Heaven Help Us, the Videos Are Back
For goodness sake, please make it stop! Honestly, these videos are appalling. Completely appalling. But I’m addicted. Inspired by the brilliant Dinner Party Download, masterminded by my friend Brendan and his friend Rico, I’ve been talking to four of my smartest and most charming friends about starting a “podcast.” I hear “podcasting” is all the rage. So hopefully that effort will distract me from making these videos that have been known to make the ears of cats and children bleed, and that have psychologically scarred dozens of unfortunate viewers across the Internet.
The first one is almost coherent — the operative word being “almost.” Notice that I just returned home from a run. Salam will soon be in fighting trim, which will facilitate my efforts to tae kwon do evil aliens to death, or rather, “to def.”
This second video is a “song” about breaking out my “spring pants,” in this case a somewhat distressed pair of Acne Jeans. It also reflects my recent interest in acquiring a sarong. Some years ago, a beautiful woman told me that she thinks more men should wear sarongs, and this left an impression on me. The trouble is that I know my limitations, and I’m pretty sure there’s no way in hell I can pull off a sarong. I might be able to pull off a sarong if I were wrestling multiple grizzly bears at the same time. But that hasn’t happened in weeks. Moreover, the pro-sarong woman — full disclosure — sort of shattered my heart and ate it. And it wasn’t even an entrée: it was a side dish, like sauteed spinach, yo. Only it was my heart. Damn you! Earlier today, another beautiful woman told me that wearing a sarong would represent a serious lapse in judgment, and I guess I’ll defer to her superior wisdom. Or perhaps I should have both of them engage in a Crossfire debate, moderated by Michael Kinsley.
Hey yo, hey yo
She ate my heart,
It still smarts
A side dish, like sauteed spinach
From Compton to Greenwich,
Connecticut
I’ll have some halibut
All of it, out of habit
I even ate the fishbones
Listen to Fishbone
And play trombone
with my mouth and a xylophone
with
my feet
I’m multitalented: I can’t be beat
You know what? Posting the video is kind of an anti-climax after all of this build-up, so I think I’ll spare you. But just this once!
Okay, I have to go hang.
If you’re wondering, by the way, why I haven’t been blogging about nitty-gritty policy issues, I’ll mention only that something is in the works. I’m keeping my powder dry. Salam wonkery will return.
You would totally rock a sarong, dude! Do it!
— Tony Comstock · Apr 29, 10:59 AM · #
Also, here’s how you ease into the Sarong life-style:
1) Take up an activity that involves getting wet; surfing, dinghy sailing, kayaking, even swimming will do in a pinch.
2) Get a large towel with a festive print.
3) Apres surfing, sailing, whatever, use the large towel with festival print as a portable changing room: a)Take off upper-wear (paddling jacket, top of wetsuit); b) wrap towel around waist, secured with a twist; c) reach under at both hips to remove the bottom of your wet suit, board-shorts, whatever. The maneuver will give a flash of your manly thighs, while seeming practical, nonchalant and modest; d) leave your towel come sarong in place while getting a cup of coffee from the Ditch Witch, or from the thermos in your truck or whatever else you can think of to buy time; e) enjoy admiring glances (if you’re near the Ditch Witch these will come from both women and men, roll with it.)
As your confidence grows, you will find you are able to spend more time in your towel-sarong, to the point that you will notice that it is preferable to changing back into your jeans. At this point you can substitute batiked, fringed fabric for terry cloth.
This will work whether you are ripped like Jesus, working a full-metal pu pu pork belly, or anywhere in between. Your bald pate and hairy arms (and back and whatever else) will only heighten the effect. Hibiscus prints are always in good taste, not to mention a symbol of your virility!
— Tony Comstock · Apr 29, 12:38 PM · #
Reihan spits hot fire.
— Christian Lewis · Apr 29, 05:58 PM · #
True story: Several days ago I was surprised to catch myself singing “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” over the Harlem Shakes’ “Nothing But Change (Part II).” My immmediate thought was that you should have recorded this banger.
And, yes, Reihan spits hot fire. So does fellow blogging-head Eli Lake.
— Maureen · Apr 29, 06:25 PM · #
True story: After my last comment I went down to the boat yard and began prepping the bottom of my boat for antifouling. The bottom paint that’s on there now is black, so three hours later I returned home looking like a coal miner. Stripped off my clothes, hopped in the shower and watched the water run black for about 20 minutes. Finally the water ran clear and I came out.
I wrapped a towel around my waist and sat on the porch outside our bedroom in the afternoon sun enjoying side of peach blossoms, cherry blossoms, and grape hyacinth under our apple tree. I was King Kameamea. I was the big kahuna.
Then the sun got a little lower, the air cooled, and I put on a clean pair of pants and t-shirt; and just like that, I was just another guy living in the suburbs.
— Tony Comstock · Apr 29, 11:01 PM · #