The Disaster Artist

***Guest post from Lukewarm Jonah***

Today, December 1, 2017 is a big day.  It’s my birthday, a big birthday, a monumental birthday, my 34th birthday.  This birthday is widely known as your Kirby Puckett birthday, and is considered one of the most important in your life.  With my Kirby Puckett birthday coming up, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.  What should I do with my life?  How can I find a balance between what seem to be my two choices of jobs, either I hate my life and get paid a good amount, or enjoy work and literally live around the poverty line.  In this line of thought I picked up a book I got four years ago which addresses dream chasing, money vs. happiness and other similar themes and decided to give it another read.  It’s The Disaster Artist, the story of the making of the greatest bad movie ever “The Room” told by it’s co-star Greg Sestero.  It’s also an upcoming movie with a lot of buzz starring the Franco brothers, Alison Brie, and Seth Rogen, and it’s how I’ll be spending my Kirby Puckett Birthday.

My Kirby Puckett birthday is the day that I really have my hipster moment.  I’ve never cared when bands I liked got popular, but for some reason this feels different.  Maybe it’s because I put a lot more effort into “The Room” than I ever really did in music.  I mean I bought CDs, went to concerts, but it wasn’t the same level of fandom.  I’ve given “The Room” three trips to see a screening in which Tommy Wiseau, the enigmatic director, producer, writer and star, appeared in person.  Met him all three times and even shared the stage with him twice. Maybe it’s because this group feels even more personal than being a fan of a small band did.  I mean there’s a wide range of “The Room” fans, but I’m not sure if any of them wouldn’t describe themselves as geeks, nerds, dorks, or some variation of that.  I definitely feel like I fit in with my nerdy brothers and sisters when we’re laughing our asses off at the nonstop lunacy which is “The Room”.

When The Disaster Artist comes out it’s going to get Oscar buzz.  This is going to lead to the masses discovering that it’s a true story and some absolutely insane movie called “The Room” was made.  They’re going to watch it and try and pretend like they were in on the joke all along.  Maybe my fear is that these screenings and Tommy Wiseau meetings become packed with bros instead of dorks.  While the book revealed some of the darkness in Wiseau, it was at it’s heart a story about the ultimate underdog and his refusal to accept the fact that he was one.  Tommy was us, we were Tommy.  We were people of different ages, races, genders, who could say my dream isn’t that insane compared to Tommy’s and look at him, he made his movie and comes to screenings like this to be adored by his fans.  If Tommy Wiseau can be a movie writer, director, and star, then there’s literally nothing that we can’t do. 

So on my fateful Kirby Puckett birthday I’ll go to a screening of “The Disaster Artist” with my lovely wife.  I’ll enjoy watching this insane story play out on film with talented actors and actresses playing the parts.  I’ll enjoy watching it with the majority, if not all of the audience in on the madness of “The Room” waiting for their favorite parts of the movie to be created and acted out on screen.  It will be fun, and I’m sure it will be a great movie that tells a story that I’m fascinated by, but it’s the beginning of the end for us weirdo fans.  I’ll get to hang on to that feeling for a little while longer as the week after this screening we’re heading back to Portland for another screening of “The Room” but with never before seen special guest Greg Sestero. 

Am I really mad at the masses finding out about this fantastic movie that makes you wonder if you’ve done some sort of mixture of peyote and angel dust, gotten on a plane, and ended up in Bulgaria?  No, not really.  I can’t help but be happy for the success that this will bring to Tommy and Greg, and hopefully some of the other forgotten members of “The Room”.  I think I’m just stressed out because my Kirby Puckett birthday is coming up and I’m clearly receiving some signs from whatever heavenly beings are up there that I need to make my Kirby Puckett year count.  I need to chase my stupid dreams for at least a year.  I mean if a guy who can’t speak, write, or understand English fluently can make a movie, then why can’t I accomplish my dreams?    

I Pissed Myself Playing NBA Jam

So I set out a a goal a couple weeks ago to do three posts a week on this blog. Last week was an epic failure, as I did not post a single thing. Sure, I could use the holidays as an excuse, but honestly, I had way more free time than normal last week. I was just really lazy. To punish myself, I will share an embarrassing story.

I once pissed myself playing NBA Jam. I was far past the age where I should have been peeing my pants, but I stand by the decisions that led to this outcome.

