The greatest text msg exchange ever.

(From last night around 11:00)

Some number I don't recognize: "R u awake?"

Me: "Im awake. Who are u?"

"Man of your dreams"

"Its charlie rose?"

"No new player"

"Seriously who are u? I think u have the wrong #"

...The end, and you're welcome.

Exclusive sneak preview!!

The following is the unedited version of my first Ionian column of the semester. The issue hits newstands worldwide (but mostly on Iona's campus) tomorrow...

It was the last, precious Friday before I came back to New Rochelle for the start of the semester, and a couple of my friends from home and I did what we so often do on clear, beautiful, summer nights: we blew $10 each to sit inside and watch a movie.

There I was, comfortably slumped in my heavily-cushioned seat, mindlessly enjoying the hodgepodge of advertisements and Hollywood trivia that come before the previews. Then, one of my buddies, looking around the small, packed theatre, observed that we were quite possibly the oldest people in attendance. I scoped out the crowd myself, nodded in agreement, and quickly returned my attention to the big screen, waiting impatiently for the feature presentation, Superbad, to begin.

As I expected, Superbad was extremely funny, the rare breed of movie that elicited such intense laughter from the audience that, at various points throughout its 114 minute runtime, the film’s dialogue became temporarily inaudible, drowned in a sea of incontrollable guffaws. So I liked Superbad, and I knew that I would. After all, any movie produced by Judd Apatow (of 40-Year-Old Virgin and Knocked Up fame) and starring Michael Cera (immortalized in the role of George Michael on the short-lived Fox series Arrested Development) was easily pegged as a can’t-miss sure-thing in my book, going in. But by the time the show ended, the credits started rolling, and the lights brightened, I felt something else on top of that simple, sweet satisfaction of a summer night – and a crisp, clean Alexander Hamilton – well-spent. As much as I don’t want to overstate it, Superbad left me feeling just a little bit queasy, as well.

I only turned 20 years old this past March, so I know that it’s strange for me to say that Superbad left me worried about the impact it might have had on the formative minds of teenagers watching. But it did. And as I walked up the aisle and out the exit of the Dedham Showcase Cinema that night among a flock of high school-aged guys and girls – half of whom undoubtedly had to purchase tickets to the G-rated Mr. Bean’s Holiday, for example, before sneaking into Superbad – I tried and failed to shake that angst that I felt.

What was the source of my angst, you may wonder? Those of you reading along who’ve seen Superbad might be mulling over the possibilities.

Was I shaken by the script’s total saturation with crude language, particularly the constant repetition of a certain four-letter word that begins with an “f” and rhymes with “hockey puck”? No, I’m really not the type of person to get worked up over some cursing – or a truckload of cursing, for that matter.

Did I fail to connect with the movie’s barrage of extreme bathroom jokes and slapstick humor? No, some of my hardest laughs of the night came during Superbad’s most outrageous shock-value moments or during the especially ridiculous physical comedy sequences.

Was I, then, bothered by the fact that the whole story revolved around teenagers angling to have sex by scoring booze for a party fueled by underage binge drinking? No, this basic plotline wasn’t it, either – although alcohol was a part of it.

It should be noted that one of the most often-repeated sentiments praising Judd Apatow’s movies has been an expression of admiration for his ability to create characters who struggle, as Nathan Rabin of the Onion A.V. Club has written, between “the pleasures of eternal adolescence and the relentless pull of adult responsibility,” producing an overall “big-hearted” feeling to his work.

Superbad, for the most part, follows this formula. We watch high school seniors and best friends Seth and Evan – Evan, especially – grow up and mature, ever so slightly, over the course of the film. The aforementioned issues of an all-consuming hormonal sex drive and excessive consumption of alcohol are confronted in the course of this maturation and, therefore, presented with a subtle but important and appropriate level of complexity. Driving drunk, on the other hand, is a virtual constant throughout Superbad, with two sloshed cop characters behind the wheel of a cruiser for the better part of the movie, and this fact simply isn’t approached with any sense of moral complexity or caution at all.

Have you ever seen any national statistics on drunk driving? Of course you have, but I’ll list the big one here, anyways. In 2006, 17,602 persons were killed in alcohol-related accidents. Have you ever nevertheless heard anyone rationalize the legitimacy of driving after having drank? Unfortunately, you probably have. I know I have.

