Skipping through Melonville

For the first time this season, it actually almost felt like autumn around here this weekend. There was little danger of any frost on any pumpkins but it was nice to actually need a jacket when venturing out in the night air. Or sitting in the rapidly dwindling daylight that defines dusk whilst watching Tech lose a game they could have won but probably should not have.

But before all that was a 14-mile run Saturday morning. Overall, the run went pretty well with a decent enough time (for me), 2 hours 3 minutes. Still retaining some strength and energy in the legs at the end was a bonus. Plus, it was either too early or too cool for any mongrel activity so my trusty Halt! remained sheathed. True, clipped is more accurate, but sheathed sounds so much more poetic. And if there's one weapon that oozes culture it's pepper spray. That's probably why, as the label proudly proclaims, Halt! is used by the U.S. Postal Service.

A portion of Friday evening was spent in the company of Christopher and his family. It's quite remarkable, or more to the point frightening, that after some 30+ years of friendship the two of us still share the same brain we did 20 years ago. Par example: allow me to mention Nietzsche and guarantee what Christopher is thinking RIGHT NOW!

"Aw, blow it out your ass, Howard."

Some readers may know of ol' Fred as one of the biggies of 19th century philosophy and the dude whom all educated misanthropes live to quote after they graduate from lyrics by The Cure and The Smiths. To Christopher and I, however, his most famous line is "out of chaos comes order." We know this not because we're terribly learned but rather because we've seen Blazing Saddles approximately 162 times and could perform the entire flick for you right now if necessary. The same crap that made us laugh then still does now. Perhaps some would view this as a sad case of arrested development (as opposed to a funny episode thereof, yuk, yuk) but I prefer to consider it as more a refined and cultured sense of what constitutes funny.

Hence the reason why Christopher and I were reduced to tears watching Megaforce clips on YouTube whilst his family looked on as if we were insane.

Christopher's wife actually asked his Dad if this is the way we used to be.

Used to be!?!?

This may well be our lives' work.

Dearest Chloe (not her real name), be thankful you only had to endure some 10 years of this instead of the 30+ our families have suffered. Be thankful you were not on our journeys through the Monty Python ouevre or as we held deep discussions on why Rick Moranis was the most genius of all the geniuses on SCTV. Rejoice that you know not when we realized that while the first Police Academy and Major League had their moments, no one was really clamoring for more Guttenberg or Sheen. In anything, that is. Let alone sequels.

Teenage hi jinks and socializing?

Screw that. We were too busy documenting Chevy Chase's decline from comedic titan (SNL, Caddyshack, Vacation, Fletch) to pill-popping check-casher (pretty much everything post-Fletch).

True, our comedic paths have forked slightly as the year have progressed. Christopher finds an enjoyment in Larry the Cable Guy and that ilk that I do not. Likewise, I gravitate to the annoyingly elitist, but no less funny, world of indie snarkdom found in the Mr. Show and Chunklet universes that he finds, well, annoying and elitist. Still, we both agree that Patton Oswalt and Jim Gaffigan are two of the best stand-ups currently working. That we would have an opinion on such matters is probably as sad as those two guys are funny. But being a comedy geek requires a devotion and dedication to a cause that most have the good sense to ignore. Much like we ignore anything with Dane Cook or Carrot Top.

This all has little to do with Megaforce proper but does perhaps give some some context why we would find lame dialogue and cheesy special effects in a forgotten early 80s flick to be worthy of viewing in a small window on a laptop on a Friday night.

Apologies to one and all but if the hilarity of Barry Bostwick replete with Barry Gibb hair, John Travolta's headband from Stayin' Alive and a gold spandex unitard that Freddie Mercury would have found a bit gay, all the while "flying" through the air astride a souped-up motorcycle with guns and missiles, is not obvious then I don't really know what to say. Besides, of course, "Congratulations you have a life." You probably also went to parties in high school and are even occasionally invited to them now.

But you probably didn't see Weird Al's masterwork, UHF, at a special sneak preview before it's theatrical release like we did.

Eat it, indeed.