Jon's SuperCoolBlueJeans Blog

Let me start off by saying I had every intention of defending this little fella. No sooner did I sit down at my mahogany desk this morning, take off my cashmere driving gloves, and crack my knuckles with the onyx black knuckle cracker I bough from the Sharper Image (which also trims nose hairs, functions as a tip calculator, and calculates my body fat percentage), than did I find egg on my face. I was duped by Pauly Shore. Shame on me. Shameful dirty shame.

If you haven’t heard, or seen the video, Pauly was in Odessa over the weekend when he was clobbered by a bubba from the crowd that he had gotten into a heckling bout with. The video is kinda sad, mostly because Pauly is like 63-years-old now, and doesn't so much resemble the MTV Spring Break party impresario he was in the early 90's. I felt a little shame that this happened in Texas, because I pride myself on my Texan-ness-ism-ality. I was raised in the shadow of the Alamo, two-stepped to Robert Earl at Floores Country Store, and have even been to Hippy Hollow...prior to the court order. After finding out it was one of my lone-star brethren that popped Pauly, I kinda shuttered. Hello, it's Pauly Shore! Who couldn't knock-out Pauly Shore? Maybe a puppy, or a pair of chopsticks. Possibly even Dakota Fanning, cuz she's America's sweetheart, but that's about it. I could, you could, and it didn't need to be a Texan that put him down. Let a weaker state take the rap for it. But now, alas cruel world, it's been revealed it was all a set up. Yep, a farce. I almost felt sorry for you, Paul Montgomery Shore. Me…the same guy who's been called a 'Robot' for my innate ability to express a vast spectrum of emotion. Something tells me Pauly isn't the class act we all thought he was. 'Class' asked Pauly out on a date once, but Pauly stood-up Class to go drink beer with your little sister under a bridge. It happened. Dakota Fanning told me all about it.

I hope this stunt hasn't tarnished his legacy, because, oh boy, it would be a shame if classics like "Jury Duty", "Son-in-Law" and "Bio-Dome" weren't remembered for the priceless nuggets they are. Almost forgot...Pauly also used a racial epithet while storming off the stage, completing the trifecta of career killing stand-up performances, right up there with Michael Richards and Andy Dick. Godspeed Pauly. I think the next place he'll be head-lining at is Kato Kaelin's couch in the basement of his mom’s house. Happy Thursday!

I don't want to rub my political science degree in your face, and I don't want you rubbing your face on my degree, because it cost a lot. Just ask my parents. And my student loan officer. But it stands that I should know a thing or two about govermentin’. That said; I'm more than a little confused on how dead people are beating the living in elections these days. Let me hit you with some knowledge:

A woman named Marie Steichen died two months ago, but still won a county commissioner seat in North Dakota on Tuesday. In 2000, John Ashcroft got a Bush cabinet position after losing to a man that died in a place crash two weeks before the election. And the most mind-boggling of all, a dead woman won re-election to a school board in rural Alaska on Tuesday, after her opponent lost a coin toss to break an electoral tie. A coin toss! Now, I'm not making fun of anybody who died, or even the unwavering support they raised from voters, because hey, that's great. Shortsighted, but great none the less. But really, how bad must it be to lose to a dead person? I mean, I’m not perfect, but 9 out of 10 times, I can beat a dead person in just about anything. Maybe it's hard to comprehend, so forget about politics, and imagine if this scenario happened in the real world. Job interview: Act 1:

Boss: Well, we've reviewed your resume Jon, and you’re the perfect candidate for the position. Congratulations!

Me: Great, when do I start?

Boss: You don't.

Me: Why's that?

Boss: Well, we've decided to hire Charles Lindbergh.

Me: The pilot?

Boss: You bet.

Me: The pilot who died in 1974?

Boss: That's right.

Me: But, he died...in 1974. I don't think he even had a blog.

Boss: Well, we'd love to hire you, but he did cross the Atlantic in the Spirit of St. Louis, and that was pretty dang cool. Thanks for coming in. Take care, Skippy.

