Indiana Jones and the Imaginary Sideburns

I can’t grow facial hair. Can’t. Cannot. Not physically possible. This is frustrating for me since I’m almost constantly trying to prove how masculine and macho I am…because it destroys all my street cred when even Ryan Seacrest can grow a better goatee than mine. However, about once every 18 months or so, I manage to convince myself that I’ve finished going through puberty, and that NOW if I tried to grow something, I could. I’ve been on this 18-month cycle since I was about 16 years old, and as anyone whose known me for any amount of time will tell you, failure has become the norm in my facial-hair-related endeavors. The closest I’ve come to success was a kind of amish-looking, chinstrap thing I had going on that I grew for Isaac’s wedding last year (you can’t be in the bridal party of a Mann wedding and not at least TRY to grow something). As the many attendees of those nuptials can attest to, it wasn’t a pretty sight. From a distance it probably looked more like the night before I’d passed out at a party and forgotten to take my shoes off, and that some people had used a Sharpie marker to draw a cartoon beard around my jawline. Classy. But right on cue — like the Alzheimer’s patient I am — here I am a year and some change later, finding myself once again tempted into the realms of fuzzy scruffiness. The tempters this time? New Zealand comedy duo Flight of the Conchords, famous for their self-deprecating humour and their perpetual 5-o’clock shadow. A buddy and I are seeing them live in LA this coming Sunday, and I thought it would be an appropriate homage to how much I love their brand of tomfoolery if I grew out some tributary sideburns of my own to match theirs. Now I’ll be honest with you for a second here when I say this: I’m a good-looking man. I really am. Good bone structure (albeit a bit pointy in the shoulders area), tan complexion (now that I’m back in Cali, at least), decent bod, great fashion sense, and the deepest, sexiest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. I used to be a model back in the day, and I probably shouldn’t have quit because if I’d stuck with it I’d probably be on the cover of Orgasm Magazine right now, looking wistfully into the camera and selling out issues by the thousands (for the record, I have no idea if there’s any such thing as “Orgasm Magazine” or not, but I strongly encourage you not to find out). But even with all that going for me, my “sideburns” are shamefully unattractive. They’re all patchy, thin, poorly shaped, and I’m pretty sure one of them is about six inches longer than the other. As we all know though, I’m not one to admit defeat or give up on an idea of mine just because it looks awful (I think we all remember the red/blonde swoop haircut from a while back…I liked it, damnit all! You can all kiss my black arse), and since my love for FOTC is greater than any level of shame or embarrassment, I’m sticking with the ‘burns (that’s slang for sideburns. I’m really hip) until after the show on Sunday, and I’m asking you all to just use your imagination when you see me and pretend that there are awesome sideburns adorning both sides of my face next time we run into each other. You and I will both know that that’s not the case, obviously — but come on, do it for me. Maybe even toss a kind word my way when you see me with the ‘burns. Perhaps something like, “Your beard is good. That’s just a compliment for you — your beard. Just a compliment about your beard being good.” Or I don’t know, whatever comes to your mind at the time. Together, we can get through this difficult time in my life until I remember the horrible truth about my facial hair (or lack thereof).

I saw the new Indiana Jones over the weekend, and was pretty disappointed. Don’t get me wrong; it’s not a bad movie and you should all go see it in the theaters…it’s just not a great movie. Harrison Ford is a great actor, I really like what that Shia LaBeaouieuioaueauf kid brings to the table, the production value is great, and the score is classic. Even the effects don’t feel too overkill (except for some CGI’d prairie dogs that look about real as Jar Jar Binks on an MTV dating show). No, sadly, the biggest problem I had with this movie was the story itself. Even for a franchise that has built itself on the arcane and impossible, the storyline was just a little too much for me. It’s one thing to see a shaman rip people’s hearts out, or an ancient crusader heal himself and others with a holy grail, but I just couldn’t suspend my disbelief enough to enjoy or get into the story they cooked up for this one. That and the fact that the “near miss” factor of this movie is way beyond the acceptable limit as well. He dodged more incessant gunfire, survived more giant waterfalls, and was more unaffected by massive nuclear explosions than any person could’ve…even if that person was Indiana Jones. All that aside though, it’s still worth your $15 to see — especially if you need a halfway decent alternative to the “you go girl” estrogen-fest that the Sex and the City movie premiere will be. Although it’ll be nice to see Sarah Jessica Parker finally achieve her dream of being the least attractive person ever to get 300 million women to all cycle at the same time. You go girl.

