A transcript of my acceptance speech from last night’s Oscars:
Oh, wow. Wow, y'know? I just... I mean... I just had no idea I'd be up here accepting this award. I probably should've popped this giant zit on my nose.
First off, I wan to thank my fellow nominees. Sir Ian, Dicky, John, Johnald---I'm humbled to be counted as your peer. (Or now, according to my new pay scale, your better.) Your performances this year really pushed me to campaign so much harder for this award. You guys are badasses, and I [bleep]-ing mean that.
Whoops. I just got bleeped. Hopefully that came across as charming and not crassly self-indulgent.
I want to thank my parents. Where are you, Mom? There she is, sitting in front of Jenny McCarthy. Mom, you gave me so much love and support and the genetic coding that went into this symmetrical face and thick, wavy hair. Not these teeth, though; these are caps.
Also, Mommy, you encouraged me to follow my dreams when that creepy casting director with stubby fingers discovered me on the McDonald's playground.
I'd also like to thank all the people behind the scenes who stuck with me through all my stints in rehab and my petty assault charges. I'm glad I was handsome enough that people still rooted for me. I've always said, Hollywood is a family.
And, to my team---my manager, Sol. My stylist, Reynardo. My dietitian, Rolf. My trainer, Gerhard. My lawyers, Putney Green Freeburg & Putney. My full-time make-up artist/mistress, Playmate of the Year Stasha Ivjorinkchvic. Without you, I would never have been able to pretend a giant CGI turtle taught me to be a better father.
And finally, thank you to my director, McG. You steered the ship. Every morning, you kept the technical nerds and sound girls from quitting over my coked-up sexual advances.
And, to my producer Harvey Weinstein---you managed to pay off that one NYPost reporter about that “thingy.” Plus, you had the foresight to cover up the film's breastfeeding mother with an exploding nun, dropping the rating from NC-17 to PG.
Oops, the music’s starting. Well, shut it off. I'm important. I said, shut it off…
Finally finally, I wanna say that this award isn't just about PR and spin. It's about the work. Everyone in this room loves this art of filmmaking. We understand how important it is to still look [bleep]-able while crying. We understand how to remember words for up to three minutes. Or, if we can’t remember whatchamacallits… words… then we can make up even more betterer words.
And, because of our deep love of film, we’ve done horrible, degrading things at the whim of hairy, obese men. We’ve listened to Gwyneth Paltrow talk. We’ve given up solid food and the ability to feel emotion. But, here tonight, with this tiny false idol in my hands, I know it was all worth it.
Thank you to the audience. Thank you, Academy. And, thank you to our thetan overloads.
This blog post has a margin of error of plus or minus 3%.
Which, I guess would mean that that number, itself, could be wrong. If it's three percentage points in error of its percentage of error, then this blog post could have a margin of error as large as 6% or as little as 0%, which would mean it was absolutely correct.
And, if we assume that it's absolutely correct that it has a 6% chance of being wrong about its 6% margin of error, than six times six is a 36%. Wow, this blog post has a possibility of being totally wrong a full one-third of the time!
I'm sorry, I think I got my math wrong. I was never so good at numbers. When I said "possibility" I should have said "probability." because, we're dealing with probabilities, right?
That means this post is probably wrong 36% of the time. So, let's say that we test this blog three times, and each time it's one-third wrong. One-third times three is 100%. This blog post is probably totally wrong 100% of the time.
Or, 0% wrong, which is absolutely right. Both are equally valid possibilities/probabilities.
So, how can we tell if this blog post is 100% right or 100% wrong? Well, the only way is to ask one possibility what the other possibility would say and then assume the opposite.
See, if you asked the blog post that was right 100% of the time---let’s call that Post A---what the blog post that was wrong 100% of the time---Post B---would say… Let me start over.
Post A asks Post B if it’s correct, and Post A says that Post B said no. Well, if Post B is always wrong, Post B is wrong about it being wrong, which makes it right. But, then that makes Post A wrong about Post B being… I’m getting a really bad headache here. Does anyone have any ibuprofen?
Anyway, I can’t be sure, but I think this blog post is trying to create a paradox that would destroy the Space/Time Continuum. But, I think I can stop it by---
[BOOOOOOOMMMMM … pfizzzzle… pop!]
Oh shit, existence ended. Sorry, guys.
Heeeeyy! It's the one-year anniversary of me starting this blog! Hey, look at that, you guys ... Heeeeyy!
When I first started this project, the point was to write something funny every single day. Not just tweets or jokes, but something substantial and unique like a Shouts & Murmurs-style essay or a funny list or a video or a comic. And, I've done just that every day since.
[Well, after a while, I remembered I had a wife, and I started taking off Saturdays. Then, I took time off for the two holiest of holidays---Christmas and Monroe Wisconsin's Cheese Days Festival. But, other than that...]
This year hasn't simply been about writing a blog and starting a storytelling show and getting a new job and moving. [Oh my god, I'm so tired.] I've also had a series of everyday adventures. It's been a pretty big year for ol' Andy "Rad Tad" Ross.
