The inbox filled up over break, so I decided to take a quick look at what all of you have to say. Let's go …
There is a running debate in our office about whether "Tommy Boy" or "Anchorman" is a better movie — "better" being defined as providing more lines quoted by your friends at some diner at 3 a.m. after a night of drinking, or by lawyers in the office wistfully reliving their law school days. I'd be interested in your thoughts.
I posed this question to a variety of people around my dorm, and the general consensus was that while "Tommy Boy" may be the better movie, nothing beats "Anchorman" when you are, um, impaired. "Anchorman" also has a big edge since it's always on HBO late at night, which is a plus when you're too drunk to work your DVD player. It's always nice to throw your shoe at the DVD player and have "Anchorman" pop up (followed by the requisite, "Holy sh-t, it's 'Anchorman'!" from everybody in the room). This isn't meant to disrespect the quoteability of "Tommy Boy" (God knows we've had enough "D+? Oh my god, I passed!" on away messages when grades came back), but so many of the jokes are about context that it can be a little difficult to pull it off when you're drunk (although Rob Lowe's bizarre, Hamlet-esque performance works no matter what condition you're in).
That being said, "Anchorman" works in every context. In fact, a line from "Anchorman" can be used to handle pretty much every situation that could crop up on a Friday night. I mean, you meet a girl and want to say something to her so you blurt out, "Hey … lady in a red hat!" (even better if she isn't wearing a red hat). Then, you start talking, but you don't quite hear her name, so you can dust off, "Lanolin? Like the sheep's wool?" Or what about shotgunning that can of Natty Light and then screaming, "I immediately regret this decision!" (possible alternatives in this situation include "Hey aqualung!" or "It's so damn hot! Milk was a bad choice!"). If you drunk dial the ex, "I miss you. … I miss your musk" is always an option if you're feeling wistful. (Of course, if you're feeling belligerent, "You have a dirty, whorish mouth!" is a perfectly acceptable alternative.) If you're ever at a loss for words, you can always blurt out "Ribs. I had ribs for lunch. That's why I'm doing this" or, one of my personal favorites, "I don't know a Ned!" The possibilities are endless.
There's also a very interesting subcategory to this, which involves the chill, mellow movie that's great to watch and just let wash over you when you're mildly buzzed. I'd like to nominate "Vanilla Sky," since not a lot of people have seen it and it has that kind of eerie, dreamlike quality that can either freak people out or get them to hook up with each other, depending on how good their pot was. Since it's a Cameron Crowe movie, it also has a nice mellow soundtrack that is nice to listen to long after the movie is done. Also, if you have that one friend who drank a little bit too much and isn't able to follow the plot twists or appreciate Nancy Wilson's appropriately haunting score, he'll at least be amused by some patented "Tom Cruise is out of his freaking mind!" moments where he's just way too intense and into a role. (Not to be confused with the "Al Pacino is out of his freaking mind!" moment, which is when Al decides for no good reason that he needs to scream a line at the top of his lungs).
The rise of Sean Taylor has been a tough pill to swallow. As a Cowboys fan I'm obviously supposed to hate him, but as a fan of any player who's at once talented and certifiably insane, I can't help but be enamored with him. This is a dilemma that's been bothering me for quite some time and figures to get worse as the Redskins near the playoffs. Would 11 Sean Taylors defeat 11 Terrell Owenses? Or 11 Tom Bradys? What about the Taylors versus the Jerry Rices? But then the question becomes, "Can Sean Taylor do it on a dance floor?"
The great thing about this e-mail is that I got it before Sean Taylor got ejected for hocking a loogie in a playoff game in Tampa (personally, I think the whole thing was made even funnier by Gregg Williams' teary-eyed, impassioned post-game defense of his free safety, replete with warrior analogies. It was simultaneously hilarious and inspiring. It made me want to smack somebody around). The sky is the limit for what he's going to do next — he's on a path to make Tom Cruise seem rational and collected. Sean has a trial coming up and it would not surprise me in the least to see him fire his attorney and act as his own counsel. Think of what we could do if we just harnessed Sean's energy: if we got him focused, we could send him to Afghanistan and he'd have the place stabilized in 15 minutes.
The perplexing thing is that I've met Taylor and I found him to be a funny and approachable guy. Definitely didn't seem like a lunatic at the time (of course they said the same thing about Son of Sam). He's absolutely my favorite athlete, if only because he's the best player on my favorite sports team, not to mention that I find the idea of rooting for a sociopath somewhat romantic. As for the question of who would win a game, 11 Sean Taylors would roll anybody, if only because you would just send a couple of them out the night before the game to straight out murder the opposition. Or maybe he could just kidnap the opposition's loved ones — imagine what would happen if Taylor kidnapped Bridget Moynahan thus sending Tom Brady into a John Rambo-esque downward spiral until eventually the government has to call in Bill Belichick to play the Richard Crenna role. I can just see Belichick wandering around the Oregon forest in one of his gray sweatshirts saying "It's good to hear your voice Tommy. … You've done some damage, but they don't want anymore trouble," followed by Brady rappelling down from a tree and asking, "Do we get to win this time?" as they go off for the rematch against Team Taylor. (Side note about "First Blood": the thing I love is how one of the longest and bloodiest killing streaks in movie history is predicated on absolutely nothing: Rambo is just pissed Brian Dennehy won't let him camp out in his town. Seems reasonable, I guess.)
Is there anything better than the cocky young basketball player flirting with Erin Andrews during the post-game interview?
No, there is not. Let's face it — Erin Andrews is the only thing that gets me through the winter. I mean, we're talking about Hillary Clinton running for president in 2008 but why not Erin Andrews? Every American male would vote for her no matter what party she represented. She is the only woman I know who absolutely everybody agrees is smoking hot. Usually you have one or two holdouts that try to pretend somebody isn't that good-looking, but with Erin Andrews everybody is united. And you know what? She's a good journalist, too. She always gets the story, manages not to scream at Dick Vitale, doesn't get openly creeped out when players try to flirt with her and ignores it when student sections scream things at her. Look, I'm making this offer right now in print to ESPN: Erin is probably coming to Madison for either the Illinois or Indiana game. Let me spend some time with her and write an article about what the hottest woman in the country has to go through in order to do her job. Am I the only one who thinks that "A Day in the Life of Erin Andrews" would be a fantastic article? This needs to happen.
Ray Gustini is a freshman with an obvious interest in movies and sports. He can be reached at [email protected] with questions or comments.
