Like Rodney Dangerfield at a funeral, Joseph Brannigan Lynch demonstrated that Paul Walker is nothing more than a dead punchline by misspelling his name in an article written about the new movie in which he stars, “Fast Five”

Ah ha ha ha ha!

Play the music at the bottom for an even more cheesy effect.  Or, just play it because it’s a pretty rockin’ song.

My hands quivered as I walked down the hallway.  There was that stale smell that always engulfed me when I walked in, but it didn’t seem as strong that day.  Maybe it was because the front door to the apartment building was opened all day long, letting in an occasional breeze tainted with the faintest scent of cow manure from the pasture down the road.  It was better than the typical smell of cigarettes and urine that most of the college aged kids left behind in your stairwell.

I was dressed in slacks and a tie; typically overdressed for your apartment complex.  But I had to speed from work that day, and stop for the perfect flowers.  I knew exactly what I wanted for you. I hadn’t cried in months; maybe years before that day.  But as I looked at my hand gripping that bouquet of flowers ever so tightly, I knew that day was going to be the day.

I wasn’t nervous about meeting your parents.  How much could they think I cared about their daughter after only dating her for a couple of months?  The door knob seemed absolutely frigid as I wrapped my hand around it and muttered, ‘Knock, knock.’  I knew it was a lame entrance, but I also knew you’d come to expect those clichéd, light-hearted things from me.  I didn’t know any better.

My eyes, which were usually drawn to you no matter what room or crowd or bar you stood in, looked right into your mother’s first, however, and I could tell she knew.  That instant, she knew the heartbreak I was about to experience.  She could see right through my confident walk and knew that no matter how collected and casual I tried to be, I was going to be crushed by you.  She knew how much you’d meant to me over those few months from that first moment we met.  She could see the sadness seeping off of me.

It broke me down.  Whatever armor I had was stripped from me.  I wanted to curl up in the corner of your living room on the dirty, matted carpet and just hold you.  I didn’t want to let you go because that would be the end and then there I would be, in the parking lot watching you drive away.  And that’s how it would have to end.

I held back the tears enough to introduce myself before I walked directly towards you.  I didn’t want to waste a second of the remaining few that I knew we had left.  I realized how tense I was as I fought those heavy tears back and wrapped my arms around you.  I didn’t even hand you the flowers.  I didn’t care because at that moment, I could sigh in relief knowing you weren’t gone.  You were still within my reach.

But deep down I knew it was coming.   And that’s what your mother saw when she looked at me.  Those phone calls for you to come over to my apartment and have dinner with me would soon stop forever.  I would never be able to take you on a mile-long walk of the dam again or swing by the ice cream stand on my way over to your place.  I was about to lose that.

That look I gave away was because all the intimate moments we shared were about to become faded memories.  As the hours turned into days, and the days into weeks, those moments would begin to fade.  You would move on to someone else closer to where you worked.  I wouldn’t be able to be that person.  Your mother saw how that would crush me.

And so there I stood in the middle of your kitchen, my arms wrapped around you for what I knew was going to be the last time.  A bouquet of lilies was strangled in my hand as I tried my hardest to make myself remember what your hair smelled like and what your skin felt like.  You were so warm, I could feel your body heat radiate through my shirt.  I was completely alone with you for those seconds that I tried my best to drag on into an eternity.

As I pulled myself away from that hug to look at your face, your eyes spoke to me too.  They were sad because they knew the truth.  They weren’t sentimental.  They were sad.  Sad because we clearly understood when we started that what time we had together was criminally terminal.  But somewhere along the way, I forgot.  Or I wanted to ignore what we’d agreed upon months ago, because it would hurt terribly to admit what I’d grown to love was ending.  It would have been so much easier if we didn’t get along; if we fought all the time.  But we didn’t we clicked, and that’s when the complications started.

Denial is a dangerous drug.  It can get you through a lot of shit you don’t want to own up to.  While the passionate part of me loved waking up to one of your coughs at 3 AM, the rational part of me screamed to get over it.  Be annoyed by it, even.  I needed to get over it or else risk giving that part of me to you forever.  Do you have any idea how irritating it would be to wake up to a cough next to you and feel heart break each and every time?  How much easier it would have been if we would’ve only had a one night stand.  A quick fling that burnt out before it had a chance to really dig its roots in.  But that one night stand turned into a four month relationship. And me learning to love your late-night coughing fits.

