Long before General Public happened, there was a band known as The Beat, or The English Beat here in the States. Yeah, The Beat broke up, which led to the creation of General Public, but hell if you squint, you can't tell the difference. This week's song is Save It For Later by The English Beat.
This list is not in any particular order, nor does it necessarily showcase my favorite comedies. These are the films that I quote frequently, if not on a damn near daily basis. I have watched these films more times than I probably should have, but it's still a hell of a lot of fun.
This film is probably not as well-known as the other films on this list, but it is the one that I actually do quote daily. I was heavily in my swooning days of Devon Sawa, when I saw this with my friends. While my adoration of that man has faded, my love for this movie has certainly not. Some of my friends and I can sing the song at the end instantly. Hell, we say “I luuuu you,” more than we say “I love you,” because of this movie.
Ethan: I want to make sure that you and I are best friends - "gnome" matter what.
Angela: Ethan, that's a troll.
Ethan: "Gnome", it's not.
Angela: Ethan, what is this, is this a hair doll?
Ethan: I didn't make that! It fell out of your hair that way!
Ethan: Are you okay? Do you need a Fresca?
Whether or not you are a Star Wars fan, most of us agree at least that Spaceballs was a thing of comedic beauty. I always tell people to use the schwartz. As a child of the 80’s this not only made perfect fun of Star Wars, but it brought together all of the bests 80’s jokes of the time. Max Headroom was in the movie. Epic.
PrincessVespa: I am Princess Vespa, daughter of Roland, King of the Druids.
LoneStarr: Oh great. That's all we needed. A Druish princess.
Barf: Funny, she doesn't look Druish.
DarkHelmet: You have the ring, and I see your Schwartz is as big as mine. Now let's see how well you handle it.
Colonel Sandurz: Are we being too literal?
DarkHelmet: No you fool, we're following orders. We were told to comb the desert so we're combing it.
Austin Powers in Goldmember
I love all of the Austin Powers movies, but this was the best and far more quotable of the three. The lines in this film, they are fantastic! One of my best friends and I spent three hours watching this movie, because we kept rewinding shit just to fall out all over again.
Goldmember: Dr. Evil, can I paint his yoo-hoo gold? It's kind of my thing, you know.
Dr. Evil: [comes over to Goldmember] How 'bout no, you crazy Dutch bastard?
AustinPowers: Thanks, baby! Now what's your name?
FookMi: Fook Mi!
AustinPowers: Can you kiss your mother with that mouth?
AustinPowers: Mole. Bloody mole. We aren't supposed to talk about the bloody mole, but there's a bloody mole winking me in the face. I want to c-u-u-t it off, ch-o-o-p it off, and make guacamole.
Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby
If you were born in Indiana, like me, and grew up next to a cornfield in the heart of Nascar country, then you lived and breathed this comedy. It didn’t matter if you liked Nascar, because it played on several redneck stereotypes that you had no choice but to grow up around. That personal connection just made the whole movie funnier.
TexasRanger: Aw, Grandma, not my prison shank!
Cal Naughton, Jr.: I like to picture Jesus in a tuxedo T-Shirt because it says I want to be formal, but I'm here to party.
Lucy Bobby: So how was your day driving with you father?
Ricky Bobby: Well let's see. I got mauled by a cougar, my Crystal Gayle shirt is ruined, and I didn't learn dick about driving. Other than that, it was great.
Thank you comedy gods for blessing us with a sequel to this movie. This movie is sooo dumb, yet sooo good. My co-blogger and I used to quote this movie all time at our old job. We were always trying to be the life of the party. She and I can go all day on this movie. All damn day.
Mugatu: Oh, I'm sorry, did my pin get in the way of your ass? Do me a favor and lose five pounds immediately or get out of my building like now!
Derek Zoolander: [high-pitched cough] ... I think I'm getting the Black Lung, Pop. It's not very well ventilated down there.
Derek Zoolander: Or did you think I was too stupid to know what a eugoogooly was?
I was in college when this movie came out. I will admit after the first time I watched this movie, I had no damn clue what the hell I just witnessed. It puzzled me so much, that I had to watch it a second time. I was sold. This was by far the best movie without any real plot I had ever seen. There was about a month to a month and a half where every Saturday we watched this movie with a bunch of friends. Tater tots and nachos were made, while one of my best friends and I tried to perfect an alcoholic beverage with Gatorade. Yeah, that last part never panned out well, nor did my hopes that if one hydrates you as the other dehydrates you, they should cancel each other out. Nope, straight up Thunderdome for Gatorade and alcohol, and alcohol always wins.