See, it would be weird. Maybe congress will pass some legislation so only the living can win elections. Then again, live politicians aren't always all that productive either. I guess I'll not only 'sleep when I'm dead', but I'll probably run for a city council seat or something.

There are three universal truths that everyone can agree on. 1.) Sean Connery will always be the best Bond 2.) Receding hairlines are sexy 3.) Nobody likes a sore loser. Enter Kanye West. I don't know where Kanye stands on the Bond issue (rumor has it he prefers George Lazenby), and I'm not sure if he's losing any hair. Which is too bad for him, because it's awesome. Hey, the ladies don't want to run their fingers through a curly mane all day…all tangly and whatever. Hair built for speed, baby, that's where it's at. Trust me. Enter the sore loser. Last night, Kanye made a bit of a scene at the MTV European Music Awards. See how I capitalized all that? It wasn't worth it. Anyway--Kanye walked away a winner (Best Hip Hop Artist), but still managed to be glib. I said glib. I said it twice. Take that Matt Lauer. So, as the award for, quote, "best video" was being presented to Justice and Simian (who?), Kanye rushes the stage. Mr. West did something completely out of character. He lost self control, and went on an emotionally charged verbal tirade. Wow, didn’t see that one coming. Actually, I didn’t see it because I’m not European or 12 ½ years old. Here's what the AP wrote on Kanye's freak-out:

[In a protest riddled with expletives, Kanye said he should have won the prize for his video "Touch the Sky," because it "cost a million dollars, Pamela Anderson was in it. I was jumping across canyons. If I don't win, the awards show loses credibility," Kanye said.”]

Ok, Scorsese. Let's dissect this argument. First off, everything cost a million dollars these days. I went to Starbucks and a latte set me back $750,000. Plus tax. How 'bout Pamela Anderson? Well, she's been in lots of videos. Wink-wink. Most of these can't be viewed by anyone under 17. Or the Pope. So, that doesn't really qualify this video as award worthy. Now for my favorite part. Jumping across canyons? Do I even have to say anything? Not real, Kanye. I once saw Bruce Willis destroy a meteor headed for Earth. It's not like he asked Bill Clinton for an actual medal of honor. Or $75k for a latte.

I have a feeling the losers here are Justice and Simian. Word has it Kanye set the whole thing up just so he can use the footage from the stage invasion in his next hit video. Maybe next year he'll take home the award for "Best video of a guy flipping out, who we've seen flip out previously, but this time Mike Myers wasn't involved." I don't know, but there might be stiff competition from flip-out-pro’s Danny Bonaduce and Gary Busey. In the meantime, I've hired a real detective to find out why Kanye was snubbed. Name: Detective Columbo.

Alas, the Rolling Stones have come and gone through Austin, and I know none of us will ever be the same. Ever. I didn’t go to the show, mostly because I give all the extra money I earn to charities. By "charities", I mean ‘buying women drinks’. By ‘buying women drinks’ I mean buying my girlfriend soy milk. Same thing. Anyway, I didn’t go. I think the Rolling Stones would be neat to see, but only in the same way I think movies about the civil war are cool. They’re fun to watch, but it would be unspeakably graphic to witness in person. C’mon chaps. I’m in my mid-twenties and know to never wear leather pants in public (note: I said in public, wink-wink, nudge-nudge). BLEEP Jagger’s like 83, and he loves wearing them. 83! Maybe 93, who knows. Now, lots of people knock these blokes for re-hashing stuff they did forty years ago, but I’m sure lots of stuff from 1966 is still hot today. Let's see...

Ford Mustang: Still popular.
Free Love: Hello! Of course.
Medicare started in 1966: My grandma likes it. She likes the ‘Stones too. Coincidence?
Star Trek premiers: Nerds rejoice!
Patrick Dempsey born: My girlfriend rejoices!
Halle Berry born: Patrick Dempsey rejoices!
Biochemist Har Khorana deciphers the DNA code: Future producers of CSI:Miami rejoice.

