Thanks for Contributing to My Cool, Sally

Cheech and Chong have reunited and are going on tour. I was introduced to their albums by my babysitter, Sally, and it occurred to me that I never thanked her.

I never had an older sibling to introduce me to important cultural milestones. I had to discover them on my own. For young Rider, there was no Zooey Deschanel leaning in close to tell me, "Someday, you'll be cool," and then handing me a suitcase full of rock albums to calibrate my compass.

Had he known, my old man would've been pissed to discover his 12-year-old was buying comedy albums celebrating drug use. He would've been even angrier to find freckle-faced Sally had been my comedy pusher.

I kept all that on the down low. I learned my lesson after he caught me walking in the door with Boston and began inspecting the track titles. ("'Hitch a Ride'...'Smokin''? You're not gonna do any of these things, are you?")*

Sally did her job well. I soon moved on to Richard Pryor and George Carlin and National Lampoon. (I occasionally slipped...spending money on Weird Al in a moment of weakness, for example.)

So here's my official thanks, Sally McLean. You may have dressed like a hippie, but you had two things that made up for it: you smelled better than a hippie and you had great taste in comedy.

* "Gaw, Dad, no! Jeez!"

Advice to Collins

Phil Collins just gave ex-wife numero tres a $46-million payout in their divorce. That's more than McCartney gave Mills and she's down a limb.

After three divorces, he's lost 84 million of his $280,000,000 fortune.

My suggestion: rather than lose all your cash by the tenth divorce, Phil, give it to PETA now. Help them with their battle against KFC. Jeezum Crow--think how many beakless birds you could've saved already! Those autographed drumsticks you donated in 2005 didn't help as much as millions of sussudio dollars would.

FUN FACT: Collins notified his second wife of their divorce via fax

Dear Parking Lot Superhero

You were standing in the AMC Theatre parking lot with your hands on your hips. Your Zubaz fluttered in the wind and you couldn't have looked cooler if you were wearing a cape.

I had gone to see the 6:20 showing of Step Brothers, but how could I have known my heart would swell even before I entered the theatre?

Yet there you were!

You seemed to be guarding one specific handicapped parking space--one of 20 available--and the look in your eyes said, "No foe shall invade this blue plot of tarmac as long as I draw breath."

I passed and you nodded slightly, as if to say, "Good morrow, citizen."

Just when I thought you couldn't look any more awesome, I turned to see you had produced a bo staff from the folds of your puffy pants. You placed it atop your shoulders and hung your wrists from it.


You suddenly looked like Jesus if Jesus were a 60-something dude with tiger-striped foofy pants and a bushy 'stache who stood around for no apparent reason.

But goddamn if I didn't feel safe for those few moments.

Bless you, Parking Lot Superhero.

Open Letter to Netflix

Dear Netflix,

WTF?

I've been waiting almost two months for the top six movies on my queue.

Get some more inventory.

Or are you buying more airtime for the commercial with the dwarves helping each other through the fence?

Sincerely,
Rider

Open Letter to My Friend Playing Guitar Hero III Next to Me

'Sup, dude?

'Member Tuesday when we were rockin' the PS3 at your place? Then Slash crawled out of your mouth and took over for you? Not cool, bro. I kinda messed my pants a little and mom was pissed.


Next time that happens I'm out the window. No, seriously, bro. But first I'll slap the top hat off that scary prick's head and swing the controller upside his skull. I don't care what his score was.

Sincerely,
The Best Dual-play Partner You'll Ever Have Unless I Turn Into Eddie Van Halen