Kid on Bus: What are you gonna do today, Napoleon?
Napoleon Dynamite: Whatever I feel like I wanna do. Gosh!
Napoleon Dynamite: Well, what is there to eat?
Grandma: Knock it off, Napoleon! Just make yourself a dang quesa-dilluh!
Napoleon Dynamite: Grandma just called and said you're supposed to go home.
Uncle Rico: She didn't tell me anything.
Napoleon Dynamite: Too bad, she said she doesn't want you here when she gets back because you've been ruining everybody's lives and eating all our steak.
I will continue to follow all Jared Hess movies, because they are the best and the lines are amazing. This movie is also so dumb, and I love it. I never get enough of it. It is just this perfect beautiful world that I can’t help, but fall in love with.
Nacho: I'm not listening to you! You only believe in Science. That's probably why we never win!
Esqueleto: We never win because you are fat!
Chancho: My mother gave it to me before she died. It was her lucky machete. You can have it.
Nacho: Somebody stole them.
SeñorRamon: Did you not tell them that they were the Lord's chips?
Monty Python and the Holy Grail
This is probably the classiest of classic comedies, and dammit do I ever eat up British humor. I have a lot of friends who are not really into this movie, so making jokes and quoting around them doesn’t get real far. Oh but how it does on the inside. Give it another chance if you haven’t seen it in a while. It may surprise you.
King Arthur: [after Arthur's cut off both of the Black Knight's arms] Look, you stupid bastard, you've got no arms left!
Black Knight: Yes I have.
King Arthur: Look!
Black Knight: It's just a flesh wound.
The Dead Collector: Bring out yer dead.
[a man puts a body on the cart]
Large Man with Dead Body: Here's one.
The Dead Collector: That'll be ninepence.
The Dead Body That Claims It Isn't: I'm not dead.
French Soldier: I don't want to talk to you no more, you empty-headed animal food trough wiper! I fart in your general direction! Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!
The Sweetest Thing
This is one of the select films that when my best friends and sisters get together, we immediately put this on. It is the epitome of our friendship. We each identify with someone in the film and we can’t get enough of it. If we are missing each other, we’ll watch it and start sending quotes.
Gramps: F@#$ Grandma.
Christina: I got a penis in my eye.
Courtney: Let me see.
Christina: How is it? Is it okay?
Courtney: Yeah, it's okay, but I think you're pregnant.
[to little boy sitting in the pew in front of her in church]
Courtney: Turn around.
[Little boy shakes his head]
Courtney: Turn around.
[Little boy shakes his head]
Courtney: Look, it's Jesus. Look at Jesus!
So I Married An Axe Murderer
Really the only reason to watch this movie is to watch Mike Myers. While the main character that he plays has some good scenes and lines here and there. It is the character of his Scottish father that Myers plays that steals the whole damn movie. I always watch this movie, but after seeing it once, I tend to turn it off when the two main characters head off for their honeymoon. The character of his Scottish Dad is no longer in the movie, and I just can’t see the point.
Stuart Mackenzie: I'm not kidding, that boy's head is like Sputnik; spherical but quite pointy at parts! Now that was offside, wasn't it? He'll be crying himself to sleep tonight, on his huge pillow.
StuartMackenzie: [after exhausting a bagpipe player at Stuart and Harriet's wedding] We have a piper who's down! Repeat, Piper Down!
Stuart Mackenzie: Thirty years ago today, May and I were married. Some of you were there, some of you weren't born, and some of you are now DEED! But, we both said "I do," and we haven't agreed on a single thing since.
May Mackenzie: That's true!
Stuart Mackenzie: But I'm glad I married you, May, because hey, could've been worse.
For those who know me very well would jokingly refer to this week's 80's song as practically my damn theme song. Europe is a Swedish band, and me being half Swedish, this song has turned into a good natured joke concerning me. It always makes my friends think of me when this song is played. It doesn't help, that this song usually fights with Only You by Yazoo as my ringtone throughout the year. It is epic, dammit. I present The Final Countdown by Europe.
Call it lucky or unlucky to be single on Valentine’s Day, but one thing is certain. There really isn’t a whole lot of game plans out there for what to do when you are in fact single. Since I am somewhat of a professional when it comes to being single, I thought I would share my day with you. This is how a geek girl gets along on the coupling holiday of Valentine’s Day.
