If They Only Knew!

At one point this week, I felt like my blog should be about a certain television concept I find absolutely absurd. And while it’s not really going to stray from the absurd too terribly much (the topic du jour is quite strange and laughable to me), I just couldn’t find enough funny information about my original blog idea, which was tentatively titled:

“The ridiculousness of the reunion episode of Gilligan’s Island in which the Harlem Globetrotters came and played basketball against a team of robots.”

Yep, that’s no lie. Some of you already know this “TV Movie” exists and have seen it. I saw it many years ago on TBS and barely remember it, and apparently didn’t note at the time how ridiculous the concept was. It’s been brought to my attention recently and I wanted to talk about it, but I didn’t have enough material to make it worth reading. So I’m going to discuss something else that’s equally stupid, but a bit more recent…

Over Mother’s Day weekend Dawn and I went home to visit our moms and families. On Saturday I was introduced to a show on Spike TV called “Pros Versus Joes,” in which regular people or “average Joes” compete in sporting events against current and former professional athletes. The show was actually quite entertaining. The “pros” are actually given physical handicaps at times to not only show off how awesome these individuals are at their sports, but also to give the “Joes” a chance. And the Joes aren’t your run-of-the-mill dudes either, they’re fairly athletic - not overly athletic, but not too bad. So it's competitive most of the time.

On Sunday, Spike had a marathon of the show, so I tuned in for an episode or two. One thing I noticed was that the show (which normally doesn’t have the same "pros" from show to show) featured the same five athletes in two episodes that I happened to catch on different days: former NBA player Dominique Wilkins, former major league catcher Darren “Dutch” Daulton, U.S. women’s soccer star Brandi Chastain, “the world’s fastest man” Chris Gatlin, and Heisman winner and NFL great Herschel Walker. It was a chance to see the personalities of these respected athletes in an “off the field” setting, which was neat. I thought Herschel and ‘Nique were hilarious, and Brandi talked a little more trash than expected. I also found out that Chris Gatlin is just flat-out cool. Darren Daulton rarely talked though, and no one talked to him. Now that I think about it, I don’t think he said a word in any of the episodes I watched. So I don’t really know too much about his attitude off the field. But as it turns out, I don’t think I want to know too much about him. Here’s why:

It seems that Mr. Daulton has a slightly different world view than say…everyone else on the entire planet. This includes Tom Cruise. In fact, Daulton’s philosophy on the universe is so off kilter that I'm not sure I need to ever blog about how insane I think Cruise is, because it would all be in the shadow of the weirdness that is Darren Daulton.

You see, our pal Darren (according to an article in Sports Illustrated) occupies “a nether world that involves alchemy, auras, telepathy, energy transfers, astral planes, planetary ascension, parallel universes and other psychic phenomena too mind-boggling to catalog.” Now, I personally know some people that are into psychic-type stuff and auras and astrology and the whole bit, and I'm not really concerned that they believe that. Not everyone has the same world view as myself, and I understand that. That’s not what I’m getting at. It’s the part about “energy transfers, astral planes, planetary ascension…” that kind of gets me. The guy actually thinks that he leaves his body when he sleeps. Now, don't get me wrong, I believe in supernatural activity to a certain extent, but let me tell you something personal about me: When I sleep, I stay IN MY BODY. I'm not going anywhere. I’m in my house, in my bed. When Cooper barks at a car going by at 2:00 a.m., I’m not hustling back from elsewhere in the solar system or some fourth dimension, I’m slowly opening my crusty eyelids and trying to restrain from kicking him off the bed.

That aside, I don’t necessarily think he’s nuts solely because he believes in those things. Misguided? Yes. The thing that starts pushing him into the lunatic bin for me is the fact that Darren Daulton thinks the world is going to end in six years. That’s right, he thinks the world will end at 11:11 a.m., GMT on December 21, 2012. I don’t know enough about his beliefs to understand why he thinks that this is the exact date and time (it has something to do with the Mayan calendar and the number 11) that the world will end, and frankly, I don’t care. The one thing I do know is, come December 2012, the authorities had better keep an eye on this guy. Me thinks that Dutch could be hittin’ the yam-yam or downing a few scotch-and-sodas and gettin’ a little crazy around that time. You know, with the authorities and every other being on earth being destroyed on the 21st, you might as well live it up, huh?

