MMBF - 2/15: Introducing the Napoleon Dynamite Syndrome

Welcome everyone to your weekly does of pointless bullshit - the Monday Morning Brain Fart! I'm coming to you live from my office on this President's Day, because I am literally one of only 6 people who are working in this country today. Suicide.

The Rangers had their first really good weekend in about as long as I can remember, beginning when they beat the hated Penguins in overtime on Friday 3-2, and ending with a resounding 5-2 win over the Tampa Bay Lightning, whom they are fighting with for the last playoff spot. It was awesome being able to beat the Penguins in Pittsburgh, the site of many a choke-jobs for the Rangers in the past, and it was equally fun to beat that piece of shit Sidney Crosby. Everyone worships the very ground he walks on, and yes he is very good, but they always seem to gloss over the fact that he is a whiny little bitch who complains about every time someone breathes on him. Brandon Dubinsky couldn't have said it better:



As you can see at the 49 second mark of that video, poor little baby Sidney lost his faceoff and got angry, so he had to wack Dubie, who probably would have beat the shit out of him if Crosby hadn't skated away like a little bitch and the ref didn't jump in and hold Dubie back because the NHL tells them to keep people off of Crosby. "He's such a little baby sometimes." Well said Brandon. Well said.

I mostly slept through the opening ceremonies of the Winter Olympics on Friday night, which wasn't an occurrence that took anyone by surprise, seeing as I always nap during these things, but I woke up in time to see the big malfunction at the end where the 4th spire of the torch refused to go up with the other 3. It was pretty funny watching Wayne Gretzky, Steve Nash, et al sit there with forced smiles, wondering what the hell was going on. It figures that would happen in good ol' Canada. Think that shit would go down here in the US of A?! NO SIR. THIS IS AMERICA. OUR TORCHES RAISE WHEN WE DAMN WELL WANT THEM TOO. As far as the actual Olympics go, I think my favorite sport of these games (besides hockey) is short-track speed skating. That is really fun to watch. There's a little bit of roller derby in there, and the ridiculously small openings these guys have to squeeze through to pass someone while going as fast as they are is really incredible. Apolo Ohno - you've got the respect of this blog, my friend.

I spent an hour on Saturday morning in the best possible fashion - watching the replay on the NFL Network of Super Bowl XLII when the Giants beat the Patriots. To this day it still raises the hair on the back of my neck and brings me chills, though it is obviously far less stressful because we all know what happens. But being able to relive the greatest day of my life over and over and over again (like I do everyday while on the can since I have the game on my iPhone) is a real treat. The Giants could win 10 more Super Bowls in my lifetime, and they'll never be as special as that one was. Not that I wouldn't mind them winning more. So please Giants, stop being shitty and win me another title!

Kay Jewelers needs to be stopped. Their commercials that feature shitty actors performing insanely cheesy signs of love for their women are sickening. First of all, these are not real men. Real men don't draw a heart on a window while standing outside in the freezing cold, then unfurl a heart-shaped necklace while their woman watches with excitement from inside where it's warm. A Real man, if his woman was deserving of a necklace of course, would only give it to her once she had gotten him that beer he requested while he was watching the game and she was in the kitchen making him dinner. The latest Kay disaster has some douche reading his woman those V-Day candy hearts with the little messages on them. "I Love You." "You're the One." You know, shit like that. Then he says, "You're the most beautiful woman in the world. You're funny. You have a great personality. I love you," or something to that effect. When she says that it doesn't say that, he goes, "But this does," and he gives her a necklace. YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME. If any guy ever does that, he should do himself a favor and jump off the nearest cliff. If there are no cliffs nearby, he should go play in traffic. Those men are an insult.

I finally saw The Hurt Locker yesterday after hearing about how mind-blowing it was for months on end, and I must say, it wasn't that incredible. Very good. Not great, at least not the great cinematic achievement that everyone told me it was. I was under the impression that the scenes where the guy is trying to disarm the IEDs were so tense that I would begin to start squirting diarrhea uncontrollably. Not so, however, and I think it was because the main character who was disarming the bombs was incredibly cocky. If it was some nervous beginner trying to do the job and save all these people, then maybe it would have been a bit more riveting. But you never expected the character to fail, and that took away some of the suspense for me. Maybe the fact that I was watching it in a living room as opposed to a theater affected the suspense, or maybe what happened was what I like to call the "Napoleon Dynamite Syndrome." Napoleon Dynamite Syndrome is brought on by the grossly overhyped excitement of a movie. All your friends have seen it and they think it's the greatest movie in the world. Then you see it. Not so great. I didn't see Napoleon for months and months after it came out, but everyone kept telling me how incredibly funny it was and how it was the greatest comedy ever, blah blah blah. They quoted it non-stop, and would laugh like hyenas whenever they finished the quote. Then I finally saw it... and it sucked. I hated that movie. Not funny. Not quotable. Just pure shit. Would Napoleon have been good if I had just seen it without the hype? We'll never know. Now, The Hurt Locker was certainly not shit, but perhaps a little bit of the Syndrome crept in there and made it not as good for me as it was for the entire rest of the world.

Ugh. Another week of work.