You may not have to get dressed up or fancy for anybody in particular. You may not even be feeling the desire to dress up to give yourself a little perk. I valued comfort over pretty for my day, and one adorable pair of pantaloons so to speak later, I did make sure my ass at least felt sexy and festive.
My next plan for the day was to head out and see the closest thing I have to a significant other. My job.
Yeah, I am aware of the sadness of this, but, alas, it is my reality.
After that horrid affair, the plan was to have one of my besties come over and I would cook dinner. I got lazy and tired by the time I got home and easily convinced myself and my bestie to go for something much better, a local pizza and pasta joint that is horrifically close to my humble abode. While I was waiting to pick up my bestie, I put on the first of my holiday traditions, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I watch the Valentine’s Day episode from season 2 every year, Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered.
Giles: Valentine’s Day. Yes, um, “Angel nails a puppy to the-“
Buffy: Skip it.
Giles: Ye- but…
Buffy: I don’t wanna know. I don’t have a puppy. Skip it.
I love me some Buffy.
I now had food and good company, after running out to pick up both. I had planned on showing you a picture of my amazing and tasty baked spaghetti, but I was so hungry that I ate it before I remembered I needed to take a photo. Hunger struggles. I can say that it was cheesy and spaghetti goodness. While we ate, I put on my next tradition for the holiday of love, horror movie.
I know, how cynical of me. I’ve been doing it forever. I at least try to stay in the spirit of the holiday. First up was Valentine. Yep, that slasher flick from 2001. I already knew who the killer was the moment I saw the preview all those years ago. There was simply only one man that could wear a trench coat like that, and that logic was sound.
Once that ended, I pulled out the V-Day treats that I bought for myself and the bestie. Ice cream and chocolates. Since I was about to put on My Bloody Valentine, I thought I would do a quick snuggle with the fakest boyfriend I will ever have. Sigh. Though that thing can seriously scare the hell out of me when I’m not paying attention as I stroll to my bedroom.
My friend and I spent most of the time trying to will the Dean Winchester into Jensen Ackles. I knew how the movie ended, but this was the first viewing for my friend. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that her fake boyfriend was three fries short of a happy meal in this little movie. This realization prompted the debate of would you still date him. Sadly, my hesitation was little longer than hers. The man is fine, and that is a tough decision.
This was my little Valentine celebration. You may not have a special someone to celebrate with the holiday, but it doesn’t mean that you can’t have a good time. In the end, it is a big excuse to love and pamper yourself. So Happy Belated Valentine’s Day my fellow nerds and geeks, and if you find yourself single next year, there is always some type of fun to be had. Special thanks to my bestie, Mecca! It was the best way to spend the day.
Oh, this song is a damn gem. There was poetry in 80's music that doesn't exactly show up as often now as it did back then. I am not glossing that statement, either. Trust me, I am aware of the awful crap that decade offered as well. This is one of those beautifully blended moments from the 80's. The Thompson Twins with Lay Your Hands On Me.
Note: Here is a little something new for the blog. I have been pretty bummed lately not being able to work on some original fiction that is truly my passion. I thought in order to help myself actually finish one of the many works I have been starting over the years, why don't I try it through the blog? Who knows maybe some of you will hold me accountable, forcing me to keep going. This is one of my ideas that I have been most serious about. I hopeful YA novel. I am planning to contribute this original content once a month. Let me know how you feel about it. If you guys like the idea, we'll keep it going. If you don't, we'll scrap it. Let me know your thoughts. I now present to you Afterburn.
Sarah Meyers had a problem with fire. No, she wasn't afraid of it nor did she tote around matches to satisfy any psychological pyromaniac desires, regardless what her therapist thinks. Sadly, her problem was much crazier than her poor therapist could comprehend. Sometimes, if she was angry or scared enough, things around her tended to catch on fire. Sometimes it just happened to be a small trashcan, but other times it could end up being an entire barn. Outside of the possibility of being delusional, which Sarah doesn't buy, she isn't the typical teenage girl. The barn fire forced her father to move the family to his hometown of Sanctuary, Rhode Island, hoping the family name and history would be strong enough to dampen the actions of his delinquent daughter. Now, Sarah has to start the game all over again. New school, more people to avoid, and try desperately to keep herself from setting anymore fires. Sarah soon finds out that some of the kids are not quite like the rest of the others, either. No, there is an old secret in this town that may provide Sarah with answers, but what she may find could be more terrifying than high school, and that's pretty scary.
