The Evan Greenblogspoon

It’s that time of year again: the end of it. To celebrate, I compiled a list of all the things that were unequivocally the best.

Best Sandwich: Pesto chicken club. Consumed by Trevor Huggins of Mount Pleasant, New Jersey. Chicken clubs can be a little dry sometimes. Not this one. It was the best. Congratulations, Trevor.

Best Shirt: Jake Reardon’s light-blue button-up. It goes with everything, and it can be casual or dressy. Jake’s received multiple compliments from co-workers he’d never even talked to before. It’s crazy. Jake’s shirt is the best.

Best Friend: Jessica Simon. She’s done nothing but give and give and give to Lauren Groves. Everybody knows it. Even Valerie McDonald has to admit it. So don’t even.

Best Dog: Puddles the Gordon Setter. Puddles was adopted by the Tabaks five months ago. The Tabaks had to give away their last dog, Dr. Zaius, because he nipped at little Brady Tabak whenever Brady pulled his tail. Once, Dr. Zaius came this close to really chomping down hard on Brady’s toe. He even tore a little hole in the cuff of Brady’s pajama bottoms. That’s when the Tabaks had to put Dr. Zaius down. But Puddles lets Brady pull her tail all the time. She just sits there. Puddles is the best.

Best Pen: Frank Langella’s pen. (Yes, THAT Frank Langella.) Deborah Vance got his autograph after seeing him in Man and Boy on Broadway, and he’s got this pen that writes upside-down. It was too cool.

Best State: Florida.

Best Car: Gloria Keach’s ‘96 Honda Civic. Gloria’s put close to 200,000 miles on that thing, and she’s only had to service it once. Some cars don’t last half as long. Gloria initially felt guilty about not buying American, but not anymore. No way. Not when she’s got a car like that.

Best Haircut: Donny Ferguson’s. He’ll never pay forty bucks for a cut ever again, but he’s got to admit: it’s dope as shit.

Best Movie: It’s a tie between Drive, The Descendants, Hugo, Melancholia, Tree of Life, Bridesmaids, and that other one with what’s-her-name.

Best Blog Reader: You. Yes, YOU! Just kidding. It’s Frank Langella again.

Lord Martin gazed upon the verdant plains of North Klingraff. Night was falling, and if his messengers were correct, the Thuns would arrive by dawn. If Martin’s soldiers failed to hold them back, then all of Altruia would be lost. Lord Martin hoped his ditch was deep enough. Only the deepest of ditches would be able to stop the Thuns.

“How goes the digging of the ditch?” Lord Martin called to head digger Galbraith.

“We’re doing the best we can,” said Galbraith. “I just hope it’s deep enough.”

“Keep digging,” said Martin. “For the sake of every Altruian, dig as deep as you can.”

Lord Martin brandished his swutchel. (A swutchel is like a sword, only fatter.) Martin pressed the swutchel’s cold, fat blade against his forehead and prayed for victory.

“Lord Martin!” cried a young squire. “There’s trouble at the stables! Come quick!”

Martin dashed off, his armor clanging valiantly with every step. At the stables, he saw the horses were in a frenzy. They gnashed their teeth and stomped their hooves, and waved their two tails violently. Lord Martin’s favorite horse Night Whisper was flinging the tail on his backside and the tail coming out of his forehead so violently, that Martin had to whip him with a crip, which is an Altruian horse tool that’s softer than a crop but harder than a whip.

“Baaa!” cried the horses. “Baaa! Baaa!”

“All the sheep are clucking too,” said the squire. “What do you think it means?”

“Animals can sense when danger is near,” said Lord Martin. “They have a fifth sense for it, which is one more sense than you and I have.”

“I sure am scared,” said the squire. “You think the ditch is deep enough?”

“I sure hope so, my boy.”

“Is there anything more I can do to help?”

“You can help by taking care of your family,” said Lord Martin. “Let them know you love them. Your mother, your father, your siblings, and your grand siblings: let them all know you’ll do whatever it takes to protect them.”