Here's a list of things I've done/accomplished over the past year of writing this blog:
- I learned two chords on Colleen's ukulele. I also invented a third, extremely dissonant chord that might not technically be a chord but has promise.
- I gained twenty pounds for a movie role. Alright, home video role.
- I saw a really awesome dog on 8th Street and the park.
- Through careful Googling, I've gained a shaky understanding of awhile vs. a while.
- I legally changed my name to Commodore Baby Boy Ross. For tax purposes.
- I had a conversation with a stranger without nervously vomiting on his/her shoes.
- I learned how to ice skate, finally justifying this sequined leotard.
- I masturbated my way out of a clinical depression.
- I fell asleep at the opera twice, nearly doubling last year's record.
- I stopped drinking soda. Except when thirsty.
- I perfected my impression of Patrick Stewart's impression of Dana Carvey's impression of George Bush. It's pretty great.
- I briefly ran out of Thai spicy ketchup.
- I traded places with my royal doppelganger but found his clothes too itchy around the neck.
- I finally switched beard conditioners, which was terrifying.
- I mated a camel with a llama.
- I'm sorry, that last one should read "mated with a camel and a llama."
- I wore every one of my socks.
- I remained the Greatest Wedding Dancer Alive.
It's been a pretty big year, you guys. Thank you for reading the blog. It continues to be a lot of fun.
Let’s make this next year the Year of the Share Button. Whad’ya say?
Here's my take on the uncanny valley as it pertains to your toupee:
First off, whoa! That's a toupee!
I mean, I’ve probably seen toupees before. But, I've never seen a toupee that makes my brain scream "toupee" over and over again. Which yours does … Big time.
I can't take my eyes off it. Even though I desperately want to. What if I miss my subway stop?
Have you heard about the uncanny valley? It was first posited in 1978 by Japanese roboticist Masahiro Mori, but it didn’t enter popular discussion until pretty recent CGI advances. I think when the Final Fantasy movie came out. Or maybe Polar Express ... Anyway, that part's not important.
The uncanny valley says that anything meant to mimic natural, animal life and movement is fine as long as it's either somewhat stylized or perfectly realistic. If it's trying to perfectly mimic nature and fails in the slightest, it sets off an evolutionary instinct that says something is wrong. Very, very wrong. Like alien-in-a-baggy-flesh-suit wrong.
Guess where that toupee falls.
Because, if you were wearing like a big pink beehive, I wouldn't be so freaked out. I'd think, "Oh, that guy's having a one-man Groove Is in the Heart party" or something. But, that you're trying to imply that that ... thing ... is real hair---I'm very uncomfortable.
It's the lack of follicles. I guess the "hair" strands themselves might be mistaken for real hair. The part in the middle, though, looks so matted and nasty. Like a mouse made a nest in there.
So, the big question is, “So what?” Right? My instincts are going haywire over some dude’s cheap wig. You could be ill or recovering from illness, and not everyone can afford a David Letterman-quality toupee.
Aha, but then I noticed how violently you’re folding and unfolding your newspaper. Aggressive reading is never a good sign. Also, you have a Hitler moustache. But, it’s slightly off-center. And, now you blew your nose and then proceeded to eat the Kleenex!!!
So, I would like to say thank you to the uncanny valley. It is a very helpful evolutionary instinct that has told me I need to switch subway cars. Right away. Because, shit is about to go down on this one. This guy is super bonkers.
And, if it weren’t for that toupee, I would have never noticed.
Listen, I don't have a drinking problem. When I stop drinking, though, that's the problem. Ha cha cha chaaa. Am I right, folks?
Folks, am I right? ... Folks?
There are only two cures for a hangover like the one I'm feeling today. One is to invent a time machine, go back to Thursday, and not buy that first Ziploc bag full of rum. Despite what you might think, a bendy straw is no guarantee of quality alcohol.
The second, somewhat more practical cure is my grandfather’s sure-fire hangover-busting concoction, The Double Phoenix™. It is as follows:
1) Mix equal parts Gatorade and pickle juice in an empty cardboard milk container. I can’t give you and exact measurement for each, but when you jostle the container, it should make a dunk dunk sound, not a swish.
2) Add two shots of vodka that’s been passed through a Brita filter and blessed by a Greek Orthodox priest.
3) Allow to sit for 10 minutes. Take this time to shiver and throw up in the bathtub.
4) In a blender, mix the following separate from the pickle juice mixture:
- One glass of low acid, high pulp orange juice
- Eight strawberries with the seeds removed (may take time)
- One banana so overripe that it smells a little like kitty litter
- Five shakes of the green Tobasco, like the kind they have at Chipotle. Do they sell that in grocery stores? I always just steal it.
5) Wow, there have been a lot of brand names so far. I swear, this isn’t product placement on the blog. My grandfather was simply very brand loyal.
6) Pour each separate mixture into two Bell jars and place the jars two inches apart on the table.
7) Place an old-timey clothes pin over your nose and take a moment to collect your thoughts.
8) While staring at an 8 x 10 photo of Charles in Charge-era Scott Baio, slam the pickle juice, Gatorader, blessed vodka mixture. Wince.