Flames licked at the rafters of the old barn, gaining more life as it breathed the oxygen seeping through the star lit holes in the roof. I sat in awe over the beauty from the growing fire as I held tight to the tattered remains of my blouse. Fire never hurt me. It always enveloped me with comfort and warmth like a mother’s hug after a long day of playing in the wintery snow. At this moment I needed that comfort, comfort I could never find through anything else, not even my own parents. Most of all, I needed protection. The fire sparked from that need as it always had before, but this time the fire didn’t just separate me from my fear, it swallowed me and began to slowly consume everything around me.
I was snapped out of my daze, when I heard a frightened yell from my far left. I could see him through the breaks in the flames. The boy tried in vain to hold his now scorched and melting letterman jacket up to block the approaching fire that had backed him against the far left wall of the barn underneath the closest window.
I thank god for that window now. If the boy hadn’t reigned in his senses long enough to climb the hay bales and jump through it, he probably would have fell victim to the fire just as the hay bales he leapt from did moments after his feet left them.
That fire was born of my fear and anger, two emotions that have never been so violently felt as one. It needed to burn away the existence of everything from that night, and I let it. I wasn’t going to be satisfied until that barn had been left charred and in ashes. How many other girls have been brought to this barn? How many more had yet to be?
The football star, the pride of Andersonville, didn’t even try to get me out, nor did he call the fire department. It had taken four hours for that old decrepit barn to take its final bow, a testament to its survival for what looked like the past eighty years. A far off neighbor had seen the remnant smoke billowing up towards the slowly, brightening morning sky and put out a call to the fire department. When the trucks finally made their way to charred sight, they found a broken, but unharmed girl clutching the remains of her blouse as I had been since the first spark found life.
The only logical explanation was that I, a clearly troubled teenager, started the fire, despite my protests and confessions of what truly happened. I was immediately charged with reckless arson of private property, though no substantial evidence was found outside of my very presence. Why should they believe that the gem of the Andersonville High School football team ask the troubled and antisocial Sarah Meyers out for a date, let alone try to force himself upon me. This was the stone clad confession that he gave the authorities that was fully supported by his parents. Being the son of the mayor, it was hard not to believe his story over the girl who has a delinquent record where fire and arson was concerned. I just appeared to be upping my game.
The only reason I haven’t been shoved into a juvenile detention center is because of my father. My father happens to be one of the best defense lawyers in New England. For Peter Meyers, life is perfection. He strictly does high profile and divorce cases, which flows in the money. Most would call my father’s profession leaching, because morality is not one of his high points. A win is a win for him, no matter who he has to financially ruin. His high intelligence is only matched by his charisma in a courtroom. He could smooth talk a convict out of his last meal before execution, that’s how good my father is.
His charmed life is rounded out by his trophy wife, my mother, the keeper of his estate. In other words, my mother has the difficult task of keeping his mansion richly decorated, including my father and herself. Always with proper taste, of course. My mother always keeps both of their social lives busy, because keeping up appearances is key in this kind of life. The only blemish in Pete Meyers’s life is me, his daughter.
The first memory that I have of fire was when I was three years-old. I was sitting in the backyard playing with a plastic bucket as a large black snake slithered through the blades of grass. All would have probably been fine, if I hadn’t have interrupted its path with the rock I had just thrown in boisterous glee. As oblivious as I had been, I became fully aware as it reared up bearing its fangs. Whether the snake was poisonous was not the concern of my three year-old self. I had been terrified, which is why a line of fire emerged between me and the snake. A normal three year-old child would have been very scared, but I think I’ve made it clear that I don’t qualify as such. The fire gave off the same comfort and warmth I’ve come to know. I knew that I was safe. My mother had chosen that moment to emerge from the house and of course freaked out. She convinced herself that she must have left a lighter somewhere within my reach. Funny how she never found that lighter.
Whenever I was really scared, the fire seemed to always come to my aid. I made the mistake of trying to ask my mother about my little problem when I was seven after setting fire to part of our fence when a stray Rottweiler found its way into the neighbors’ backyard. I was reading on the other side of that fence, when the animal crashed into it barking and growling. I jumped up immediately turning to find the wooden fence bucking and straining from what was either a sick or hungry dog. The book flew from my hands as I turned, quickly igniting when it landed at the fence’s base. My mom gave me such a strained look when I posed the question of my fear induced blazes. When she recovered with an awkward and fake smile after which exclaiming about what an imagination I had. She told me that the fence had clearly caught on fire due to faulty landscape lighting that the dog surly must have disturbed. This was also the moment that I stopped making friends. If my mother couldn’t handle my problem, how could a complete stranger cope with it?