I’m not the type of person who obsesses over the impact of movie content on the youth of America. For example, I won’t divulge here the sort of maneuvers I was tempted to pull driving home in my mom’s Ford Taurus after having seen the Bourne Ultimatum, also this summer – but, plain and simple, I knew better. With a proper upbringing, so would anyone else. Still, we have to acknowledge the desensitizing effect movies can have, and, for a movie that was clearly geared largely towards the high school demographic – regardless of its R-rating – the casual depiction of drunk driving in Superbad was at best an unfortunate oversight, and at worst, reckless.

How I scooped the A.P. (by 2+ years)

I came across an Associated Press story the other day which discussed how police are increasingly overwhelmed by "suspicious item reports," many of which "can seem silly in hindsight."

The article provided the eye-catching statistic that, in New York, the number of such reports has jumped from 814 in 2002 (the first year for which a total was recorded) to 37,614 last year. And, of course, the article also made an obligatory mention of the infamous Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Lite-Brite crisis in my own Boston back in January.

Essentially, the article seems to have been written as an exploration of the post-9/11 world and the drawbacks of a culture often shaped largely by fear. It makes mention of the New York Metropolitan Transportation Authority's "If You See Something, Say Something" campaign, and seems to grapple with the positive and negative results of such campaigns, in general.

Well, faithful readers, you should know that I just so happen to have beat A.P. reporter Mr. Brian Westley to the punch on this issue. Here's a look into the archives of my high school newspaper, the venerable Knight Insight, for proof to that end. Enjoy...

"Fear Factor"
March 11, 2005

Something decidedly creepy – or annoying, at the very least – has been taking place on MBTA buses over the past year, and I cannot remain silent about it any longer.

I can still remember the first time I heard the recording...

I was riding Bus number 52 to school, bright and early, for the 18-millionth time (approximately) in my CM career. As usual, I was slumped down in my blue, plastic bus seat, peacefully nodding off for a short, morning nap. All of a sudden, a booming, computerized voice cut in without warning and ended my restful slumber, urging me to "please report any unattended bags or suspicious behavior to the bus driver." Ever since that fateful day, I have had the pleasure of hearing this delightful message from our friends at the Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority a minimum of three to four times a day, excluding the occasions I drive or get driven to school. It remains as mildly unsettling now as it was that first time.

I understand that we live in a changed world since the events of September 11th, 2001, and that the Madrid, Spain train bombing last year raised legitimate questions about the possibility of a similar attack here in the US. However, I am fairly certain that it is still entirely unnecessary to remind commuters, on twenty minute intervals every day, to keep a watchful eye out for the presence of Al Qaeda on their bus. In fact, as surprising as it may be, it is my understanding that these nagging requests for citizen vigilance have not led to the uncovering of one, singular terrorist plot to date. Accordingly, I would appreciate an end to this vaguely Orwellian tactic, ASAP.

Plus, I really need my morning nap, and the hordes of rambunctious middle-schoolers on the 52 already present enough of a distraction.

The trade

There's been a TON (I measured, and it came out to exactly 2,000 lbs.) of discussion and debate since last Thursday as to whether the Boston Celtics' big draft day trade for Ray Allen was good or bad for the franchise.

Personally, a week later, I still vote "good."

It seems I hold the minority opinion and that most people have judged the deal to have been desperate and shortsighted, but I don't know... I think Ray probably has a couple more All-Star caliber years left in the tank, and I think that it's important that Paul Pierce has gone from the brink of demanding a trade out of town to describing himself as "thrilled to death" about the status of the team. Anyways, that was a long, wordy sentence that didn't get to the point of why I'm writing this post.

I'm writing this post not to praise Danny Ainge's latest move, but to mourn the loss of Delonte West in Celtic green.

Basketball-wise, my biggest problem with the trade is probably a nagging fear that Jeff Green or someone else we could've snatched with that 5th pick will become an NBA mega-star down the line and haunt us for the next decade-plus. But as an emotionally involved fan, my biggest problem with the trade is that I'm going to miss the hell out of Delonte West. I hope Sonics fans enjoy and appreciate one of my favorite players I've watched over the years.

It's not just that Delonte always played hard and tough, that he's a Great (with a capital "G") shooter, or that he's the rare guard who has a real knack for blocking shots. On-court attributes aside, D-West's also just about the coolest guy ever. And I'll close these ramblings with the following evidence to that end...

- The infamous Valentine's Day piece from ESPN.com
- "Delonte West, Uncut" on FSNE
- Delonte on the new ball/old ball controversy
- "WIAHHHHH HANGAHHHHH" commercial
- Delonte's contribution to the series of FSNE commercials with Lucky
- A YouTube mix - watch the whole thing for the clips of Delonte talking ("COOKIES!")