Listening to "Freebird" is a MAJOR commitment.

I sometimes find myself on the bus lost in my own little iWorld. And then I hear those unmistakable opening chords to Mr. Skynyrd's opus. And I think to myself... I can't do this right now. My stop is coming up and I'm already late for work. I can't NOT listen to that whole damn song. All 22+ minutes in length. (or however long it is ... fuck off, Rainman). And I feel guilty. I feel guilty for jumping ahead to the next song. And it stays with me. All day long. The betrayal. The regret. When will my next opportunity come? My next chance to be free as a bird now. Lord, knows I can't change. Could that have been the last time my ears would ever Ronnie Van Zant's croon? I sure as hell hope not. And to think that I skipped over it only to hear some fucking Smash Mouth song that I KEEP FORGETTING to delete from my ipod. Gods Of Southern Rock... give me another chance.

-Jonesy

9.5 million people in the Chicagoland area ... and a pigeon decides to take a shit on ME

October 20, 2007

For Immediate Release:

Officials from the U.S. Pigeon Air Force Command are keeping mum about an incident that happened at approximately 14:00 GMT near the intersection of Sheridan Road and Diversey Avenue in Chicago on Friday. Witnesses state that an innocent bystander was struck by a "bunker-busting" pile of bird shit upon his upper left shoulder. The immediate reaction to the bombing by the victim was described as "chaotic" and "pissed off". Police, Fire, and Rescue were on the scene in minutes and cordoned off a two-block area around Ground Zero. No other fatalities have been reported at this time. When investigators were finally able to question the victim, Ryan Jones, 30, he responded with "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Story supplied by Reuters, Inc. 2007

The moment Charlie & Emilio were inspired to write the screenplay for "Men At Work"

I don't pretend to know everything about Hollywood. But I do understand creativity, motivation, and inspiration. And I also have a pretty good grasp of shitty movies.

There had to be a moment, a particular day when Emilio Estevez and his younger brother Charlie Sheen came up with the idea ... of a feature film comedy ... involving, um, garbage men.

If you aren't familiar. Let me refresh your memory...

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0100135/

I imagine it went something like this:


It's an unseasonably cool autumn day in Los Angeles.

Emilio is at home, slouched on the sofa watching television. He wears his blue hooded sweatshirt from Breakfast Club.

Emilio's housekeeper peeks her head in.

HOUSEKEEPER: Meester Estevez?

EMILIO: Yes, Rosa?

HOUSEKEEPER: Your brother Charlie is here to see you.

EMILIO: Send him in, please.

The housekeeper exits.

Charlie enters soon after. He wears a leather jacket over a white t-shirt just like he did in whatever movie that was.

CHARLIE: Hey, man. How's it going?

They hug.

EMILIO: Not too good to tell you the truth. I just snorted the last of my money from St. Elmo's Fire.

CHARLIE: Tell me about it. Things have been pretty rough for me lately too.

Emilio sighs.

EMILIO: What's happened to us, bro? We used to be on top of the world. Now things are slowly starting to slip away.

CHARLIE: I know it.

Charlie plops down in a chair.

CHARLIE (CONT'D): My agent hasn't been sending me anything worth a damn.

Charlie hops right back up.

CHARLIE (CONT'D): I tell ya, Emilio. I need a hit bad.

EMILIO: Whaddya mean? You had Major League that was a HUGE hit.

CHARLIE: It's not the same. I tell ya ... I should have been in Young Guns II dammit!

EMILIO: But you were killed in the first one!

CHARLIE: It doesn't matter! It still hurts!

Emilio walks over to comfort Charlie.

EMILIO: Come on, Chuck. Sit down and relax. You're letting the pressure get to you.

They sit.

EMILIO: And I'm totally with you, man. We need to sit right here and come up with our own plan. Our own destiny. We can't just sit around and wait for someone to knock on our door. We have to go out there and show them that we still have the goods. Now let's just think.

There is a long awkward silence as they ponder.

Suddenly there is a load noise coming from "outside". It's the sound of garbage truck compressing and then the beeping sound of the truck backing up.

Charlie looks confused.

CHARLIE: What the hell is that?

Emilio is nonchalant.

EMILIO: That's just our garbage men picking up our garbage.

CHARLIE: Hmmph. Now what a job that must be.

Slowly both Charlie and Emilio look up as the brilliant idea comes to them both.

EMILIO: That's it!

CHARLIE: Absolutely!

EMILIO: We could play garbage men!

CHARLIE: It could be a comedy!

EMILIO: There could be murder!

CHARLIE: There could be a set of competing garbage men!

EMILIO: It'll be a gold mine!

CHARLIE: We'll call it Men At Work!

EMILIO: It's practically writing itself!

They embrace and dance a celebratory dance around the room.



The End.




-Jonesy