So I guess some things from 1966 are still popular. People love the Rolling Stones because they like things that remind them of their youth. If I wanted to go to a concert that reminded me of my youth, I’d go see a band called ‘Hey spaz, stop wear suspenders, you look ridiculous.’ Yep, that’d take me back to 1989 all right.

I think if I made a fortune selling sombreros, I’d probably talk about hats and brims all the time. This is why I can partly understand why Tyra Banks is so obsessed with breasts. Haven’t noticed? Sure, Pinocchio. However, her obsession has drifted away from the assets that built her own empire, and she has now become transfixed on the belongings of others. On today’s very special Tyra, Ms. Banks hosted an individual that struggles with unusually large mammary glands. Here’s the kicker: it’s a man, baby! Apparently, they’re so large that the guy’s daughter has even resorted to name calling and verbal abuse, although I’m pretty sure that’s just jealousy. The guy’s wife also appeared on the show, in what can only be an attempt to give his co-workers and friends more ammunition to taunt him once he gets home. Tyra was quick to point out that a few months ago, she had a plastic surgeon on her show to examine her own chest, to finally prove to the world (mostly the starving refugees in Darfur who demanded the inquiry) that hers' are real. Now, the issue here isn’t that Tyra loves talking about breast, which she does, but rather the issue of professional integrity.

Tyra is a real trooper. She’s adorned fat-suits to see what it’s like to be discriminated against based on looks, and has fielded personal questions from her audience, like “what is up with your hair today”. I applaud you T.B., for taking a hard-edge look at issues that affect the common man. The common man with breasts, naturally. The issues I mean, not the breasts. However, she must hold her guests to the same unyielding standards she abides by. Where, I ask you, was the medical professional to confirm that this man’s breasts were real? We need proof, Tyra! This isn’t Larry King, or Oprah, where some rag-tag imposter can unknowingly outwit the host, and dispense their web of lies across the airwaves. Think of all the trouble Ms. Winfrey could have avoided if she had confirmed that James Frey’s ‘A Million Little Pieces’ was a work of truth and not a concocted fantasy. At the very least, she could have had an expert confirm that Mr. Frey’s breasts were or were not real. See? It’s about authenticity! You owe it to your fans. Do you know why the world envies us? It's because of America's continued dedication to televise coverage of gripping stories. Not the man-breasts.

Girl, I’m proud of the work you do. I’ve seen you confront your everyday, run of the mill citizen who is out of control, and point out the error of their ways. Like Naomi Campbell. You know, somebody we can all relate to. At the very least, this guy may have been ticklish. Just imagine. That would be a ratings coo!

Last night, I went to the Austin Chronicle's "Best of Austin" awards shindig. It's not really a 'ceremony', because nobody gives a speech. It's not really a gala either, mostly because I have no idea what a gala is. It is however an awesome time for all involved. The food is free, the booze is free, and if you're lucky, the dry cleaning bill to get all the wine stains out of your shirt will be free too. The last part only applies to me.

Since I'm pretty big in Austin, naturally, I HADDDD to be there. That, and a good friend of mine had an extra ticket. Whatever. Actually, my friend won the award for "Best Local Web-Based Business You’ve Never Heard Of", although they might have to strip him of the award, because guess what, now you've heard of it (www.hookah-shisha.com). For the sake of anonymity, let’s call him “Scott”. It really is Scott, ok, his name is actually Scott. I’m not creative. “Scott”, aside from being a good chum, is the brother of my co-residing girlfriend. That's right folks, I live in sin! Scott on the other hand is a sly bachelor on the go, living a jet-set lifestyle, surrounded by scantily clad women and the who's who of society's upper crust. Believe me, I’ve seen the pictures. They’re splendid. Last night, ol’ Scotty worked the room like a true pro, networking and flirting with young debutants at such a pace it slapped the thick-rimmed square glasses off the hipsters around us. If you weren’t one of the women Scott talked to, you have to let it go now. Jealously can be a cruel mistress ladies, and I’m sorry.