Kirby Puckett was my favorite baseball player growing up. Because of that, my family took a little vacay up to the Twin Cities to catch a baseball game and go to the Mall of America. The baseball game was rather uneventful. Kirby Puckett nearly threw me a baseball after my brother hollered at him, but his throw went to the little douchebags to the left of us who brought gloves to the game. I also remember being along the third base line at the front of the second level and still being scared to utter anything that Kirby Puckett might hear, because he was basically a god to me at that point in my life.

Anyway, the Mall of America. I was a ten-year-old boy (Yes, I was ten at the time of this, not a big deal. Let's get past this) who had to think malls were stupid, because that's what boys do. Still, this mall was legit. It had a roller-coaster that looked safe, which was important, because I was a gigantic pussy as a child.

They also had an arcade, which is the only other thing that I remember about the world's biggest mall. NBA Jam was the hottest game at the time, and I had it all to myself to destroy the evil computer gods in basketball with my two homies, Scottie Pippen and Horace Grant. Pippen was my favorite player, so he took all the shots, while Grant was there for rebounds and moral support.

So, surprisingly, because I was a ten-year-old with limited coordination, I was kicking ass at NBA Jam. After winning like two or three games in a row, I was playing the Charlotte Hornets. I had realized that I had to pee for quite a while, but I had already put my quarters in, so I certainly couldn't leave the machine. So, there I was, ten-years-old, battling the Charlotte Hornets in a back-and-forth battle, while doing the peepee dance. As time was ticking down, I stopped doing the dance, and the pee came trickling down. I was pissing down my leg while battling Kendall Gill and Larry Johnson. I knew this was bad, but goddamn, did I want to bash in the Hornets' brains, and I really didn't want to let Scottie down. Unfortunately, I ended up losing the game. I was finally able to leave the machine and let the rest of my pee out in a urinal, you know, like most three-year-olds are able to do.

There was literally piss running down my leg at one point, and I was hoping that me wiping it away like it was sweat would be a smooth maneuver. I am assuming that at least one person from my family noticed, and I would just like to thank them for not saying anything. I have been holding this story in for 18 years, as sharing it any earlier would have probably led to a lot of lot of sessions with a psychiatrist.

Much like letting that piss out while playing NBA Jam, I feel relieved.

What Would Men Do Without Sports?

This question never crossed my mind, because I didn’t know there were guys out there who didn’t like sports. Then I ran into real-life guys who had no interest in sports. I had always figured that, at worst, guys would have an interest in a borderline sport like soccer (I love pissing off soccer fans). But seriously, there are actually guys out there that have no interest in sports. I honestly don’t know what I would do with my life if I didn’t like sports.

When I’m at work, the only thing that gets me through the day is reading about sports in between the mundane and repetitive work that my job entails. I guess I could talk to the people I work with, but that is a situation I like to avoid as much as possible.

This doesn’t include all the time I spend watching sports on TV. Yes, there is a lot of good television on that does not involve sports, but just think about anytime you go out drinking. I went out for Cinco de Mayo, but also watched the UFC fights as well as the NBA, because the only alternative was talking with my idiot buddies. They’re great friends, but they are also much better in small doses.

Plus, how in the hell did people learn math without sports? Their teachers? Fuck that. I could multiply by 7s better than any other number, because of running up the score on Tecmo Super Bowl. I knew how to do division, because I needed to know how to figure out Kirby Puckett’s new batting average after going 3-for-4 in a game.

I honestly would have no idea how to push myself without sports. I remember being in junior high and running underneath the heater while bundled up in sweatshirts and sweatpants to lose that last pound so I could make weight for wrestling. I remember running sprints at the end of practice when my legs were screaming for me to stop, but to continue on through, not because I wanted to, but because that’s what you did.

Sports taught me emotion. The highest of highs and the lowest of lows almost always involved sports.  I remember watching the 2008 Cubs clinch the division against the Cardinals, and my buddies and I staying for an hour after the game just drinking and having a great time. It’s not always great. When the 1998 Cubs got eliminated from the playoffs by the Braves, I cried. I was fourteen years old, and I realize that that makes me look like a crybaby bitch, but I loved that team. RIP Rod Beck.

So what do guys do without sports? I actually found out recently. There I was, having a completely normal discussion about sports and the value that Hulk Hogan created in our society. They looked at me as if I wasn’t even speaking English. Then these two assclowns went back and forth on the Lifetime movies they like to watch. My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to tell them to get fucked. I wanted to tell them how worthless their lives were. I wanted to do society a favor and end them. Lucky for them, I needed to get back to my computer to see how my fantasy baseball team was doing.

See? Sports can even keep you out of prison.

Sports are the best.