It was four months of me watching ‘Glee’ and trying to learn what kinds of wines you liked paired with your meals, even though I didn’t drink wine.  It was four months of you listening to me tell baseball stories and rolling your eyes every time it was on the TV.  It was months of me learning to love that uncomfortable wicker couch your mom gave you from her days in college, or the fact that you slept on a futon to conserve space in your room.  I’m still incredibly sentimental about those things.

And sadly, it really didn’t seem like that long of a time, four months.  But those pieces of myself I gave away to you were gigantic ones.  The fastest way to lose a piece of yourself is to give it to someone else.

After your parents packed up the remainder of the boxes and I finished my conversation with your dad about the Little League World Series, my heart sank.  Your dad smiled at me when he shook my hand.  You mom hugged me.  Invited me to stop by whenever I could make it over to that part of the state.  I politely agreed.  Even though, in my tumbling heart, I knew that day wouldn’t come.  This was it.

When I wrapped my arms around you in that parking lot, I fell to pieces.  I joked around about packing myself up in a box and going with you, but in that saddened, delusional state, I don’t know if I was really kidding or not.

I wanted to tell you so badly how much I loved you.  How I would quit my job and move half way around the world if you wanted to.  Just to be able to lie down and know that the next day I could wake up next to you.

But instead I stood there, in the parking lot of your shitty apartment complex, holding a box of cold pizza your mother insisted I take with me for helping you pack up the last of the boxes.  After the last hug, the last kiss.

And so I take a deep breath and sigh.  I smile and fake it the best that I can.

What a pud.

I hate you Coover Bennett.  I hate you and your stupid Southern accent.

Thanks, ‘Duk.

If you want to go check out the original article, you can click here.

Sadly, it turns out that life doesn’t always imitate art.  Bob Saget is really a giant pervert, Dave Coulier isn’t funny doing anything other than the voice of a woodchuck, Jodie Sweetin is a whacked out meth addict, and John Stamos… well, actually, it turns out that John Stamos is pretty awesome.  One of the best parts of that show, however, was the adorable set of twins, Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, who portrayed Michelle Tanner.  Michelle was a well-trained family pet the adorable youngest daughter of the troupe.  She had impeccable timing with catch-phrases like, “You got it dude!” and, “You’re in big trouble mister!”   In my head, when I think of “Full House”, I remember when Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen both looked like this.

Those kids were adorable. It almost makes me want to go out and get one of my own.

Unfortunately, early celebrity has taken yet two more victims in its deadly grasp.

Ah! Gross.

Keep your resumes up-to-date, girls.  I hear Tim Burton is casting for his sequel to ‘The Corpse Bride’ soon.

Someday I hope to make a million bucks doing this job.

Because we play baseball in Northwestern Pennsylvania, our first time on an actual baseball field this season was today when we scrimmaged another local high school.

Baseball is a winter sport around these parts.

During games, I coach first base, which means I spend most of my day reminding kids to check the signs from our third base coach, remind them of the outs, and to get a solid primary lead and a good secondary lead.  So I miss a lot of what goes on in the dugout.

After the game today, another coach on our staff told me about an incident in our dugout while I was out coaching on the bases.  Our Junior Varsity team was sitting on the bench while our starters played the first three innings.  One of our fourth year seniors who was in the dugout turned to the freshmen and said, “Let’s go guys!  Get up on the fence [and cheer]!”  The freshmen were a little perplexed.  So he repeated himself.

“Let’s go guys!  Get up on the fence!  This is what we do for Maplewood baseball!”

I am hard-pressed to think of a time when I felt such a sense of pride.  That deserves an ‘atta baby.

Sometimes my best friend. Sometimes my worst enemy.

“Hey Pandora.  How are ya?”

“Excellent.  Thank you for asking.  What are we listening to today, sir?”

“I’m not feeling the Foo Fighters station today.  They’re rockin’ a little too hard for me.  How about some Kings of Leon radio?”

“Oh, excellent choice, if I do say so myself.  Let me tune that right up for you… and how do you feel about ‘Cold Desert’ by Kings of Leon?”