Since I really don’t go to these things a lot, I had to make the most of it. If you could fast forward through the commercials, the night would look like this: Jon drinks beer, place runs out of beer, Jon drinks wine, Jon’s shirt drinks wine, Scott hands out business cards, Jon talks to the lady from “Fletch”, Scott repeatedly tells people hookahs are not for smoking illegal substances, Jon gets more wine and immediately throws it onto shirt to eliminate the middle man: his mouth, Scott hits on a well known local personality twenty-years his senior, Jon washes the red wine off his shirt with white wine, Scott is escorted away from local celebrity by her husband. The end.

Envious yet? Well you missed out. I hear there’s an award for best blog. You get me there next year, and I promise to take you, whoever you are. I’ll spill drinks on your clothes all night too. Scout’s honor.

With the November 7 election around the corner, there’s one hot topic that seems to divide the country. Quite literally. Several politicians support the construction of a huge wall along the U.S./Mexico border to prevent illegal immigrants from entering the U.S. (and likewise, Mexico too I guess). But who really benefits? Who stands to gain the most? The United States? Nuh-uh. Mexico? Hardly. New Mexico? Nope, it already has ‘new’ in front of ‘Mexico’; it doesn’t need a wall too. In spite of the millions who stand to lose, only one man will really reap the rewards of this barrier: David Hasselhoff.

Too easy you say? Too obvious to poke fun at ‘the Hoff’ in a blog? Shame on you. Do you know nothing of Hasselhoff’s ability to bring people together? Fact is, he’s a genius. Oh that’s right, I said genius. And I don’t use that term lightly. Geniuses I know of: Me, Hasselhoff. See, that’s it. That’s how seriously I take it. Hasselhoff single handedly brought down the Berlin wall, not by force, and not by diplomacy. Diplomacy is for pinko-commies. He brought that baby down through song. Hasselhoff rocked that wall so hard, it HAD to crumble. It had no choice. There’s not a structure on Earth that can handle the tremendous force of D.H. belting out "Freedom for the World". Women and walls are the two things that can’t resist David Hasselhoff. It’s science. When you combine skin tight pleather pants, a talking black Firebird, and the most magnificent head of hair the good lord ever blessed upon a mere mortal, what do you have? A public relations phenom, that’s what. Germans love him, and Germans rarely get behind an issue they all can agree on. Just look at history. Only one word can accurately describe Hasselhoff’s preternatural ability to shift the intricate subtleties of geo-political foreign relations: Hasselawespectuaular.

Still not convinced? There’s just no reasoning with you, Debbie-downer. Let me point to a story that shows D.H. knows where he belongs in the annals of history (annals, with two n’s. It means archives. Grow up). Hasselhoff is upset that the Checkpoint Charlie museum in Berlin hasn’t formally recognized his role in eradicating communism. He’s petitioning to have his portrait displayed in its hallowed halls. You go David. Godspeed.

More: http://www.ananova.com/news/story/sm_860540.html?menu=n
ews.quirkies

Hey Mexican workers, don’t worry about trying to escape the pitfalls of your country’s socioeconomic shortcomings by assimilating into a foreign culture in an attempt to provide an honest source of sustenance for your families. And hey, don’t worry frat boys, the cheap booze you’re looking to score and bring back to the Delta Kappa house will still be there. Citizens of Mexico and the U.S. will be hopscotching across the border again in no time. So go ahead and build your wall Washington. Once D.H. sets his sights on toppling this puppy, no amount of CPR is gonna bring it back to life (pun!). I just hope the wall is concrete. I hear pleather pants and barbed wire don’t mix. But what do I know about foreign relations? More than some apparently.

Yesterday, I posted on blog about thermo-nuclear war, you know, a light read. Today I'm dealing with something just as dangerous as a nuke: marrying a crazy person. A huge radioactive weapon is scary dangerous, sure, but so is shaking up with a nut job. In both cases, when these time bombs go off, you'll probably lose your house. All this comes from a story out today about “runaway bride” Jennifer Willbanks, suing ex-fiancé John Mason, for half a million dollars. Now, I've noticed she likes to sue people, so the rest of my blog is TOTALLY HYPOTHETICAL. Here's some of the story:

"Wilbanks seeks $250,000 as her share of a home Mason purchased through the partnership with proceeds from $500,000 received for selling their story to an agent, plus $250,000 in punitive damages for allegedly abusing the power of attorney she granted for him to handle their financial affairs.”

