Can You Teach Me How to Jerk?

I have to admit something to you. I'll whisper it. Come closer. A little closer. Now back away because I almost kissed your ear. I'm not like that.

I'm not on the cutting edge of music. Most music. I'm pretty cutting edge when it comes to indie rock and acoustic jams because of my roommates. They're so cutting edge. Especially Emerson - he's razor sharp. Emerson isn't allowed to hold babies anymore because of what happened to the last one. But when it comes to all other music, which is like 97%, we're clueless. We get things four years after they come out. Like that time my Uncle Patrick upgraded to Windows 95 after Y2K because he was finally convinced that computers were safe.

Justin will tell you that it's because all other music sucks. He'll probably make some sort of analogy using "faggot." Truth be told, though, it's because it's hard to keep up with music. I get most of it from Justin and Emerson, and keeping up with them is hard enough. If I wanted to add another genre, I'd have to start drinking Gatorade constantly to replenish and refuel. Electrolytes. They're what I crave.

Okay, I'll ask you - have you heard of the jerk movement? I just read an article about in from the L.A. Weekly. Apparently it all started at Hamilton High in L.A., which is like three miles from where Justin grew up. One kid who had a superpower for sick beats moved in, and out of that high school like eighteen jerk rappers and dance groups became famous. It sounds exactly like Footloose. And they were still in high school. Teenagers would line the parking lot for a chance to see them leaving classes. The only time I've ever seen that happen was when Lewis Chase called in a bomb threat on my school and the police escorted him out in handcuffs. Later they found a paper towel roll spray painted to look like a pipe bomb. It was filled with newspaper clipping. We all agreed Lewis Chase was the lamest loner ever, but secretly I wanted to be him.

The problem with the L.A. Weekly article is that I found it two days ago, but it was published in the summer of 2009. I'm almost two years behind. And I still can't do the dance.



That's Audio Push - Oktane and Pricetag. They're my new idols. They do this one move called "the Reject." It's like the Running Man but backwards. I got a concussion earlier today when I tried it and tripped on the cat Justin is keeping for the weekend. Emerson said he would've picked it up but he wasn't allowed to after what happened with the baby. Remember?

I can't tell Justin about my new obsession because he'll just make fun of me, but Emerson is totally in. We watched this music video like six times today, and all we can do is the U.F.O. We're thinking about putting together a dance crew called Megaphlexx. Just the two of us, and maybe that one white kid in the video. I'm pretty sure I've seen him at Yogurtland before.

Armageddon

Okay, I don't care what Justin says - I love Armageddon. I realize the movie was manufactured like McDonald's hamburgers, but I like McDonald's hamburgers, and no, I don't want to watch Food, Inc. with my roommate Emerson. I don't really want to know what's in the burgers. Also, while we're on the subject, I don't want to watch King of Kong with Justin. I don't care if all the hipsters watch it - that's the only reason Justin wants to watch it, anyway. The pretty barista at Starbucks with the sleeve tattoo of three Chinese dragons always brings it up. He thinks if he thinks if he takes her on a date to play the original arcade version of Donkey Kong like the one in the movie, he will get some. He told me this in a rare moment of transparency. And now I'm repaying him by posting it on the internet.

We had roomie dinner tonight. Emerson cooked rice pilaf and chicken while Justin and I agreed to do the dishes. Emerson took off after dinner to meet someone - a girl, but don't tell Justin I know. He's not supposed to. He doesn't like her. When Justin and I started the dishes, I turned on the television and, boom, there was Armageddon. It was biblical.

Justin wanted to turn it off. He said it offended him. Offended him. As if Bruce Willis stepped out of the television and threw a knife into the leather chair only Justin can sit in. I said over Bruce Willis' dead body. That was the compromise - when Bruce died, we'd turn it off.

I don't know a lot about movies, but Armageddon always holds my attention. I want to say it's expertly paced, but that reminds me of the speed walking Olympic trials Uncle Patrick tried to enter. He got toasted. You should've seen those competitors walk. But I digress. In Armageddon, it seems like something is always going wrong. And I always care about it. Plus everyone tears up when Bruce and Ben Affleck are shouting, "I love you!" Even Justin.

After Armageddon, The Transporter came on and we watched the first thirty minutes before realizing not only had we not done any dishes but Justin had missed shift change at Starbucks and would have to wait three more days before seeing Three Chinese Dragons, as we call the pretty barista. He punched me in the arm when we found out. I still have a bruise.

To the Girl Working at Yogurtland

There's a new yogurt shop that opened up maybe three blocks from my house. It's called Yogurtland, and it's a chain. I went with Justin to one in L.A. That was the trip he fought the transvestite. Don't tell him I told you this, but I'm pretty sure he lost. I have pictures, but in all honesty I photoshopped them a little so they lose credibility. The lighting was really bad.

Anyway, tonight we walked together to Yogurtland. April is gorgeous. I think it is my favorite month. I've even looked ahead on my daily Dilbert calendar - there's some really funny cartoons in the next thirty days! But the temperature is beautiful, and I mean that word. It was like floating in a pool. We floated for three blocks until Justin started smoking. Then it was like hanging out with Uncle Patrick.

The walls of the interior of Yogurtland are tiled with these little one inch by one inch ceramics. Emerson said they looked like seashells, and I think they did. Manufactured sea shells like my dad used to buy when we went to Destin. He used to hide them in the sand and let us find them. I felt betrayed after I learned the truth.

Emerson told me once that his dad used to take him to the beach after church, but they wouldn't talk. They'd just sit there in silence, in like February, with sand in the pockets of their nice khaki pants. Emerson's dad is really cool. I wonder if he would guest blog?

Yogurtland is self serve. You get the yogurt and the toppings yourself and it's priced by weight. And this isn't regular soft serve - Uncle Patrick always calls Dairy Queen yogurt, but it's not. He lives in Arkansas though. I don't worry about him. This yogurt is tart. There's a kick - you need chocolate or berries to even it out.

The cashier at Yogurtland is stunning. She's short - maybe five foot nothing, if she jumps - but oh my goodness she looks like an angel. When we were getting toppings, I asked Justin what he thought of her. He said she was six inches too short. That's right up my alley. I go for the misprints.

I bought my yogurt last. Emerson made some headway for me; he was the warm up conversation. He's an excellent wing man. Justin I think winked at her, which is okay with me, because it makes me look less like a tool. Then I went in, and I said something really funny. I mean, really funny. I remember she laughed very hard. Emerson will attest to this. But I can't remember what I said because the next moment overwhelms that memory. After the initial success, I said, "Have you ever watched Battlestar Galatica?"

Afterwards, I asked for a receipt, hoping she would write her number on it, but she threw it away right in front of me. Maybe she didn't hear.