Monthly Archives: December 2007

A Movie With Balls

Posted on by patrickhmorris
3

The other day I was in Tony’s Pizza and I took a few seconds to admire the artwork they placed around the room. One of the pictures that caught my eye was a painting of all the significant Italians in movies and television. In the top left hand corner was Tony Soprano. In the bottom right, Vito Corleone. Bobby Deniro stared out of the canvas with his venomous eyes and Joe Peschi was frozen in time making a gesture that probably was accompanied by a “fuggetaboutit”.

I was replaying the most memorable scenes from each of these movies in my mind when I noticed that smack dab in the middle was Al Pacino. This wasn’t Al Pacino as Michael Corleone. This was Al Pacino as Tony Montana from Scarface. It had been a while since I had last seen Scarface, but I was pretty sure that one of the key plot elements of that movie was that Tony Montana was Cuban.

But why would an Italian restaurant have a picture celebrating famous Italian’s with a Cuban as its centerpiece? I convinced myself that I must be wrong and decided to watch the movie again.

Yeah, he’s Cuban. The only reference to an Italian in the movie is when they mention “connected guys” and Al Pacino makes a disgusted sound similar to the sound I make every time I get my receipt from an ATM.

So why was he front and center of this painting in an Italian restaurant? Because of balls. It’s the characteristic that most cultures covet and every culture respects. Tony Montana out-does everyone in the balls department and makes Scarface one of the five best movies of all time.

I used to think claiming Scarface as a top five movie wasn’t a bold statement, but after checking with the American Film Institute I discovered they didn’t think it was even in the top 400. I’m sure they would claim Tony Montana was one dimensional, that the plot was clichéd and the directing second rate. However, those aren’t things that necessarily factor into my analysis. Besides, you’re better off trusting me instead of sniffely ponces who think movies were perfected in the 30′s.

Let’s start with the overall storyline. How many times have you seen a drug movie that follows this track: things are bad, things get better, things get great, things get bad, things get horrible.

Every single one? Scarface kind of follows this trend, but with one big difference – even when things get “bad” and “horrible” you don’t feel much sympathy or regret for any of the main characters. In other words, did anyone watch that movie and go “man, I would never want to be an insanely rich drug dealer”? The dinner scene where Al Pacino is drunk and Michele Pfeiffer keeps doing coke at the table is supposed to be this moment where you go “and through all their money and power…they are still empty inside”. However, I’ve had much more depressing dinners than that and I didn’t have a personal body guard hand the wait staff a wad of bills to make things right. Michele Pfeiffer isn’t really that much of a junkie in that scene either. She seems a little boring and money hungry, but it’s not like she had fallen into this personality throughout the movie. She was boring and money hungry since her introduction.

Yes, in the end Tony kills his best friend, watches as his sister get gunned down and is shot roughly 30 times before dying in his indoor fountain, but isn’t that ending exactly what you needed? If you want to see a movie where evil turns to redemption and retirement, watch the Godfather III and count the number of times you threaten to turn it off.

No, you want to see a guy who is lying face down in a mound of cocaine get up to grab a huge gun and try to blow up the small army that is attacking him. Then when he’s REALLY pissed off he throws down the gun and takes 10-15 bullets in the chest while yelling insults at his attackers. That alone makes Tony Montana qualified to be on the painting in Tony’s Pizza.

Talking about Tony’s confidence as the reason to like this movie is like saying you liked Showgirls because of the tits – it needn’t be examined much further than that. However, the reason I can vault Scarface up the list of exceptional movies is because of other aspects.

For instance, the music. Back in 1983 music was starting to embrace the “all in one” synthesizer. Lots of songs sounded like they were done on the same preset and were woefully inappropriate (people didn’t figure out they were only good for motivational fast jams until Rocky IV in 1985). The scene where he shoots his best friend and is standing over his body while his sister cries hysterically should be the most powerful moment of the movie. Instead, you’re distracted by the music that sounds like a mix between “Take My Breath Away” and something created on a Fischer Price music maker.

The other thing that makes this movie great is the depth or rather, the lack of depth in Tony’s courtship and relationship with Michele Pfeiffer’s character. The first time they meet they have an awkward conversation on the dance floor where Al Pacino convinces me that no matter how big your balls are, you can still look uncomfortable while dancing. After that…the courtship is over. It’s straight to proposal time. And these aren’t even idealistic proposals…these are matter of fact proposals. I’m half expecting Tony to say “And I would like to put my penis into your vagina. Sperm will mix with your egg and we will have a baby in roughly nine months”.