If your head is spinning from the sound of this, I'll give you a moment to collect yourself. Punitive damages? Man 'o man, this John Mason guy cannot catch a break. If I were him, I'd pay her whatever she wanted, half a mil, first born child, kidney, whatever, just to get her to leave me alone. First she ditches him at the altar, claims she was kidnapped and assaulted, winds up in Vegas, admits the whole thing was made up, tells the world Mason is a virgin, and now sues him for $500 grand. Sweet sassy-molassy! I remember when I thought Liza Minnelli and David Guest were a strange pair. Now, they look like the Ward and June Cleaver next to ol' wily Willbanks.

In an effort to preserve the sanctity of future marital unions in this country, I have complied hours and hours of research into a simple questionnaire. After all, I’m single and in my mid-twenties, so if I’m not an expert on marriage, who is? If you answer ‘yes’ to any of these questions, then I’d think twice Casanova.

1.Is your fiancé named Jennifer Willbanks?
2.Do you think that…ah nevermind, question #1 is really all that matters.

Ok, if you’ve gotten this far, I think you’ll be all right. Lets get married America! I know that when I get married, it will be forever. I know this because I’m buying all the bus and airplane tickets in town, and deflating all the tires on cars in local rental lots. Just try and get away baby doll. Just try.

The unfolding drama with nuclear testing in North Korea is an extremely serious and dangerous situation in one of the most unstable regions on the planet. It has wide-ranging consequences for the human race, and it requires delicate, tactile diplomacy to assure the collective safety of the world at large. You know what else it is? Comedy gold! Since Hollywood is quick to jump on true stories in the news and make them cinematic gems (Hidalgo, anybody?), I can't wait to see this horrifying global dilemma in a local theater this summer. Here's how I see this blockbuster going down:

Director: Jerry Bruckheimer. Come on, this guy was born to direct this. Think about it. Or don't think about it. If you have to think about it, you've obviously never seen one of his films. It makes perfect sense! Ok, so we have the director. Now, who is going to star in our little indie flick? Kim Jong il should be played by Gene Shalit. Minus the beard. No, wait, keep the beard. If the new James Bond can be blonde, then Shalit keeps the beard. Lots of people don't understand K-illy (what I call Kim Jong il), and I've never understood any of Gene Shalit's zingers', so this seems a natural fit. Next up, casting President Bush. Two words: Jet Li! Oh man, you don't want to mess with Jet Li. His name is Jet for goodness sake! Hello, no brainier. I know he wasn't born in the U.S. of A, and he has a bit of an accent, but I think people will hardly notice. I've seen him do all sorts of incredible things in movies that really stretch the depth of an actor's ability, like 'Romeo Must Die' and 'Cradle 2 the Grave'. Plus, he displayed some pretty mean acting chops as a kung-fu hootrat in Lethal Weapon 4 with Mel Gibson. And from what I know about Mel Gibson, that guy can do no wrong. People just love him.

Now, the title: Weekend at Kofi's. The plot focuses on Bush and K-illy on a Labor Day weekend summit to discuss a nuclear proliferation treaty. They both arrive at U.N. Secretary General Kofi Annan’s expensive beach house, ready to get down to treaty-i-zing. Side note, I see Kofi being played by Dave Chappelle playing Rick James. Once they get there, they realize Kofi's gone on to the great U.N. summit in the sky, and they're forced to cover it up and work together, or else all the other countries in the world will freak out and start pressing the panic button. So, they hang out on the sand, go to frat parties and keggers, and keep the situation all hush-hush. All the while, they learn they have more in common then they ever thought. I imagine a scene where the two are riding old-school bicycles, and K-illy tumbles off. Dubya is there, and offers his hand to help the world’s most feared communist dictator up off the ground. The camera focuses on his hand. Hold the shot. Zoom in. Kim Jong il takes his hand and rises. Perfect. PERFECT! The climax is a scene where Kim Jong il and Dubya are walking on a beach behind the setting sun, still propping up Kofi on their shoulders, and realize that if they can make it this far, they can work together after all (collective awwww). Then, all of a sudden Kofi, rips off his Ray-Bans, revealing he's been alive the whole time, letting the two feuding friends work out their differences on their own. What? Plot twist? Brilliant! We roll the Huey Lewis, and the trio takes off in a cherry-red ’62 T-Bird convertible, into non-nuclear meltdown paradise.

