Tag Archives: john mayer

Lame Adventure 160: Eight-Step Program

Today is my friend, Coco’s birthday.  Her natal date coincides with the opening of Justin Bieber’s concert movie, Never Say Never, not to be confused as I was with the 1983 James Bond film Never Say Never Again.

That film was actually a new adaptation of Thunderball, a Bond film released in 1965.  This remake was the final Bond film starring Sean Connery, who had initially stopped playing 007 in 1971.  Connery’s incentive to reprise the role could have been for only one of two reasons, he was tossed a mountain of money, or more likely, he wanted to flaunt his junk again in a wet suit at age 53.

Ten days ago, I received an email from MovieTickets.com inviting me to “enter for a chance to win a date with Justin” at a screening of his film in my hometown.

My invitation.

Doesn’t MovieTickets.com know by now that I am in the over 40 under death age demographic?  I see films with subtitles called Late Stage.  While reaching for one of the air-sickness bags I stockpile in my desk I heaved and wondered:

Me:  Why is Justin Bieber remaking James Bond now?  Is it because they have the same initials so this smiling haircut thinks he can do anything?

Eventually I realized Justin was starring in an entirely different film.  I forwarded the invitation to select members of my posse announcing, “I can so easily say never to this.”  In an email reeking of snark, Coco asked if that film was on my must-see list.  I snarked back, “Thought I’d treat you to it for your b-day so you can access your inner pedophile.”  Chomping the bait, John-Mayer-sleeve-tattoo-loving Coco sounded off about Justin’s lack of appeal.  She did not mince her words about why she considers this latest teen idol unworthy of her time.

Coco's turn-off almost freeing his willy.

Coco's turn-on with come-hither look.

This gave me a light bulb.

Eco-friendly and energy-efficient inspiration!

Coco has recently relocated from the Hamptons to the city.  Although my paltry wages were reduced 20 per cent in January 2009 by my employer, E. Ben Ezer-Scrooge, a fellow in deep denial that the cost of living increases, so due to my financial limitations it is impossible for me to go gift-giving nuts.  Yet, I can afford to use my vast imagination.  There has yet to be a tax for being clever.  Now that I’ve pointed that out, New York City should soon find a way to issue the first think tax in the nation, where I’ll find myself paying several pennies for my thoughts.  It occurred to me during my latest brainstorm that since Coco loathes Justin Bieber and loves the city, I should marry the two in the guise of her gift.

First, I went to my neighborhood news seller and picked up two magazines, one devoted to cover boy, Justin, and the other, this week’s issue of Time Out New York.

"Hi Coco, let's play Crazy Eights!"

Coco's bible for where to go to get trashed.

When I returned home, I went online and ordered a subscription to TONY for Coco that will start in four to six weeks.  Then, I slipped into my Dr. Frankenstein lab coat and went to work.

Step 1: Open the Bieber magazine to the centerfold.  Observe the picture.  Yawn so loudly, several agitated hounds bark.

This wholesome image is definitely a dart board somewhere.

Step 2:  With stainless steel letter opener designed by Enzo Mari in 1962, slip the letter opener under a staple and lift.  Repeat with second staple.

Best. Letter. Opener. Ever.

The right tool for the job.

Step 3:  Lift out guts of Bieber magazine.  Save for wrapping fish.

Staple standing at attention in gutted Bieber-rag.

Step 4:  Open TONY to center section.

TONY's centerfold.

Read excellent Joke of the Week by Dan St. Germain.  Photograph joke.


Step 5:  See Step 2.

Step 6:  Slip the empty Bieber magazine cover’s staples into microscopic holes in now staple-less TONY.  Go blind as you fumble doing this 1,073 times or until you lose count.

Step 7:  Accomplish Step 6 — hide TONY inside a Justin Bieber rag cover.

Opposites not attracting.

Drink alcohol.

Step 8: Regain enough vision to do a mediocre wrap job.

Trademark mediocre wrap job.

Lame Adventure 79: Coco’s 20 Seconds with John Mayer

My buddy, Coco, finagled a back stage pass for a 20 second meet and greet with her favorite musician, John Mayer, when he recently played a concert at Jones Beach Theater on Long Island.  I have never had a backstage pass, nor have I ever had much contact with a celebrated being on any level, excluding an incident in the 90s when a member of the New York Liberty bounced a basketball off the side of my head during practice.  Therefore, I asked Coco if she could recount what this thrilling experience was like via a top ten list composed especially for Lame Adventures.  Luckily for my readership of eight, Coco embraced this tarball of opportunity with gusto, or maybe it was pesto.

10. Enroute to JM meet and greet area, self-inject a tetanus shot while ambulating down a path of narrow wooden planks dotted with rusty nails strategically placed over a fetid swamp brewing in the theater’s bowels.

Walking the splintered line.

9. Commit every line of dialogue, camera position lighting angle and applause cue to memory (and cheat sheet inside palm) in preparation of casually mentioning JM’s appearance on the Dave Chappelle Show in the White People Can’t Dance skit.

8. Don’t be outschemed by the two middle age cawffee tawk-types who suddenly step out of line feigning illness before scurrying to the end of the line in a ruse to gain more JM facetime; coolly follow their lead via duckwalk.

7. Marvel at the JM and Jessica Simpson impersonators that enter the meet & greet room, say hi to JM, open the fridge and snag two beers, but refrain from shouting, “Hey, grab one for over here!”

6. Repress violent knee-jerk urge to respond, “No, I’m hoping I get the opportunity to kick him in the balls and tell him his music sucks” to chatty fellow Meet and Greeter who asks, “So, do you like John Mayer, too?”

5. Flaunt your normally mothballed happy camera face at all times because every picture snapped is done paparazzi gotcha style i.e., without the luxury of anyone suggesting, “Say cheese,” or  “Take off your underwear.”

4. Heavily name drop Carlisle, your mutual hairdresser connection, at nanosecond intervals in lieu of writing your cell, home, work and fax phone numbers prominently on JM’s sleeve tattoo with a black Sharpie.

Black Sharpie at the ready.

3. During the entirety of the 20 seconds of JM facetime, verbally bodyblock your dear friend who’s accompanied you as if delivering an acceptance speech at the Academy Awards where you lunged at the microphone first.

2. Suppress tendency to genuflect when praising JM’s musical prowess, prompting him to reply, “Thank you,” and confusing you since you’re unsure if this is in reference to your compliment or not standing on his sneaker with your knee.

1. Crop former dear friend out of the picture, so it looks like you and JM are a couple.

John & Coco -- alone at last!

John Mayer in action at Jones Beach