Throughout the movie there is only one scene where either of these two actually look happy. It’s at their wedding when they run past their guests towards the river to look at their new tiger. Let me repeat it because it takes a while to sink in – The only time the couple is happy is when they run past their guests to go look at their new tiger. That in and of itself is enough to put this movie in AFI’s top 400.

At the height of Tony’s success he’s pulling in $10-$12 million a month. Nice. However, there’s not one scene in the movie where you look at his lifestyle and go “man, that is the life!!” Think about the club they go to. Sure, people are dancing, they are treated like VIP and can buy the best champagne for every Cuban in Miami, but what about the scene where they show the entertainment? This comedian comes out and does 8 one liners about coke before turning it over to some fat guy wearing a rubber mask who moves around a little bit. NOW THAT’S ENTERTAINMENT!!

This is the thing people don’t realize about the 80s…it sucked, but everyone thought it was great because they were doing enough coke to make a fat guy in a rubber mask solid “entertainment”.

Oh and by the way…the comedian in that scene is Chris Bliss and he’s 100% cool because of this:

Mix all of this in with the fact that Tony refers to his balls more than three times in the movie (which is enough to get them a credit) and you’ve got yourself an amazing movie and one of my top 5.

Tony Montana may not deserve to be front and center on a painting depicting famous Italian film stars, but he deserves to be somewhere on every canvas. His story reminds us that we can fly straight and boast longevity or we can put the peddle to the metal, have no fear and never back down from anything. Now, I’ve got to go finish this budget report so I can get out a little early and eat take out in my room.

A Lifetime of Bad Nicknames

Posted on by patrickhmorris
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Some people call me P-Mo. I guess you could say it’s a nickname. However, it’s not a particularly good one. In fact, there’s a good chance that the entire past decade will go down in history as “the decade where everyone’s nickname was the first initial of their first name and part of their last name.” Whether you’re K-Fed, A-Rod, J-Lo, K-Rod or J-Date, it all ads up to A-Bad Nick Name.

Of course, I haven’t tried to distance myself from my nickname. In fact, I’ve embraced it stronger than a koala hugs a branch. I’m desperate for a nickname. Something that can distract me from the mundane name Patrick and its “Irish people are drunks” connotations.

I’ve always wanted a great nickname. When I was ten years old, I decided that since no one was giving me one more creative than “Pat,” I’d have to create my own. Luckily, I had a good “thinking place” to sit and figure out such a difficult and important task. Unfortunately, my thinking place was what amounted to a pile of sticks in the back yard and my discomfort caused me to make rash decisions. My goal was to find a nickname that not only sounded cool, but made a sliver of sense. There was no way I was going to show up at little league practice and convince my teammates EVERYONE called me The Thunder Clapper.

As soon as I came up with a nickname (or my ass got too sore) I would head climb off my pile of sticks and head inside to put my new nickname into practice. I was too self-conscious to tell my parents “from now on, my nickname will be____” so I decided to speak in third person until they caught on and adopted my new nickname.

The first nickname I came up with was “Ruby” on account of my red hair. I thought it was pretty cool, but I quickly abandoned it when at dinner I said “Ruby would like some more ice in her drink” and realized Ruby sounded like an 80 year old woman’s name. Back to the pile of sticks.

A few hours later I came up with a nickname that I thought was so good, I didn’t even need to run it by my family. The next day I went straight to little league practice and announced to my coach I was now to be referred to only as VC – which stood for Vacuum Cleaner because I sucked up all the balls at shortstop. I was pretty proud of myself until my coach pointed out to the team that “From now on we are going to call Patrick ‘VC’ – which stands for Vacuum Cleaner because he sucks”. Back to the pile of sticks.

I tried Thriller, Patrick “The Hunt” Morris, Trick, Tar (because baseballs stuck to my glove as if it were tar), Dollar, Change Purse and Dirtrick. None of them really worked and my ass got increasingly sore sitting on the pile of sticks so I gave up.

When I entered Junior High, I got a nickname right away. I had met this white trash girl who called everyone a “pecker head” a “twichet for brains” or a “cucca face”. When she met me, she handed me my first nickname that wasn’t born on my pile of sticks. She called me Patty-Whacker. She didn’t have much of a reason for calling me that, but I assume it was because it sounded like a piece of machinery that would one day rust on her front lawn. I didn’t like the nickname at all and the glamour of having a nickname at all went away pretty quickly too. Actually, the only good thing about the nickname was that I moved away before it really caught on.