So what is the significance of the 11:11? Well that part seems pretty simple - according to the Sports Illustrated interview, Daulton said “Reality is created and guarded by numeric patterns that overlap and awaken human consciousness, like a giant matrix or hologram. They are created by sacred geometry -- numbers, the language of the universe, codes of awakening -- such as 11:11, which represent twin strands of DNA about to return to balance. Eleven equals BALANCE."

Well, duh. Who didn’t know that? It's about geometry and codes and DNA.

He goes on to say, "I'll wake up at night and look at the clock and it's 11:11. I'll turn on the TV and see a baseball game tied at 11 in the 11th inning. I'll look out the window and see a car passing with 1111 on the license plate. The car will turn into a driveway with 1111 on the mailbox."

Maybe Ol’ Dutchie’s been watching a little too much Lost. Or maybe he's stalking people with ones on their license plates. [NOTE TO THOSE OF YOU WHOSE HOME ADDRESS IS 1111 SOMETHING: Move. Darren Daulton is coming to scare the crap out of you.] Who else would be willing to bet that DD just lies in bed until 11:11 staring at the clock so he can freak himself out? And I wonder how many major league baseball games have actually been tied at 11 in the 11th inning in the last nine or 10 years (the amount of time he’s had these kooky beliefs). It can’t be very many.

And did I mention that in the article, Daulton admits that it rains when he’s upset? No, that's not a joke. It actually starts raining when the guy is in a bad mood. So whenever it’s raining outside, be sure to blame it on him. And if a child ever asks you, “Why does it rain?,” be sure to tell them it’s because Darren Daulton is angry. It has nothing to do with climates or the water cycle.

So Uncle Darren’s apparently working on a new book now (surprise). He’s compiling all of his…theories?...into a page-turner called “If They Only Knew!,” and apparently, within his masterpiece he will reveal some shocking “truths” about the world in which we live. I can’t do this any justice by paraphrasing it, so here’s an excerpt straight from SI.com:

… the Mayan temples were built not by the Mayans, who were merely caretakers, but by a lost civilization. Possibly the Atlanteans, who allegedly disappeared beneath the waves. Possibly space aliens.

Daulton can ramble in mind-numbing detail about Dark Forces, the illusion of substance, the limitations of linear time. "The universe is made of vibrating energy," he says. "When energy vibrates fast enough on our 3-D plane, matter becomes invisible. Everything you see is vibrating at a certain level. A dirt clod, a rock..."

Even a rosin bag?

"Sure. A rosin bag is just a mirage of innumerable particles constantly speeding up or slowing down. But the Fourth and Fifth Dimensions remain unseen by most people. Their vibrations are at a lower frequency." Whether those vibrations are "good" is perhaps something only the Beach Boys can divine.

Earth, Daulton believes, is entering a quadrant of space in which the "vibrational energy" will increase dramatically. "The Mayan calendar stops at Dec. 21, 2012 -- the date the Mayans believed the world would end," he says. "On that day, at 11:11 a.m. Greenwich Mean Time, those who are ready to ascend will vanish from this plane of existence, like the crew of the Enterprise in Star Trek."

Um…

Here’s a tip, Daulty. If you want to appear even the slightest bit credible in your cornball ramblings, try not to mention the TV series Star Trek (no offense, Dustin) within them. You pretty much want to separate yourself as much as you can from that show if you’re a raving derelict trying to sway people's opinions.

This guy is long gone.

Daulton, who spent six months in a drug and rehabilitation program a few years ago, has apparently dealt with those particular demons, telling SI that he doesn’t drink or do drugs. So it’s not the chemicals talking…and he’s not legally insane…hmm. He is from Philadelphia though (no offense, Woodsie), so he’s probably a Flyers fan, but even that shouldn’t make him goofy enough to believe such out-of-the-ordinary things.

But why do I even try to understand? Even Daulton’s close friends don’t get him. He claims that’s normal though, stating, “When I share my thoughts and experiences with them, I tell them there's absolutely no way their minds can comprehend what I'm trying to relate. My friends are limited to the five senses." Sure Dutchie. In other words, you're saying your friends are stupid because they don't believe you. Not a good move, pal. Burning bridges isn't a good idea when your only friend is Mr. Spock.

Dutch’s claim about his first out-of-body experience is all his word against...um…reality, I guess. Daulton told SI in February that it’s fairly obvious it wasn’t he who hit a line drive down the third base line to win a close game against the Cubbies nine years ago. I mean, sure, the guy was wearing his uniform and had his…body, but it wasn’t him. He said, “The strange thing was I didn’t hit that ball. I never hit balls inside the third base line.” Uh…wait a minute - he’s right! In fact, it’s a physical impossibility for him! It must have been an out-of-body experience! Oh no, we only have six more years to live!