I don’t know what’s scarier; that nuclear weapons are the ultimate comedy killer, or that this actually ranks up there with about 75% of what Hollywood puts out these days.

This past week, FOX 7 did a story about animal cruelty, which I think everyone can agree is bad. Especially the animals. However, a far more disturbing trend surfaces this time of year that far too often goes unnoticed. People, I'm talking about dressing your pet. If your pet is wearing a t-shirt, sweater, overalls, or even a top-hat and a monocle, please go take it off of them right now. Stop reading. Go. Seriously. The only thing a dog should ever wear is a type of britches that rhymes with "mitches". Case-in-point, I use Yahoo as my search engine, and came across an ad promoting such activities. It was a dog dressed as Batman...(see related photo)

Wow. I don't even know what to say. A dog has no interest in fighting crime against the Penguin, or any penguin, and certainly has no potential to be the world's greatest detective. His biggest concern is not ‘going’ all over a cape he is forced to wear while a photographer shouts, “C'MON CHOMSKY…LOOK SINSISTER…I SAID SINISTER-ER!” I saw a desperate cry for help in his eyes that should make PETA take notice. I know it can be fun to be creative and make things look silly. That's why people have kids. When I was 11, my mom used to make me pull my white tube-socks up to my knee caps. Did she find it funny? You bet. Was our beagle forced to make a fool of himself by sporting designer sweaters and butt-less chaps? Absolutely not.

I urge pet owners to refrain from such behavior this Halloween. As much fun as it can be for you, think of your pet’s dignity. Sure he eats his own potty, but how much worse would it be if he had to do it while wearing a tiny-shirt that says "Vote for Pedro". My point exactly!

Well, well, well. Now that I have a blog here at FOX 7, it is destined to be the greatest FOX 7 blog ever. That's not hard because there are like four other blogs right now.

Here's some background on what I do here at FOX 7. In the morning I pull into the private parking garage in my new Mercedes S500, because Web producers are really, REALLY, well paid. My assistant, Santiago has a non-fat cappuccino and a chocolate chip biscotti waiting for me, because if Jonny doesn't get his biscotti, nothing goes onto the internet. Nothing. Then, I get to my 800 square foot office...ok, ok, it's not 800 square feet, it's 900. Once I get there, fellow FOX employees Matt Groening, Seth MacFarlane, Randy Jackson and I talk about our weekends, which usually include something about the Hamptons, Swiss bank accounts, and fantasy football. Randy loves his fantasy football. Then I sit down to work at something we tech junkies refer to as a "PC"…which means PERSONAL COMPUTER. Yeah, I know, far-out. I can't reveal how we put stories that air on T.V. onto the Website, because the process is crazy top-secret. I can only say that it's 1 part Flux Capacitor technology, 2 parts Quantum Leap teleporter thing, and 1 part that Magic broom from 'Fantasia'. After all the stories are on the Website, I usually take a walk into the newsroom with the rest of the Web team (no, they don't have 900 square foot offices too, I mean, c'mon...) where we are lauded and adored by everyone in wonderful awe of our matrix-style tech skills. No, wait…skillz.

That's pretty much my day, give or take a few minor details. In all honesty though (disclaimer), I love my job very much, and the rest of the Web team and I work really hard to bring you everything you expect out of a great news site. Stay tuned, or plugged in, or whatever telekinetic thing you do to monitor news here at FOX 7. Ball…out.