When my parents told me we were moving I got excited because going to a new school was my chance to pick a perfect nickname and tell people “everyone called me that in Vermont”. Unfortunately, I was too distracted with beating Wheel Of Fortune on Game Boy to give my new nickname the proper attention and could only come up with “Flamer.”

The good thing about giving yourself a nickname people normally reserve for making fun of someone who is acting extravertidly gay is that they don’t know how to insult you further. It’s like crapping your pants every time you spill something on your shirt. Of course, I didn’t know I had given myself the nickname equivalent of “queer bait” and threw it around liberally. The best part about THAT nickname is that I moved away shortly after it had REALLY caught on.

The rest of my high school experience was nicknameless. I had been burned too many times and when I went to college and someone called me “P-Mo” I snatched it up and started signing everything in sight with it. It was bland. It was generic, but at least I hadn’t made it up myself or insinuated I was either obsessed with masturbating or gay.

Recently, I recounted my unfortunate nickname experience to someone. After finishing by saying “and according to a website, my ‘prison nickname’ would be Cockgobbler” they took a second to contemplate my situation. They looked me up and down, trying to figure out why I hadn’t been able to come up with a good nickname and if perhaps they could help me by handing off a nickname that would stick with me forever. After a few minutes of looking me over and rubbing his jaw he said, “Have you considered the nickname Peanut Head?”

I think I’ll pass on that, but I’m currently working on something a little jazzier that I won’t be ashamed of years down the road. I’m thinking “Sprinkles.” Not bad, right?

A Galactic Intervention

Posted on by patrickhmorris
2

Sometimes, when those close to you make a decision that may prove costly, it is your job to intervene. The other day, a close friend of mine informed me that he was giving up drinking. It was like I was run over by a herd of buffalo. “What?!” I said, hoping my friend was pulling my leg. He wasn’t and I knew it was up to me to be his guardian angel, his voice of reason. It needed to stage a reverse intervention.

I’m not sure how much it will impacted my friend, but I thought it was (in execution) a great success. Therefore I’ve decided to post the transcript of what transpired to hopefully help others who will have to overcome the great challenge of helping their friends start drinking again.

(To keep those who were involved anonymous, I have changed their names to Star Wars characters – I will be Han Solo).

Han:
Hey, General Ackbar, thanks for coming. Glad you could make it. Did you have any problems finding the place?

General Ackbar:
No. Your directions were pretty good, man.

Han:
Great. You know Leia and Luke right? This is Chewie…we work together.

General Ackbar:
Hello. Nice to meet you guys.

Han:
So…Ackbar…can I get you a drink?

General Ackbar:
I’ll have some water.

Han:
One whiskey with water coming up.

General Ackbar:
No. Just water’s fine. I’m not drinking anymore.

Han:
Which is why we’re here. Have a seat.

(General Ackbar sits down and the rest of the group takes their places in a non-threatening “judgment circle”)

Boba Fett:
How long has it been? A couple days? A couple weeks!? I know I’m not supposed to raise my voice, but…why do you have to be such a god damn idiot!!!

Han:
Boba, Boba. Please. I’m pretty sure we were asked to check our emotions at the door. This isn’t about what we feel is right for General Ackbar. It’s about what we KNOW is right for General Ackbar.

General Ackbar:
I’m sorry. I’m confused. You guys are serious. You want me to start drinking again?

Han:
Yes, General Ackbar, we do. You’ve changed. I don’t know if it’s possible for you to remember, but…you used to go out. You used to have fun.

Leia:
You used to be happy DAMNIT!

Han:
Leia’s right. Now, we don’t know who you are anymore. Don’t you miss waking up in the morning and having your mouth taste like you’ve been chewing on a sweaty sock all night? Don’t you miss looking through your text messages hoping you didn’t send any thing that could be a prosecutable offense? What about slurring your speech and being unable to control the volume of your voice? What, you’re too good to go to the bathroom 60 times in a night? Don’t you want to get back to the times when you woke up and thought “man, I dodged a bullet”?

General Ackbar:
No, I don’t. I feel good. I feel healthy.

Han:
Sure, you feel healthy, but are you really? There are countless medical professionals who sing the virtues of internal evacuation.

General Ackbar:
Internal evacuation?

Han:
Throwing up, the next day after bowel moments, all of it adds up to the body recharging.

General Ackbar:
You’re an idiot. No doctor has ever said throwing up or diarrhea is a way to be healthy.