“You think the Thuns will bring dregons with them?” said the squire.

“No one’s seen a dregon in these parts for years,” Lord Martin assured the boy. “Now finish up giving these horses their bread so you can run on home to your family.”

Lord Martin rode Night Whisper back to the ditch. He wished the boy hadn’t mentioned dregons. Martin had encountered a dregon only once before. It was many years ago, but the memory gripped his sleep-thinkings every night. He could see the dregon in his mind, clear as day - a giant, scaly, fire-breathing dregon. Lord Martin looked the dregon right in the eyes, its forehead tail lashing about, as Martin steadied his arrow. Luckily, the ditch he’d dug earlier in the day was deep enough, and the dregon paused on the other side just long enough for Martin to toss the arrow at the center of the dregon’s belly, which is the location of the dregon heart.

But that was many years ago. Lord Martin didn’t know if he had the strength to survive another dregon attack. He dismounted Night Whisper to speak with the Chaplain.

“I sure could use some comforting words, Chaplain.”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much help to you, Lord Martin,” said the Chaplain. “I used up every last comforting word I had. All we can do now is pray to Jesuses that our ditch is deep enough.”

“I’ve prayed to Wartime Jesus and to Peacetime Jesus and to every Jesus in between.”

“Then the fate of Altruia rests in Their hands,” said the Chaplain. “Jesuses wills be done.”

The Chaplain walked back to camp. Lord Martin watched his silhouette as it flickered in the bonfire’s light. Martin decided that if Altruia won the coming battle, he’d find a different Chaplain the next time around — probably someone who isn’t such a sourpuss all the time.

Martin climbed to the bottom of the ditch to help his men. He knew he should try to sleep, but then his sleep-thinkings would only frighten him more. He drove his fat shovel-like instrument into the ground.

“What do you want us to do with all the dirt?” asked Galbraith.

“Why aren’t you eating it?” said Martin.

“What do we do with the dirt if we’re full?”

“Put it in bags to eat later.”

“I sure hope this ditch is deep enough.”

“Me too, Galbraith.” said Martin, valiantly. “Me too.”

Hi Mitch,

This is Ron Schooner from the sex party. Boy, this is embarrassing, but I think I left something at your house. If you find a vintage Deluxe Edition Scrabble board lying around, that’s probably mine. It’s from ‘62, so it’s kind of an antique.

Also, if I didn’t say it before, your sex party was so much fun! I had a blast. And you’re terrific at Scrabble. You really got a hang of it after the second or third game. (And you didn’t even want to play in the first place!)

Thanks so much!

Best, Ron Schooner

*

Hi Mitch,

It’s Ron Schooner from the sex party. Just realized I also left some CDs at your place. They are as follows: 1. the original Broadway cast recording of Ragtime; 2. the original London cast recording of Ragtime; and 3. my voiceover demo (a reading from chapter one of Failed States: The Abuse of Power and the Assault on Democracy by Noam Chomsky). I can’t find any of those in my CD collection. And I definitely played all three at your sex party, so they must be at your house.

Also, who was that really nice woman sitting next to you in the hot tub? (You offered her a thigh massage at one point.) Thought I got her number, but now I can’t find it. Her name was something like Jessica or Jennica or Ruth. Could you send me her number if you have it? If not, don’t worry about it. It’s not important. But it’s important I get that Scrabble board and those CDs back. Thanks!

Best, Ron Schooner

*

Hi Mitch,

It’s Ron Schooner from the sex party. Good news: I found the woman’s number. Her name’s Yuki. I was way off!

Anyway, Yuki tells me the reason you might not be responding to my e-mails is because you feel like I ruined your sex party. I told her she was nuts. The sex party was terrific!

