up Scarlett and Ripchord, who was most recently seen in Norbit and Little Man. And for this, I will never forgive Moronface. God, I hate him so much.

As the song says, they're everywhere

I want to talk to you today about what's under the Fancy Pants: underwear. Everyone wears them, yet somehow they usually don't come up in polite conversation. Unless you're a precocious three-year-old, in which case it's more polite to talk about your Underoos than it is to tell the story of when you caught Mommy and Daddy "wrestling."

I could go all different ways with this topic. I could talk about how they have become optional, or the glory of the thong, or something along those sexy, sexy lines. I could even wax nostalgic about the aforementioned Underoos. I always loved Spiderman. I think I actually have those somewhere...

Instead I'm going to talk about the boxer brief phenomenon.

A young man's undie evolution proceeds thusly: diapers, Underoos, tighty whities. From there things branch out. Some people stick with the traditional whites. Others move on to boxers, or as Wife calls them, "useless shorts." A few - this number, according to scuttlebutt hearsay and locker-room gossip, is rising - move on to the leopard-print manpanty. But more and more guys are finding a middle ground with boxer briefs. I'll make the joke again: neither boxers nor briefs. Discuss.

For a long time I wore only boxers. It certainly helped that for years I wore clothes that were 2 sizes too big, convinced that my growth spurt would have to come eventually, right? Wrong. Instead all I have are pictures of myself looking like Tom Hanks after he turns back into a little kid in Big. Which would have been fine if I was a rapper, or 12, or a 12-year-old rapper. When you're 21, that look doesn't really attract the ladies. But I needed room for my boxers, and my junk (see Appendix: Offensive Mental Image #1). There's a...freedom that boxers allow, a liberation that stops just short of the notorious "freeball." And since this was a time before the upskirt shot gained prominence, I kept everything double-wrapped.

Then I got to law school. There I learned the importance of clothes that fit, and how pants are supposed to shape and cup the buttocks (see id.: Offensive Mental Image #2). But it's hard enough tucking in shirts (yet another upcoming sartorial post). Add the bulk of unwieldy overwashed cotton, and all of a sudden your hip-ass-groinal area begins to look a giant donut.

Please note that I refrained from making the easy sexist joke about a middle-aged lady's extra-wide hips. Because I'm all about political correctness.

So Wife, then going by Girlfriend, suggested boxer briefs. I admit I was skeptical, and a little frightened. Except for swimsuits, I hadn't worn such tight undergarments since I was seven. I worried about heat, and sweat, and constriction, and the "coal-diamond" effect (I worried my nuts would be compressed into a single ball, with which I could both cut glass and set in a lovely ring). Then there was the other problem: boxer briefs are sort of the San Francisco treat. But I'm a liberated guy, and it only took me four or five years to overcome that issue.

I've gotta say, though, that they've come in handy. My ass looks fantastic - or so Wife says - and the goods are protected, even cradled (see id.: Offensive Mental Image #3).

But I'll never totally forgo boxers. For one thing, there's the flap issue. When you need...access, boxers are a hell of a lot easier. One of the most awkward acts to perform in a men's room is to reach into your pants through your fly and start jerking around (no pun intended; I couldn't think of another word for "jerking"). And some boxer briefs don't even come with a flap; you have to find another...exit strategy.

I think the most pressing question is, "What the fuck, guy? I come here looking for the funny, and instead I get a barrage of sausage imagery! How about a warning next time?" Well you know what? That's 2 questions and an exclamation, so I'm not going to answer your rude question. What do you think of that?

But I will leave you with an interesting bit of trivia. The guy who wrote the first song in Juno also wrote this song, which is a much cooler underwear song than that "thong thong thong" crap. Barry Louis Polisar, ladies and gentlemen!

Erasers - ever so much cooler than dumb old stickers

When the Pants Wearing Family left Boston, we didn't actually have a house or apartment waiting for us. Instead we moved into Wife's parents' house, where Wife insisted we live in her old bedroom. Obviously a certain amount of decluttering was involved - Luke Perry posters trashed, bus notes from old boyfriends tossed into a pile and ritualistically set aflame - which reawakened all kinds of Wife's memories and experiences.

"Hey, there's my Grateful Dead concert ticket! That was a great show...I think."

"Do I have to throw Luke away? Look at those eyes, that hair, those tight jeans...here, I'll just put him by my pillow, you won't even see him. It. The picture. Not Luke Perry, obviously, ha ha! He's not actually here. But if I wish it, with all my heart...what? No, I said I was fishing for, um, a dart. Yeah, I had this dartboard, and I lost a dart, and now that I'm cleaning my room, I'm looking for it. Like fishing. But no pole. I love you Lu- Pants Wearer!"

