Heads ‘n’ Toes, Pilgrims ‘n’ Hoes

Four score and seven years ago, the Dilly created Thanksgiving.  Yep, it was me. Fuck the Pilgrims.

Since I’m not too crazy about the Thanksgiving myth we’ve been throwing around (the Pilgrims sound too much like Sam Rockwell’s character in “Matchstick Men”), the Dilly has taken on full ownership of the most GBA-licious of holidays.  From now on, it was Dilly who feasted with some hipsters (the Pilgrims of our time), and then banished them to Brooklyn to smoke cigarettes and drink PBR.  (And while we’re officially amending history (as in making it better), let’s work on that Mayflower deal.  Can we not have our early mainlanders rollin’ up to Plymouth Rock in a water-whip that sounds like the name of a gay bar?  Come on folks, we can fix this.)

Despite it’s questionable beginnings, Thanksgiving provides us all with a real chance to reflect on where the hell we’ve come from, and how the hell we got here.  I’ve always seen Thanksgiving as my almost-end-of-the-year checkpoint — if I haven’t done the things I’ve wanted to do or been the guy I’ve wanted to be, I at least have another six jolly weeks to make some power moves during the holiday season. And in the end, if that doesn’t work out, I can just blackout on New Year’s and pretend that the year never happened.  Couple that with the Tryptophan Gorge-Nap-Loaf Combo (brought to you by Miller Lite) and National Eat-Your-Face-Off Day is officially a great time to be an American.

It also means the sort-of beginning to Christmas TV specials (so good).  For a complete listing, hit this link.

In my first venture into the Dilly Days of Christmas (I’m tryna hit every Christmas movie, song, and show possible — all because I feel that I didn’t hit “my quota” last year… I am not well.), the Dilly took the ladyfriend out to see Robert Zemeckis’ — of “Polar Express” and “Beowulf” creepy digital fame — “A Christmas Carol” in 3D.  Hay-zeus cristo, 3D is the shit.  Flying through the streets of London, with snow falling delicately around (I tried to reach out and touch it — like an asshole — the ladyfriend was not impressed), you are legitimately warped inside the very real (and kinda creepy) HAUNTING of Ebenezer Scrooge.  If Jim Carrey’s computer-generated mug wasn’t disturbing enough,

Morning Mr. Carrey....

Jacob Marley’s fettered ghost and all 3 Christmas spirits feel a little too close to the dome at times.  For “A Christmas Carol,” with a story we already know so well, it takes something spectacular to bring it back to life.  Judging from the mist I was peering through (and not from those new 3D emo-glasses they give out) when muh boy Ebby learned to keep Christmas in his heart all year long, “A Christmas Carol” proved worth its $14 price of admission.  Please go see it in person (or in robot) (or whatever).

(Also, while leaving the theater, I was struck (in a moment of clarity) with the following epiphany:  I am a theater room and a lubriderm pump away from 3D porn.  God bless us, every one.)

For last licks (and that is supposed to sound dirty), I caught Brand New last night live (AND IN PERSON!!!) at the Nassau Coliseum.  Not only were all of the opening bands legit-as-hell (Kevin Devine and the Goddamn Band, Manchester Orchestra, Thrice, and Glassjaw), but B-Nizzle did not disappoint.  With a set almost completely comprised of “Daisy” and “The Devil and God…” songs, my boys from Long Island suddenly sounded hard as hell.  If you’re a BN fan, and you’ve hit that new album, lemme tell ya — that scream is real, and it is fan-fucking-tastic.  And just when you thought all that hollerin’ and carryin’ on would mess with Jesse’s singing voice, think again.  The man (and his band) filled up the room, from the GA sea to all those 80′s Islanders Stanley Cup banners hanging from the rafters.  Highlight of the night:  a hauntingly epic “Limousine (MS Rebridge)” — described by Jesse as a “Long Island song,” but still a sad one:

In a final side note, as I’m sitting here writing this ish, I’m watching the Steelers-Ravens game on NBC’s Sunday Night Football.  Dennis Dixon, the former U of Oregon star who’s been chillin at the #3 QB spot on the Steeler’s depth chart since being drafted, just threw the 1st touchdown pass of his career.  As Santonio Holmes, the Steelers receiver who caught the pass dove into the endzone, Dixon fixed his eyes skyward and blew a kiss.  It was to his mother who passed away from breast cancer in 2004, at the age of 46. Thanks DD for giving those of us watching a truly honest moment — just a guy playing the game he loves, giving thanks to the woman that raised him — because I’m not gonna lie, sometimes moments like those can be a little hard to come by.

