Tag Archives: 80’s Television

This Week @ MamaPop

6 Aug

It was another fabulous week of posts over at MamaPop. Not only did I give you my top ten television theme songs of the 1980s, I also went a little political on your asses by discussing Wyclef Jean’s urge to run for the President of Haiti. I mean, really, what more could you ask for? So, hurry up and click away. And as always, thank you for your support. (This message was approved by TJ Johnson and the Coalition for Random Pop Culture)

Tuesday’Post: My Top Ten Television Theme Songs Of The 1980s

Thursday’s Post: Wyclef Jean: The President of Haiti?

This Week @ MamaPop

17 Jul

If you missed my posts over at MamaPop this week, I forgive you. You really should take a little bit of your time, get over to MamaPop, and read my posts for the week, though. I discuss everything from 3-2-1 Contact to Why I think Perez Hilton should be in politics. I even had a bonus post reviewing the lovely Diablo Cody’s new web series Red Band Trailer. So, hurry! Get over there and give me some love.

Tuesday’s Post: 3-2-1 Contact (Yes, I’m Old)

Thursday’s Post: Why Perez Hilton Should Be in Politics

Friday’s Bonus Post: Diablo Cody’s Latest Project: Interviewing Celebrities In A Trailer

MamaPop

15 Jun

So, for once, my insanity has actually paid off for me. Today, I feel like that fat kid who finally got picked first for the dodgeball team. Could this be a trap? Maybe. Anyway, say hello to the newest writer for MamaPop! Now you have not one, not two, but three whole places to read the messed up shit that runs through my mind. If you are not familiar with MamaPop, get your asses over there now. They cover all the pop culture news and celebrity gossip you would ever need. The best part? You get to read some great stuff from some very talented writers all wrapped up in one tiny little nugget.

Click on the shiny MamaPop badge to be magically whisked away through the internets to the MamaPop website. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Click HERE for my first post. Click a lot. Click because you love me. Click because you hate me. Just fucking click.

Click HERE to follow MamaPop on the Twitter machine.

Click HERE to follow me on the Twitter machine.

Click, click, click, click, click, clit, click, click, click. (Which one is not like the others?)

Studies in Crap: The Hospital Bed Edition

30 Mar

As some of you already know, I spent most of last week chilling in a hospital bed. Contrary to popular belief, I was not in sex rehab with Tiger Woods, nor was I in drug rehab with a knife wielding Charlie Sheen or his lovely cocaine addicted wife. Being sick and held hostage by the medical community isn’t exactly what I call a great vacation. There are, however, some pretty kick ass perks associated with a $7,000.00 a night stay in a semi-private hospital room. First and foremost, there are the spectacular intravenous drugs. Yes, I said it. Say all you want, but when a nurse awakens you at 2:00am and whispers to you, “Would you like some morphine?”, I dare you to ever utter the phrase, “Drugs are bad!”. When I started this little rambling article, I was sure I had a whole list of awesome things I could tell you about being hospitalized. The truth? Well, that would be a fucking lie. The only other thing I can come up with? Basic cable television. Yes folks, the only good things about being constantly probed, stuck with needles, and awakened every two hours are drugs and mindless cable television. So, how does this differ from most of my typical Tuesday nights? Well, let’s try not to get into specifics here. Anyhoo, during the 96 consecutive hours of mind numbing (almost more than the drugs alone) cable programming, I have come up with some very lame and very possibly startling conclusions. So please, put on your personal protective equipment and frolic with me to a land that I never care to revisit.

1) No matter how many drugs are pumped into your body, Paula Poundstone is not funny. Please, please quit airing her stand-up routines every hour on the hour. You are fucking up my morphine high.

2) Tampon commercials make me feel even less like a woman than I already should feel. Yes, you read that right. I am a manly man. I have facial hair, drink beer, and love watching grown men fight. But, when a tampon commercial comes on during a UFC Fight Night re-run, I actually feel sorry for the women it was created for. And Ladies, these ridonkulous excuses for feminine hygiene propaganda should make you want to fly to Thailand to receive sex reassignment surgery as soon as possible. I’m just saying.

3) Why do all vacuum and/or cleaning commercials feature nothing but women? Talk about some sexist shit. Hey, just a FYI to marketers and commercial producers…I was the one who bought the $600.00 Dyson vacuum cleaner. Not my wife. Why? Simple. I kick ass at vacuuming. I leave these awesome little lines that mimic the freshly mowed outfield at Wrigley Field on opening day.  And what if I want to buy that fucking Swifter thingy that has the vacuum attached? Do I have to ask the lady of the house first?

4) While I am on the subject of commercial rants, I have a real bone to pick with the “Just For Men” hair coloring folks. Your commercials make me want to slap a sleeping baby. There, I said it. I mean, are you fucking kidding me with these blatant attacks on the male psyche? So, let me get this straight. Now that I am old and graying, all I have to do to dust my face and cranium with your magical hair dye and I will instantly get that job promotion and score with hot, younger females? Well, sign me up! I should have started using this crap as soon as I hit puberty. Maybe then, my high school dating career would have been so much more of an adventure!