Han:
Maybe not the doctors who write articles and work in “offices,” but the ones who practice at places like Jugs N’ Flow and McDillabuddy DO! Look, I can tell you’re very defensive and ultimately, you want this reverse intervention to fail. I get it. Well, maybe it’s because you don’t realize who you’ve really hurt. You can ignore me, but I know you can’t ignore your close friend…Johnny Walker.

(Han places bottle of Johnny Walker on the chair)

Go ahead, Johnny. Tell General Ackbar what you told me.

(Long Silence)

General Ackbar:
I don’t hear anything.

Han:
Shhh…don’t interrupt him.

General Ackbar:
Ok, I’ve had enough of this. I’m leaving. Maybe you guys should spend less time worrying about me getting my act together and more time looking at your own lifestyles. I mean, look at you Boba Fett. When’s the last time you had a coffee without Kahlua in it?

Boba Fett:
They make coffee without Kahlua?

General Ackbar:
And what about you, Uncle Owen? You really think drinking is a good thing after running your wife over with your car?

Uncle Owen:
I had a car?

General Ackbar:
You people are hopeless, washed up, burn outs. I feel sorry for you guys. I hope you guys clean up your acts before you hurt yourself or others.

(General Ackbar leaves)

Han:
I guess we have no choice. We are going to have to send General Ackbar to retox.

Leia:
May the force be with him.

Dear Santa

Posted on by patrickhmorris
6

Dear Santa:

I can barely believe it’s been a year since I last wrote you. I started writing you a letter in mid-April, but it seemed forced.

How have you been? Anything new up in that North Pole of yours? I heard something about the Russians putting their fat flag on the BOTTOM of the North Pole. Sounds pretty annoying to me. My guess is that pretty much wiped every Russian child off your “nice” list (which means you’ll have a lot more presents for people like me!!).

Of course, as you know, I haven’t been a perfect little boy this past year. I’m sure you have every indiscretion of mine on file, but I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize for each one.

Sometime in October I saw an advertisement on the subway and called it a slang word for Homosexual. I am not sure what the advertisement’s sexual orientation is, but it was not my place to pass judgment. If I could, I would take it back, but, since I can’t, I would like to ask that for Christmas you give me a word of the day calendar so I can expand my vocabulary. Who knows, if I had been able to better express myself I might have said “That ad is a delinquent” or “That ad is a robust heap of glandular discharge.”

Earlier in the year I sent my mother an email claiming to be a Prince who was seeking exile in America. I asked that she hold my vast fortunes in her bank account for me while I fled my country. Figuring she would see the obvious rouse, I asked her to send me $5,000 for me to electronically transfer my riches (which I said was “One Billion Butt’n’balls”). On the outside I feel bad about ripping my mother off, but I can’t deny feeling all warm when she calls to tell me what she’s going to do with the money from Prince Vaginodar of South Scamadamma.

I wish these were my only two indiscretions, but as you know, I’ve done wrong recently. Just last week, while peeing in a urinal I decided to check how much money I had in my wallet. My hope was that it was enough to buy a piece of pizza with at least one topping on it since I’ve grown quite fond of pepperoni. As I scoured the inside of my wallet, I realized I had “strayed” from my urinal and was now peeing on the wall. Having realized my error, I promptly re-aligned myself and finished peeing. While I was at the sink washing my hands, another fellow came in and expressed disgust at the urine soaked wall. My mother had taught me right from wrong, but in this instance I saw a large gray area and proceeded to remark on how some people were “animals” who should be “strangled with a rusty wire” and if I ever “found the scoundrel” who had made such a “disgusting mess” of the public bathroom, I would “stomp them flatter than a Billy Joel record.”

Which brings me to why I’m writing you now. Even though I have done a few “minor” things that might inspire you to etch my name onto your Naughty list, I have tried my best to be a good person. Therefore I ask only one thing for Christmas. Please kill Billy Joel. Most people love him, but in full disclosure, I don’t like the sappy son-of-a-bitch. For some reason, he urks me and I think we’ve all had just about enough of him. I’m afraid he might try to come out with another album soon and I’d like you to prevent that from happening. We all loved Piano Man and We Didn’t Start the Fire, but isn’t it time we move on?

I know I’ve asked for this every year for the past 10-12 years, but this time I’ve been extra good. You probably think my request to strike someone down for really no reason is wrong, but just think about it, please. You’d be making me very happy.

Thank you very much, Santa.

Have a wonderful Christmas and don’t feel too bad about how many kids I’m sure you’ll disappoint who asked for Wii’s.

Love,

Patrick