Now I know why Herschel and Dominique don't talk to him.

Six degrees of weirded-out.

I went to sleep last night very disturbed. Was I wrestling with some sort of daily problem or stressing out about work, you ask? No. Was I feeling down or depressed about something? Not at all. In fact, I was in a really good mood when Dawn and I tucked ourselves in after a date night. We settled in and caught the end of "ER" and talked about the upcoming weekend. But then it happened.

NBC aired a commercial for undergarment superpower Hanes. And it wasn’t your typical guys-in-tightie-whities-getting-their-wastebands-snapped-by-a-mischevious-woman type of ad. And it wasn’t a run-of-the-mill “people shopping for clothes” type of ad either. Nope, this one sent my mind to places I didn’t want it to go. This ad was disturbing beyond comprehension, not because of its shock value or strange imagery, but more for its subtlety and undertones. For those of you who haven’t seen it, I’ll give you a little bit of background:

The ad stars everyone’s favorite Hollywood everyman Kevin Bacon and none other than Hanes’ highest-paid and most-recognized spokesperson, former NBA superstar Michael Jordan! I could probably just leave it at that, and leave you going, “Whaaaaaaa????” but I won’t. I’ll further confuse you by telling you that the ad begins with Kevin Bacon playing basketball, wearing one of Hanes’ vibrantly-colored “tees.” So Bacon (for comedic value, I will now refer to him as K-Bake) is shooting hoops by himself and he puts up this shot that…looks...like…it’s going in…and then, BAM! Out of nowhere comes MJ to block the shot! Wow, just like during his playing days. Except this time, Jordan isn’t all sweaty and trash-talking like he would to Patrick Ewing. No, this time, he’s decked out in Hanes gear and gives K-Bake a little wry smile. And then K-Bake looks around really confused like he's having flashbacks of Tremors.

So the ad presses on, flashing some colorful images of K-Bake in multiple different shirts (or as my wife would call them, “tops”), and in comes the jingle, “Look who we’ve got our Hanes on now.” Um…yeah, it’s Kevin Bacon that you have your "Hanes on." So what? It’s Kevin Bacon. I mean, I can understand Mr. Jordan inspiring people to buy undies, but Bacon? What is likeable about him? I mean, really. But, I digress. Back to the commercial. So now Bacon is just arriving at home wearing his Hanes clothing and he decides to "shoot" his keys towards a red bowl of some kind as if to say, “What a zany day on the hardcourts. To show my exhaustion, I will take one last jump shot and land these keys in that bowl across my studio apartment.” Makes sense, I guess. So the keys are in the air, everyone’s thinking about how cool K-Bake was in Footloose and then – POW!!! – out of nowhere, here’s Jordan again to swat the keys away and keep them from going in the bowl.

Okay, wait. Hold on. Jordan is in Kevin Bacon’s house now? Are these guys roommates, or is Jordan some sort of expert at picking locks? And why doesn’t Bacon care? He just gives Jordan the old, “You got me again, ya big lug” awestruck stare and Jordan peers (I don’t want to say lustfully, but close…more like “creepily”) back at K-Bake. Another blocked shot for Jordan. You should be proud, MJ. You blocked a guy who’s seven inches shorter than you and probably sucks at basketball. And not only did you block him, you blocked his keys. That's tough to do. Retirement’s treated you well, you haven’t lost a step. Must be the Hanes underwear.

But there’s more wacky hi-jinx from K-Bake and MJ to come. Kevin Bacon is now in his…recording studio?...apparently fresh off of writing a composition of some sort, acoustic guitar leaning next to him. Well, apparently K-Bake isn’t too happy with this particular song he’s written, because he wads it up violently and tosses it towards the trash can. As a viewer you’re like, “Ho-hum, I’ve seen this before, Kevin’s just tossing away a piece of refuse." But no. The paper ball is near the garbage bin when – BOOYAH! – like a white-collar Superman with a porn moustache, here comes none other than future NBA Hall-of-Famer Michael Jordan sliding by on an office chair to block it from going in, much to K-Bake's dismay. Rejected, Kevin! Take that! Michael 3, Bacon 0. Needless to say, the two exchange looks again like Al and Peg Bundy might – frustrated, yet mischeviously bonded to one another somehow…