One hidden treasure was truly unique, dare I say more unique than the rest of Wife's collected doodads: her eraser collection, stored lovingly and carefully in a set of tiny plastic drawers on top of her bureau. Needless to say, this discovery prompted several questions. Here, then, for your edification, the Eraser Interview:

Pants Wearer: So, why erasers?

Wife: I don't know, I guess cause it was different than other people, who did stamps, or stickers, or whatever. Those are dumb. Erasers are much cooler. What? You know they are. Don't make that face. They are so cool.

P: I didn't say anything. So how many erasers are there, exactly?

W: I don't remember (walks to the shelves). Wow, I DO have a lot. Over 30, easy. And not boring old red ones, for math homework. Boooo, math!

P: Absolutely. What do you mean boring?

W: For example, look at this moose. It's a moose! How much fun is it to bring that out in class?

P: I honestly wouldn't know. But it doesn't look like you used it.

W: Of course I didn't use it, that would kill its value.

P: It's trading value?

W: Yup. Who wants a nasty old moose, streaked with black graphite? Gross! Ooooh, check this one out, it's a piece of coal! Or this one - would you like a rubber cookie? It's delicious!

P: I didn't think it was possible to have this much fun with erasers.

W: Well, not all of them. Look at this stupid sailboat. Blah.

Suddenly Wife's eyes lit up, as she reached for a drawer. Slowly bringing it out, she carefully carried it over to me, and presented her most precious eraser.

W: Look at this...isn't she gorgeous?

P: Is that a Cabbage Patch doll?

W: Uh, yeah (rolls her eyes). Not only that, she's exactly like my Cabbage Patch doll! Hair, and clothes, and everything!

P: That is...special.

W: She gets her own drawer, because I know how to take care of my erasers. See this one?

P: Is that a gun?

W: It used to be, before Brother T ruined it. He used it, like, every day. And now look at it. Yuck. Look! I could serve a whole eraser meal! Strawberries, a hamburger, lollipop... this is so fun! What other cool stuff do I have in here?

And on it went. More revelations about Wife's past, including her time as a bouncer, and her summer as a maker of fine jellies, and maybe some other ones that actually happened, came out as we made our way through the rest of her room. But knowing what I know now, about Wife, and her erasers...I'm just glad she doesn't know about my collection of ceramic bunnies.

I'll tell her, eventually. When she's ready.

Blessing on your head...

Salon makes all sorts of ruckus about virgins. I don't know what the big deal is. People complain about virginity? I was a virgin for 20-odd years. I may still be a version, for all I know. And this -

http://www.salon.com/mwt/broadsheet/?last_story=/mwt/broadsheet/2007/10/10/knights_to_remember/

This was like my bar mitzvah. Except instead of your friends giving you money they wait outside to beat the crap out of you.

It's the Questions...

Questions that have tormented me ever since no one would tell me what “Smurfing” was (and no, I can’t find answers to these on Wikipedia.):

- Inspector Gadget. The Claw, Gadget’s nemesis. The Claw had a cat. What is the cat’s name?

- The Breakast Club. Judd Nelson crawling in the ceiling, tells a joke. “Naked woman walks into a bar with a 12-inch salami under one arm, and a poodle under the other. Bartender says, ‘I guess you won’t be needing a drink.’ Naked woman says’” and that’s where he falls into the library. WHAT? What does she say?

- Q-Tip can’t get off his ass and make another record? What else is he doing?

- Is it so hard to produce another You Can’t Do That on Television? I miss Moose, and Alastair, and wondering why Canadians can’t speak proper English.

- You’ve got the greatest defense in history. The best running back ever (until LT retires). A complete madman at QB. One of the best mustaches on a coach, ever. And a catchy theme song. How exactly were the Bears only able to squeeze out one Super Bowl win? Come on, the Giants? Joe “I get manicures because toenails are yucky” Montana?

- Lorne Michaels was able to produce the bizarre and awesome Kids in the Hall while presiding over the often mediocre SNL. No thoughts of a crossover? What exactly did Dana Carvey have over Dave Foley?

- Does it make me a bad Jew if I prefer Colbert to Stewart, and believe that Woody Allen is a whiny ugly pedophile, and that Johnnie was a cooler Ramone than Joey, and that Ben Stiller isn’t nearly funny enough to be in 7 or 8 movies each year?