5) Daytime television summed up in one neato frito word: Cockmeatsandwich. Okay, I realize that is actually three words stuffed together, but it has a nice ring to it, right?

6) Sorry. I had something really important to tell you here, but the nurse came in and hooked me up phat on the morphine drip.

7) I really, really need to start writing for daytime soap operas. I came up with an entire script for a new soap pilot in only four short days. Unfortunately, I don’t think anyone speaks half Klingon, half chimpanzee. Why do all my good ideas come in made up languages?

8) If it weren’t for you, Maury Povich, I wouldn’t have had a reason to open my eyes. Side note: I also wouldn’t know that I am, in fact, the father of Neesha’s baby.

9) No matter how much they try to trick you, no matter how much they lie, those bastards from radiology are just plain evil and wrong. That barium contrast does not take like lemonade! You know what it takes like? Satan’s urine with a splash of Crystal Light.

10) Last, but not least, you will always find out who your true friends and family are when you have to spend time in the hospital. Each and everyone of you know exactly what I am talking about.

Thank You for Being a Friend

14 Jan

So long, my friend. It has been one marvelous run. Without sounding completely cliché, it’s not you, it’s me. Really. You have always been there for me through thick and thin. Or thin and thick. Whatever floats your boat. When it was good, it was really good. You were there for me during the highest of highs. You stood by me during the lowest of lows. Your resolve was impressively resilient. You never wavered. Your support coddled me like an infant. Your loving embrace warmed me from the inside out. You were there during some of the most important times in my life. Parties, graduations, weddings, and birthdays, there was your smiling face. Hell, you were even there for the birth of my children. You were always there for a raucous toast. Always around for a grand salute. Sure, we had our rough times together. I mean, who could forget spring break 1999 or that terrible fight we had in Ames, Iowa of all places? Even after our nastiest of fights, we would be back in the saddle, ready to ride in no time flat. We were bros. Hetero life partners, if you prefer. Never would I have thought there would come a time where our partnership must come to a teary end. Now, to paraphrase what our parents used to say, this will be harder on me than it will be on you. You will be absolutely fine. Your friends are a plenty. Your social circle is full of contacts, relatives, and acquaintances for you to run to. Your glass is never half empty. In fact, your chalice is completely full. So, let’s not make this any harder than it needs to be. Let’s just agree to chalk this dissolution up to “irreconcilable differences”. No crying. No anger, hatred, or sleepless nights. All I want for you is good health and happiness. You should want the same for me. In the end, it just wasn’t in the cards for us. So, Alcohol, I bid you adieu. It’s been real. It’s been fun. We will always have the memories. We will always have Las Vegas. I will never forget. We mustn’t forget. Until the off-chance we will be able to rekindle what we once had, I must leave you at the door. Once again, thank you for being a friend.

Our House, Diabetes Supplies, and Late Night Informercials…Oh My!

21 Dec

As you all can tell, (And by “all”, I am talking to the two people who actually read this. Thanks, honey!) I have been completely off the grid for a while. Things have been a little hectic around the ponderosa lately. Thanks to my wife’s overactive ovaries, coupled with my awesome swimmers, my wife got knocked up and subsequently our little girl was born midway through the month of November. This has left me without the basic ability to form cohesive thoughts and perform even the simplest of tasks. I mean, I even got confused on how to change the channel on my own television last night. Between the ever relaxing 57 minutes of consecutive sleep, strict Pop Tart diet,  and watching every single infomercial known to man, I haven’t exactly had any brainpower left to form anything useful or remotely eloquent to say or type for that matter.  So today, I give you the only thing that still sparks interest in my sleep deprived mind. The one and only, Wilford Brimley. When his fat little nugget face pops on my tv at 3am every morning selling diabetes supplies, my mind is immediately soothed. His slow, almost post- stroke vernacular tames every little crazy psychotic thought rolling around in my tiny, tiny brain. At times, I often have delusions of actually having diabetes just so I can purchase the supplies necessary to test myself in the comfort of my own home. I envision myself calling the handy 800 number only to have, Mr. Brimley, himself answer and tell me “Everything’s going to be OK, TJ”. He will follow-up the reassurance by conveniently alerting me that I can have my diabetes supplies shipped directly to my door. What more could I ask for, right? Anyway, I salute you, Wilford. You are my hero. Well, at least until I can sleep again.

Vinnie Delpino?

17 Sep

As I am writing this, I am constantly hearing the Doogie Howser M.D. theme blaring through my cerebellum.  It is so loud at the moment, I actually had to look around to make sure a small, teenage Italian boy wasn’t trying to break into my second floor room window.  Thankfully, there is no such boy attempting to break and enter my home. That is no way to start off a Thursday morning. I don’t care what anyone says.  Speaking of Doogie characters, what ever happened to Wanda? She was right up there with Winnie Cooper in my adolescent dreams.

Anyway, welcome to the official StudioEightOneSix blog. I started this little forum to discuss photography, pop culture, music, and everything in-between. So with that said, please come in, take off your clothes, um, I mean coat and stay awhile.

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