Sorry about the minimal blogging this week, you guys. I've been recapping Apprentice: Martha Stewart for Television Without Pity this week (read the recap here) and have been busybusybusy besides.
To tide you over, I came across the following as I was weeding out my document folder at work: the bio I wrote for myself when I was writing the column for 411. I'm not sure if they're still planning on making a go of their author bio section, but it occurs to me that I put some work into the following smart-assed remarks, so why let it go to waste. So, if you at all care, here's what would have been my entry:
Joe Reid; AKA, Dr. Frederick von Gigglehoffer, AKA Jimmy Six Thumbs, AKA His Royal Highness The Duke, Duke, Duke, Duke of Earl
Maintenance of Monday morning mirth on the Movies/TV page.
I began low on the 411 totem pole, fetching coffee for Widro and Quaaludes for Ashish. Then I began ghostwriting for several of the zones around here, going by aliases such as “Warren Woo,” “Matt Biscuiti,” “Eric S.,” and “Aaron Cameron”. I got to write under my own name with the recurring column “The End Credits,” the fourth issue of which exposed the sordid weapons-for-sex scandal at Sony Pictures Classics. I won the Nobel Prize in Muckraking for that piece. From there, I horned in on the weekly news column racket with the “Friday Movie News Happy Hour”, a pulpit from which I mocked Tom Cruise’s height and Ben Affleck’s existence, made roughly 347 reports on the status of the new “Superman” movie, and, on August 30th, 2003, killed Charles Bronson. I’ve yet to be brought up on charges for that last one.
Mostly uncredited stuff: I was the fifth Golden Girl (Rose Neiland’s long lost cousin from New Hampshire), the fourth Amigo (Martin Short’s jealousy and pettiness kept me on the cutting room floor), the 11th Lubbock family member on “Just the Ten of Us” (Heather Langenkamp’s jealousy and pettiness – not to mention her crystal meth addiction – kept me on the cutting room floor), and the long lost Huxtable child, Cousin Rufus, the famous the jazz musician (yeah, yeah, they all are).
“That dog has been licking his asshole for the last three straight hours. I submit to you that there is nothing there worth more than an hour's attention, and I should think that whatever he is attempting to dislodge, is either gone for good . . . or there to stay.”
Worked in the coal mines, grifted for a bit on the Jersey shore, ran with the bulls in Pamplona, ran with the woodchucks in Pennsylvania, ran with the Crips in the Compton of your imagination, caddied for Senators and CEOs, captains and kings, smoked weed with Willie Nelson, smoked crack with Meredith Baxter, dropped acid with Imelda Marcos and went on a three-day Ny-Quil bender with three-fifths of The Eagles.
What else do you need to know?
I enjoy NFL football, Labatt Blue Light, reality television, and the music of Ann and Nancy Wilson.
I do not enjoy paper cuts, tomatoes, when networks schedule shows I’d normally watch on Friday nights, or the music of Steely Dan.
You can catch me soon, on tour, playing the spoons for Dr. Funke’s 100% Natural Good Time Family Band Solution.