9) Now, drink the orange juice blend. It does not mix well with the pickle juice. If you can’t bring yourself to do this step, have a friend or wife bury you up to your neck in moist river sand. Then they’ll have to force the orange juice/ Tobasco down the back of your throat using a turkey baster.
10) Take a 14-hour nap.
11) Repeat until recovered.
So, that’s it. The first time, it seems like a lot of work for a simple hangover. But, after about a few weeks of everyday practice, you begin to enjoy it. Especially the river sand part, which can feel all squishy and cool up under your gooch. Very soothing.
Well, good luck and God speed.
As a former sitting president of the United States, I gotta say that I love Presidents’ Day! It’s my all-time favorite holiday.
Every year, my children wake me up with breakfast in bed. It’s never anything special---just burnt toast and grapefruit juice. You can’t really expect them to be able to cook. They are only state governors, after all.
On the tray, there’s usually a bud vase and a crudely-wrapped gift box. Every year, it’s a new American flag pin. We joke about it being a cliché, but they know I love it.
My wife will get me a nice card from Walgreens and have the whole family sign it. Two years in a row, it’s been the same “World’s Greatest President” card, but I didn’t mention it. Wouldn’t want to embarrass her. I know the choices are pretty slim at Walgreens, especially considering how few living U.S. presidents there are.
After the morning is over, the rest of the day is mine. I don’t have to mow the lawn or give any speeches to the U.N. Conference on Trade and Development.
Instead, I go down to the snack stand near the mini golf place and get my free small dish of frozen custard. I can afford to pay, but I look forward all year for that freebie. It’s the little things.
This year’s Presidents’ Day was especially nice.
My wife, the former first lady, was presenting at a fundraising banquet at night, so I got to stay home to look after the grandkids. We watched It’s Presidents’ Day, Charlie Brown, and I made grilled cheese.
We played board games in the secret bunker underneath my Presidential library. Then, I tucked them into bed and wrote a chapter in my memoir about the different ways we tried to kill Castro. Did you know exploding cigars are a real thing? Crazy stuff.
I honestly can’t wait ‘til next year.
I think my friend Janet’s baby and I are starting to grow apart.
I don’t know---we used to have so much in common. We both enjoyed lying on our backs and staring at the ceiling. We liked the jangly sounds my house keys made. And, we’d both giggled at our own farts.
Plus---and this is what was so great---we had reached that point in our friendship where we could just sit and be quiet around each other. You know when you get to the level where you don’t have to fill every silence? That’s huge.
But, people change.
Now it’s talk talk talk. Janet’s baby babbles on and on. Blah blah blah. And, it’s never about anything real or substantial. Just vapid small talk. “Ooh doggy! Doggy! Doggy! Arf arf, doggy!”
What is that? I mean, if we have to talk about something, can’t it be something we’re both interested in? Yes, a good conversation can be invigorating, but one-sided conversations like that are sooo tiring.
And, we always have to be going somewhere. This guy, he’s always toddling around at full speed, and it’s up to me to keep up. First it’s this side of the living room, then it’s that side. Then it’s the kitchen or the laundry room. Do you know people like that? It’s always on to the next hot spot, the next cool thing.
That’s not the friend I knew. The friend I knew used to squirm from the rug to the couch over the course of a whole afternoon, and that was a fine pace for me. Seriously, our hang out sessions used to move along at a crawl.
Plus, we’re not into the same activities anymore. Like me, I’m into chilling out, having a cocktail, playing the new version of You Don’t Know Jack on the Wii.
This baby, all he wants to do is open drawers and put tennis balls inside. That’s cool; I’m happy to do that for awhile. For awhile. But, he always wants to open and shut drawers. He never wants to play Wii. Or, if he does, he just bangs the controller on a pan or something. So selfish.
I’m really worried about all this. I mean, it’s fine to grow apart from friends. But, my good friend Janet from college is the one who introduced me to this guy. If I tell him we shouldn’t hang out anymore, will that jeopardize my relationship with Janet? I mean, this dude is super clingy with her. And vice versa.
I guess I could look past it and try to get along better with Janet’s baby. He’s still really cool in a lot of ways---he never talks about politics, he shares his Cheerios, he smells nice.
But, this whole thing with him and his pulling the cat’s tail … I don’t know. I guess we’re just at different stages in our lives.
The high points of this surprise birthday party (so far):
- When everyone jumped out from behind the couch and yelled surprise.
- The streamers.
- The cake.
- The piñata.
- When Will did his impression of Beth, and she was standing right behind him mocking his impression of her, and he didn't even know she was there. He didn’t even know.
- Three separate Prince songs on the playlist.
- The subtle Michael J. Fox theme. Super well-played, guys. I even got the Bright Lights Big City reference.
- Colleen playing her ukulele.
- The presents. Especially the nudie playing cards. I can't believe you remembered my story about my uncle having those in his den. I love 'em.
The low points:
- It’s not actually my birthday.
I’m not really sure why you guys chose the wrong day and month for my birthday party. I don’t mean to complain. I mean, all the high points were great. But, all in all, I'd say the party kinda evens out to neutral.
Anyway, thanks a lot. Here's hoping for better luck next year.