However, there was one incident I wish to apologize for: After I got the first Scrabble game started in the hot tub, you suggested we turn it into “strip Scrabble.” I then immediately shot that idea down. And I apologize, because it was your sex party, after all. But you see, the scoring system in Scrabble is not really conducive to stripping. Many times, players employ the strategy of purposely playing a low-scoring word in one round with the hope of saving their good letters for a double- or triple-word score for the subsequent round. So you see how removing our clothes after each round wouldn’t make sense?

But I’m sorry for shooting down your idea so quickly. We should have played a more stripping-conducive game like “cards.” Then we could have played Scrabble afterwards.

Anyway, your sex party was tons of fun, and I hope we can do it again real soon! In the meantime, I need that Scrabble board back ASAP. Yuki and Simone (the Russian woman with the riding crop) are coming over to my place for a board game night. You should come! And bring those CDs too!

Best, Ron Schooner

*

Hi Mitch,

It’s Ron Schooner from the sex party. We missed you at game night. Man, it was hot. Those girls can play Apples to Apples all night.

I still need that Scrabble board back. It’s practically an antique, and it was given to me by my grandfather. Remember how I told the story of his teaching me to play when I visited him in the hospital after his kidney stone surgery? I told that story after you handed us those cherries you wanted someone to eat off you. Remember?

And those CDs have got to be in what you called “lube central” (your bike room), because that’s where you changed into your bustier and showed everyone your penis. And that’s when I pointed and yelled, “Wow! Look at that ding-dong!” And then I led everyone through a round of “Ding-Dong! The Witch is Dead” from The Wizard of Oz. And that’s what made me get out my Broadway CDs! And all that happened in “lube central.” Whew. Glad we figured that out. Mind having a poke around that room for those CDs?

Also, Yuki, Simone, and the French “twins” say hi. They helped me move around some furniture today.

Get back to me soon!

Best, Ron Schooner

*

Hi Mitch,

It’s Ron Schooner from the sex party. It’s apparent now you blame me for the lack of actual sex at your sex party. That’s the only reason I can think of as to why you’d be withholding my vintage 1962 Scrabble board this long.

Look, I’m sorry your sex party ended with a line dance instead of orgiastic sex. I’m sorry I put those dildos in the washing machine (they looked dirty to me!). I’m sorry I encouraged everyone to provide their own Godzilla-like voiceovers when you turned on that Japanese gang bang video. I’m sorry!!

Nevertheless, I had a terrific time at your sex party, and I know the ladies did too. If you want to redeem yourself, the ladies and I are performing at the Roseland Ballroom on July 9th. We formed an a cappella doo-wop group called Ron and the Sugar Plums. You should come support your friends. And bring my Scrabble board, ya ding-dong!

Best, Ron Schooner

Hey gang! Kyle Tyler Brent here for Media Spasm, the arts and culture blog for 23- to 26-year-olds. I’m standing right outside the Kodak Theatre in beautiful Hollywood, California for the 83rd Annual Academy Awards. I’ll be here all night in the thick of it, blogging my little fingers raw, to give you the full scoop from beginning to end. They just cut the ribbon on the red carpet, and Melissa Rivers is unrolling it as we speak, so I think we’re about to start. Ready? Let’s go!

6:30 - No stars yet. But there are a ton of people here. I’m near the back of the crowd, standing on a box of Oscar ballots to get a better view.

6:33 - I see Academy President Tom Sherak standing by the theatre entrance. He does one final dust check by wiping his finger across Jeffrey Katzenberg’s brow, and they open the doors.

6:38 - I realize I’m standing right next to Terry Gross, host of NPR’s Fresh Air. I ask her what she’s doing here. (I assumed she’d send a correspondent instead.) “For the shwag,” she tells me. I bet her a ham sandwich Restrepo wins “Best Documentary Feature.”

6:45 - The first limo arrives! Wait, it’s just a freight limo with an extra shipment of crushed ice and shrimp for the urinals.

7:00 - Russell Brand arrives! So the stars can’t be far behind.

7:01 - The stars arrive!