And in the final scene – the climax of the ad, if you will, Bacon is in his kitchen staring at the walls of his apparently very expensive and lonely life in NYC (wife Kyra Sedgwick and their two children are apparently never around, which is why they bought themselves a pet…uh…Jordan). Anyway, so Bacon is sitting around contemplating…um...probably his role in Animal House, when he decides it’s time to eat a grape. He pulls a piece of fruit off of the bunch and then looks around to make sure that no one (i.e. Jordan) is around to prevent the following act from occurring (if this isn’t evidence of these two apparently shacking up together, I don’t know what is). So K-Bake notices the coast is clear and tosses the grape up in the air. Cue the slow motion…the grape is falling, falling, Bacon’s mouth is agape, falling, falling, OH SNAP! – he’s done it again. Jordan catches the grape! What an athlete! And he’s wearing Hanes!

By this time, K-Bake is visually frustrated, and Jordan is kind of…uh…turned on?...I don’t know what’s going on. Then the "Air-man" proceeds to ask "What?" and eat the grape and give K-Bake a little wink (what the heck is that about?) and the audience is left feeling just a little uncomfortable. Actually, even K-Bake is feeling a little bit awkward about his pal Michael Jordan by this time. I just wish this commercial didn’t leave so much to the imagination. I wish after the opening scene they would have been in the locker room and K-Bake would have tossed his sweaty shirt to his locker and MJ would have snagged it and taken a big whiff of it like Hannibal Lecter might. Okay, maybe I don’t wish that would happen, but at least that way we’d know what was happening between these guys and we wouldn’t have to try and figure it out for ourselves. It’s just flat-out weird. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but these guys are not linked in any way except for the fact that Hanes paid them a lot of money to appear a wee bit “chummy” in a nationwide commercial. What was Hanes thinking? Were they sitting around asking, “Well, we have Michael, but we really need someone that could play a good sidekick. Who could we get?” Was the first answer to this question really "Kevin Bacon?" If it wasn’t, then it was turned down by pretty much anyone else offered the part after they read the script for the commercial. In fact, Bacon could have been one of their last choices, he probably just jumped at the opportunity to act with possibly the only person on the planet with whom he hasn’t acted before.

watch the ad

"Soul Patch Paranoia" or "Does Aaron Dream of Electric Sheep?"

I think my soul patch is making me paranoid. Shortly after blogging about my facial hair I realized that there was something I had left out of my rant. Since I’ve been growing the patch I've wondered if I’m becoming a hippie. I didn’t wonder this until I was doing some minor research on the soul patch and the style was associated with hippies (a la Frank Zappa) and blues/jazz musicians from the 50s and 60s. I wouldn’t have immediately thought, “Man, am I turning into a hippie?” if I hadn’t been asked earlier that day (by my friend Derek) if Dawn and I were “turning into hippies” because we’ve been buying a lot of organic foods for the past few months. But that was pretty much as far as it went – that was about the height of my paranoia until Angela innocently commented on my MySpace blog about the derivation of the name "soul patch." I had always thought it was the association with the musicians that apparently coined the style, but thought I should check it out to make sure. What I uncovered was something far more than my incredibly vulnerable psyche could handle. In my search, I came across a message board on which someone said they thought soul patches were worn to "signal that you were gay." Someone replied to this saying that was untrue; that it was mainly worn by guys that were "really vain." Further, on this same message board the soul patch was referred to as a "flavor savor," and another name that was so crude that I won't bother to repeat it here (for those of you with good imaginations, the term was an amalgam of the word "man" and a part of the female anatomy). It was also stated that only hippies and beatnik poets should wear soul patches, but nowhere did it tell me where the term came from. Regardless, I was no longer thinking about the origin of the moniker; I was now contemplating whether or not people think I’m either: 1) Gay, 2) A Hippie, 3) A Jazz Musician, 4) A Beatnik Poet, 5) Really vain, or 6) Apolo Anton Ohno. Maybe this is why no one says anything about it – they think I’m having an identity crisis. Maybe that’s why my wife hasn’t decided if she likes it or not – she’s waiting to see if I start speaking in haiku or become a really good bongo or saxophone player…or maybe she likes the smell of incense and this is some sort of reverse psychology method of getting me to play her Strawberry Alarm Clock’s greatest hits. Or maybe the world as I know it could all be some sort of big Truman Show-like social experiment that I’m a part of and everyone is in on it. But this soul patch, this is the turning point for me. I’ve figured out what’s going on. Now I’ve just got to figure out how to escape to the real world...

Man, I’ve got to stop watching Lost. I’m really starting to creep myself out.

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