My parents were able to enjoy a somewhat normal child save for several small dismissed and explainable fires that peppered my childhood. When I turned thirteen, I hit puberty, and with my puberty came anger. Anger always has a taste for fire. My decision against being a social butterfly was upsetting for my parents as they tried to engage me with several children of my father’s clients and colleagues. What they didn’t understand most of all was that my decision was harder on me than them. I was an only child and was always lonely.
One night, my father asked if I wanted to invite friends over for a sleepover, because that’s what girls my age did. He became upset with me when I tentatively explained that I had none. This was one of the few times that my father expressed his emotions when it came to his little girl. My parents may be negligent in most things where a child is concerned, but I always knew that they truly loved me. At least I did then. The barn fire may have changed their feelings.
A little over a year later, I ran from a particularly bad argument with my mother over embracing my social responsibilities as a member of our family. I ran to my room as furious, boiling tears slid down my face, slamming my door behind me as I escaped to my room. I remember crying on my bed and getting angrier. There was anger for denying myself of these simple wants and needs and disappointing my parents, who deserved a normal child. Just as I was about to break into another string of tears, my wastebasket erupted. There was no growth with the fire. It was instantly a four foot blaze and gave off a menacing edge. It scared the hell out of me, which in turn made the fire bigger. It quickly moved to the nightstand next to the wastebasket, and shortly became in reach of my comforter, which it easily licked at. It became clear that the aggression I felt from the fire was not towards me, but rather as an imposing force of defense. A weapon, created by my anger.
I was so entranced by the growing fire before me that I never heard my parents scream as they burst into my room. My father immediately ripped a curtain from the near window and tried smothering the flames around me. He screamed at me to move out of the way, but my concentration lay in the task of willing some control over the flames. I was commanding and praying to it in my mind to stop and go out, worried that my parents would be hurt or worse, killed.
My mother had apparently ran for the extinguisher and suddenly appeared in a white bursting cloud as she sprayed the remaining fire down. That was the biggest lesson I learned of how my ability was anchored through my emotions, especially one. It fed off my anger like an addiction, but I also learned, though difficult, that I could control and put out the fire myself.
If my parents ever asked themselves how any of us got out of that mess without the fire spreading out any further, as large as it was, or how any of us escaped without so much as a tan, they never brought it up to me. What they did do was move me to another suburb, Andersonville, blame the fire on faulty wiring, and immediately enroll me in sessions with a psychiatrist, or therapist as I was told to call her, because it would be less judgmental of my situation to call her that. They put my numerous “sparks” over the years together with the last incident and came to the conclusion that I may be a little unstable, mentally.
In the introductory meeting that included my parents, the therapist explained that I seemed to focus my frustrations and fears through pyromania, fixating on the belief that when the fire was extinguished so would these fears and frustrations. I was not thrilled about the psychiatrist thing, being that I am totally sane. I usually just spent the session agreeing and telling the therapist whatever she want to hear. However unhappy I was about them, I was not being committed, which is a good thing. Plus, the sessions were giving my parents some peace of mind that they were actively helping me by sending me to the therapist and I was getting better.
Of course I had a few more incidents over the years. I’m a teenager with raging hormones. It was inevitable, but they were getting tamer due to my understanding of how to control them. Unfortunately, a couple of those incidents were more inconvenient as opposed to dangerous since they involved public areas and police officers, nothing my father couldn’t talk my way out of, but my indiscretions were beginning to put a strain on his professional profile. This was due to him having to publicize in court my troubled disposition to get the charges dropped. Not that I particularly had a social life before the move, now my fellow students, teachers, and even neighbors had a good idea of my disturbing behavior. Small communities usually had a hard time keeping secrets but no inability in spreading them. I had been upgraded from antisocial to town freak. They left me alone for the most part because my parents had become such upstanding citizens in their community, but it didn’t stop the gossip.
The night of the barn fire not only spread gossip but actual fear, so much, that my father had to pack us up and move far enough away that word of my problems couldn’t follow. We moved to the coastal town of Sanctuary, Rhode Island, which was apparently far enough away from Maryland. The only physical evidence my parents had of my problems as we drove into the town, was the heavy medication I had been prescribed and a referral letter to a new psychiatrist.