“I’m going to give this song a thumbs up, Pandora.  It’s a great song.  Thanks.  I’m just gonna work on some progress reports while I listen.”

“Of course.  Godspeed, sir.”

[5:34 passes by]

“Well, if you liked ‘Cold Desert’, you’re absolutely going to love this.”

[Coldplay's 'Clocks' begins]

“Ugh.  Sorry, Pandora.  I’m not a big Coldplay fan.  I’m going to have to give this a thumbs down.”

“But, sir!  Just last week you gave ‘Green Eyes’ by Coldplay a thumbs up.  I… I don’t understand.”

“Yeah.  I mean, I like that particular song, I guess.  That doesn’t mean I like everything by Coldplay.”

[Pause]

“Is it me, sir?  Did I do something wrong?”

“What?  No, Pandora!  You’re awesome!  It’s not you, it’s me.  I really don’t like Coldplay.”

“I don’t understand, sir.  You liked them just last week. And now you hate them.  And you hate me!  I wish I had never been invented!”

“No.  Jesus, Pandora.  Calm down.  Listen, I’m going to go back to Foo Fighters Radio.  How about that?  You know I love the Foo Fighters.  Is that okay?”

[Pandora sniffles]

“I guess, yeah.  That would be okay.”

“All right.  Here we go.  Foo Fighters radio.  ‘Everlong’!  Look at that, Pandora!  One of my all-time favorite songs!”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“No, seriously.  You’ve seen my Foo Fighters posters hanging up in my room.  You know how much I love listening to them.”

“You really mean that?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

“Well thank you, sir.  I must say, it was an excellent choice giving this song a thumbs up.  You know, the rhythm syncopation, key tonalities, and vocal harmonies of ‘Everlong’ are very similar to Audioslave’s ‘I Am A Highway’.  I think I’ll add that to your mix on this station.”

“That sounds great, Pandora.  Thanks!  I’m gonna get back to work now.”

“Absolutely, sir.  Enjoy my musical selection for you.”

[4:00 passes]

“Pandora!  ‘Clocks’ by Coldplay again?  I just gave that song a thumbs down on my Kings of Leon radio station.  Of course I’m going to give it another thumbs down now.”

“Stop yelling at me, dammit!  Coldplay is similar to Keane, a British rock piano band, whose song ‘Under the Iron Sea’ you gave a thumbs up two weeks ago.  Keane’s rhythm syncopation is very similar to The Killers, who you give thumbs up to all the time, which are nearly identical in voice tonality to The Black Keys.  And you love their song ‘Set You Free’ on this station!”

“Pandora, can you please just not play any Coldplay song other than ‘Green Eyes’?  I really don’t like their music that much.  Just that one song.”

“No!  You’re a jerk!  I slave all day and night syncopating for you, and this is the thanks I get?  If you want ‘Green Eyes’ on your playlist, you’re going to have to give every other Coldplay song a thumbs down or listen to all of them.”

“Fine.  Can you play ‘Green Eyes’ for me so I can give it a thumbs down?  I don’t want Coldplay on my Foo Fighters station.”

“No.  You know I have to randomly…”

“Generate music based on the rhythm syncopation, key tonalities, and vocal harmonies I’ve liked and disliked.  I know, I know.  I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have even asked.”

“Oh.  Hang on.  Here’s an advertisement for Netflix.”

[30 seconds passes]

“I just can’t believe how disrespectful you’re being to me today.”

[Sitting, Waiting, Wishing by Jack Johnson begins to play]

“Pandora!  How the hell did Jack Johnson get on my Foo Fighters radio station?!”

“Well, ‘Sitting, Waiting, Wishing’ is very similar structurally to ‘We Are Going To Be Friends’ by the White Stripes, which you liked a year and a half ago.  Don’t yell at me for doing my job!”

“You know what, Pandora?  I’m going just going to run out to my car and get my iPOD.  This isn’t even worth it anymore.”

“You rapscallion!  How dare you speak that bastard’s name in our house!”

“No.  I’m serious.  I’m going to put on my own Mellow Rock playlist in my iPOD dock.  I’ve had enough of your random music selections for one afternoon.”

[I get up and leave the room]

Zach Galifianakis?  No, it’s Sam Beam, the one-man-band Iron and Wine.  Give him a listen.