7:02 - Jeff Bridges is first, as usual. He tells Giuliana Rancic how humbled and honored he is to be here. And he says that if people plan for heavy traffic like he did, then no one else would be late like they always are.

7:09 - Natalie Portman arrives. In further evidence that she wants to shed her “good girl” image, it appears that Portman has pierced her baby bump. Nice try, Natalie! You’re still as radiant as ever.

7:11 - Sylvester Stallone quickly compares himself to Mickey Rourke before running inside.

7:16 - Lindsay Lohan and Miley Cyrus approach one another, all smiles. It looks like they want to high five each other, as they’re both going “up high,” but … oh! Lindsay was “too slow.” Miley mimes combing her own hair.

7:38 - Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes share a loving embrace for the cameras. They speak with Ryan Seacrest about the joys of parenthood and are very excited about a new type of kissing they’ve invented, which they promise to debut in Fall of 2012.

7:47 - CNN’s Camille Grammar asks Johnny Depp what he’s wearing before showing off her own touch-screen-inspired Valentino dress.

7:55 - Jason Clingerman proudly accepts the honor of checking John Travolta’s coat.

8:00 - It’s showtime! Now, I’m not actually allowed inside the Kodak Theatre, so I quickly make my way to Press Tent 3B in the parking lot across the street. Steve Martin is the only other person in there with me. Sure, it’s not as good as seeing the show in person, but I’d like to note that the video feed to our TV monitor comes, ahem, sans seven-second delay.

8:02 - The show opens with a fairly restrained Grease medley starring our hosts, Anne Hathaway and James Franco, which then leads into a three-minute guitar solo by Slash. Robert Duvall then rises from the back of the stage in a giant glass birdcage to lead the audience through a prayer for our troops. So far, so good!

8:11 - A bleary-eyed James Franco takes the stage. He jokes that hosting the Oscars is all part of his dissertation at Yale. He follows up that joke with a 45-minute PowerPoint presentation on coastal Carolina marsh preserves.

8:57 - Anne Hathaway completely nails Darren Aronofsky with a really terrific zinger in true Hathaway fashion.

9:00 - Michelle Williams wins “Best Actress” for Blue Valentine! So, so excited for her! I never saw the film, per se, because I heard it’s devastating. But I’m so, so happy those crotchety old Academy voters actually voted for a challenging, devastating film. It’s truly devastating how happy I am right now!

9:10 - Steve Martin leaps up and pulls a microphone from his pocket when he sees Anne Hathaway snag her dress on the proscenium and wobble a little bit. Fortunately, she’s fine. And Steve Martin is at rest.

9:12 - These HD cameras really bring Haley Joel Osment’s plastic surgery scars into clear focus.

9:13 - Ben Stiller presents the award for “Sound Design” while dressed like a meth addict from Winter’s Bone.

9:19 - James Cameron is sitting right behind Leonardo DiCaprio. And this is the second time I’ve noticed Cameron trying to massage Leo’s shoulders during a video presentation. Leo leans forward in his seat and stays there.

9: 31 - Geoffrey Rush clearly wants to pick his nose. Steve Martin agrees.

9:33 - That girl from Whale Rider presents the award for “Art Direction,” loudly brushes her hands clean, and starts taking down her hair as she leaves the stage.

9:40 - Jack Nicholson continues to live for this shit.

9:50 - James Cameron leans forward to whisper something into Leonardo DiCaprio’s ear that Leo clearly doesn’t like. Leo stands to leave, but Cameron pushes him back down. They bicker during the entire “Best Foreign Language Film” presentation. At last, I see Leo mouth the word “fine” and put on the pair of RealD glasses Cameron gave him.

10:00 - Exit Through the Gift Shop wins “Best Documentary Feature,” not Restrepo as I had bet with Terry Gross.

10:01 - Terry Gross runs into our tent, panting, ready to collect her ham sandwich. I tell her to chill out. Steve Martin backs me up. Terry stands in the corner for awhile before disappearing into the parking lot.