Thanks so much for reading kids.  I’ll catch ya’ll next week.

www.twitter.com/thebigcdilly

Currently Listening To:

Various Artists

“Maybe This Christmas”

The Things I Ate Today (Mangia Comida)

It took some time.  It took some focus.  And it took more than a few beers.

Like Andy Dick (thank God) and a post-”Mighty Ducks” Emilo Estevez, it was no secret to those true-blue Americans that Dilly had disappeared.  One minute the Dillites (my faithful followers — ie. my mother) were filling their plates with a smorgasbord of Dillyisms — seeing the world with wide eyes and shit-eating grins, never letting their jolly drunk become a grumpy drunk — and the next thing they know, they’re left wondering the following:

-Was that creepo movie trailer his idea of a new post?

-Does he think watching 3 minutes of Crispin Glover in stretchy pants and high-heel shoes is gonna ease the deep longing in my soul for a Dilly post?

-Is all that porn I’ve been watching the real reason that my parent’s computer stopped working? (For me, during the Erin Andrews affair, that answer was yes).

Well here I am, so suck it up and deal.  And then take a moment to celebrate this true American hero:

That felt good.  Now on to real-life issues.

The first semi-deal that I wanted to ever-so-gently touch upon (just the tip) is no longer newsworthy — I mean, nobody really cares about Steve Phillips slammin a beat ass ESPN employee (Brooke Hundley the Destroyer) anymore.  But Dilly does.  And he’ll tell you why.  Fuck Steve Phillips.  Because of his clear-and-present sex addiction (exhibit A), I was forced to use and hear the phrase “good-looking older guy” more times than I ever wanted to.  Every time a bro or a dude came up to me on the streets (cause that’s what bros and dudes do), there was a brief discussion, first) about Butch’s triple busted status, and then) immediately followed by some straight male’s admission (usually mine) that Steve Phillips is both, in fact, a silver fox and a total babe all wrapped into one.  I do not feel good about any of these encounters, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t slept since.  Fuck Steve Phillips.  For being so fucking handsome.

Next up, I wanted to open some doors (and gosh darnit, while I’m at it, maybe open some minds).  If you haven’t been watching “The League,” you are really ruining your own life.  I hate to be the bearer of bad news… but you suck.  Even if you aren’t into Fantasy Football (I do understand that the internet reaches some folks outside of the U.S.), “The League” is raunchy humor done right (and conveniently ran right after “It’s Always Sunny…,” Thursday nights on FX).  Last week’s episode had an extensive discussion about how one of the characters’ sensitive teeth was definitively caused by his affinity for sucking off d-spots.   This really doesn’t sound funny in writing (and I am officially feeling uncomfortable), but I swear this show is legit as hell.  If you and your friends spend most of your time ripping each other to shreds (and isn’t that really what friends are for?), then make yourself a fan of “The League” (see what I did there… that’s wordplay mofos… learn it).

The last little bit I wanted to mention is that I have finally caved and got my ass involved in Twatter (yeah that’s right, I said it, and it will only be referred to as “Twatter” on this blog.  Deal with it).  It’s actually not the worst thing ever (except if you’re the kind of person who’s using it to let me know that you just had a great lunch and can’t wait to brush your teeth today — www.twitter.com/jenna_burpee) (just kidding Jenna).  If you’re at least a little bit witty (or if you just think you are), get yourself going and friend or follow or whatever the hell Twatters do — do that to me, and hit me with something to laugh at while  I’m pretending to do work.  In case you were wondering, my job sucks. And yes, it is in a cubicle.

If you’re looking to follow a motherfucker, my shit www.twitter.com/thebigcdilly.  Tell your friends.

Alright kids, that’s all I got for now.  If I’m not too lazy (and we don’t see a rehashing of the couch years), you’ll be gettin’ weekly posts from here on out.  I promise this last little gap was a fluke.  Well, I hope so at least.  Thanks for reading.  GBA.

 

Currently Listening to:

Cartel

“Cycles”