10:07 - James Franco lets his eyes do the talking for awhile.

10:12 - The orchestra plays off Scarlett Johansson before she gets a single word in. The “Best Costume Design” nominees go unannounced.

10:16 - Mark Ruffalo accepts the award for “Best Supporting Actor” for his role as a sperm donor in The Kids Are All Right. He talks about the importance of sperm donations in his acceptance speech. Tom Cruise interrupts the speech with a single, piercing guffaw, followed by a coughing fit.

10:20 - I catch an anonymous seat filler crossing his fingers before an award was announced for the ninth time in a row.

10:29 - I swear to God, Geoffrey Rush’s right index finger is the very hungry caterpillar, inching its way towards his nose. Is no one else seeing this?

10:32 - I have to go to the bathroom. I pass Jason Clingerman at the coat check. He’s worried about tips because John Travolta was the only person to check a coat.

10:40 - Talking to Jason has made me miss Amy Adams’ acceptance speech for “Best Supporting Actress.”

10:50 - Anne Hathaway mentions that she’s the youngest host in Oscar history. She asks all the young people in the audience to stand and take a bow. She then asks all the women in the audience to stand and take a bow. She then asks all the men to stand and take a bow. James Franco then gets on his hands and knees so Anne can stand high on his back and take a bow. Anne then allows James to stand on her back and take a bow. Anne asks the audience to follow her in one more big, collective bow. She then asks all the young people to take one more big bow, but like they really mean it this time.

11:00 - Quentin Tarantino pats Betty White on the back after the “People We Lost” montage.

11:02 - Steve Martin leans over to give me a tip, should I ever find myself hosting the Oscars: save all the really good dick jokes for the commercial breaks to keep the crowd really pumped up.

11:15 - Jesse Eisenberg apologizes profusely for winning “Best Actor.”

11:21 - George Clooney reminds the audience that the advent of film would have never been possible if doorknobs hadn’t come first. He then introduces a montage of films that feature doorknobs in them.

11:29 - David Fincher wins “Best Director” for The Social Network. And someone, somewhere whispers the word MySpace for the last time in human history.

11:36 - The King’s Speech wins “Best Film.” Okay. That’s fine. It’s just a shame your victory was marred this evening when Geoffrey Rush, your “Best Supporting Actor” nominee, clearly wanted to pick his nose throughout the entire ceremony! Ask Steve Martin. He saw it.

11:40 - It’s over. Steve Martin and I rush over to the theatre to watch everyone come out.

11:44 - They gave me a gift bag! Let’s see what I got: one small black comb, Silly Bands in the shapes of all the “Best Supporting Actor” nominees’ faces, a Givenchy necklace made of iPhones, one leather-bound mug, a bunch of pomaisins (pomegranate raisins), Beyonce-brand smelling salts, a 2011 Hyundai Sonata, and a Wilco CD.

11:45 - John Travolta is furious that Jason Clingerman lost his coat.

11:47 - Amy Adams can’t say anything but “fuck yeah!” as she karate-kicks her way out of the theatre.

11:50 - Jacki Weaver, “Best Supporting Actress” nominee for Animal Kingdom, storms off into the hot L.A. night.

11:56 - It looks like most of the stars are on their way to after-parties. I ask Steve Martin if he knows of any. He says he’ll take me where the “real action” is. He’s got an extra leather jacket I can wear, and we both hop on his moped.

11:57 - I catch a glimpse of Jason Clingerman being dragged off behind the loading dock by Travolta’s goons. I feel sorry I couldn’t help him.

11:58 - I hear someone yell my name. It’s Terry Gross! She wants that ham sandwich and makes a bee-line sprint for me. “Step on it!” I yell. Steve Martin guns it, and before Terry can crawl her way out of our dust, Steve Martin and I are ten blocks down the Sunset Strip, cruisin’ on to our next great adventure.

All in all, it was a pretty fun night! Until next year, this is Kyle Tyler Brent for Media Spasm signing off!