…If you need me, I’ll be at the bar swapping out cosmos for dirty martinis instead. Ketel One vodka, extra dirty and maybe an additional olive or two. Now that’s a meal.

Cheers,
Dustin


...I'm dropping $20 just so I can see if these two get married? No thanks, we've already got plenty of crazy in this town.

I Am Ironman

Who is Dustin Heveron? And why does he smell so good, but look so bad?

Basically, that’s my way of apologizing to you for taking such an abrupt hiatus from keeping your mind-stomachs filled with humorous blog entries. My life has been crazy with all the typical stuff: work, play, sleep, and meeting celebs (ask me if you want a list of who I’ve met), so I’ve neglected to write things. On the downside, that trend of blog-irregularity is probably going to continue for a while longer as I’m getting ready for a big move (not as big as the last one though), continue to nail down work stuff, and just a lot of other things that are either too complicated or too boring to discuss here. That said, let’s talk about movies!

As you may or may not know, some of my favorite things in life are loud noises, dark rooms, folding seats, and paying people $12-$18 for 2.5 hours of their company. So naturally, going to the movies is one of my favorite pastimes. I’m pretty much always in the mood for a movie, and I usually enjoy the typical lineup of summer blockbusters and industry mathematics (Will Smith + Fourth of July Weekend = $300 billion). But this summer looks even better than most summers, as there are already a ton of movies I’m pumped to see, and a host of others that I’m looking forward to a lesser degree. I won’t give you the full rundown here, but basically there is one movie that I want to see coming out every weekend from May 4th until sometime in early September. Here are the ones on that list so far:

May 2nd — Ironman
May 9th — Speed Racer
May 16th — Narnia

For the sake of getting you up to speed, I’m gonna give you a quick blurb on what I thought of each of these flicks. And don’t worry, everything’s spoiler-free if you’re concerned about me divulging the endings.

Ironman: Amazing. This is one of the best superhero movies of all time, and easily the best movie of 2008 so far (though with the new Indiana Jones and The Dark Knight both due out soon, it probably won’t hold this title for long). The effects enhance the movie without taking over or distracting you from the story, the acting is spot on for this kind of film, and aside from having a minor gripe about the ending, there was nothing I disliked about this film. If you haven’t seen it yet, go see it. Now. If you have seen it already, go see it again and maybe buy an Ironman helmet to wear to the theater this time. And make sure to stay for the credits. Wink.

Speed Racer: I wouldn’t say I was truly excited for this movie, but I was really just hoping the Wachowski Bros. would write something awesome to restore the general public’s faith in their ability. Sadly, this appears to not have happened since the movie was panned by movie-goers and movie critics alike. Oh well, maybe they can drag some extra street cred by getting Matrix 4 produced. Not likely though.

Chronicles of Narnia — Prince Caspian: A relatively slow start and some spotty acting in the first half hour made me worry that the sequel machine was going to ruin another decent franchise, but those fears were quickly abated when the rest of the movie kicked in and I was drawn into the world and characters like a kid to a wardrobe full of fur coats. It’s good. Probably not as good as the first, but this movie is a different kind of story, so that’s ok. The production value alone is worth the price of admission, and it’s probably the first family/kids movie I’ve seen in a long time that doesn’t condescend to it’s target demographic. If you didn’t like the first one, or haven’t read the books, or are a generally negative and grumpy person, then you should probably save your money and just Netflix this one. But if you’d enjoy a fun romp through a land of talking animals and are a fan of short-people jokes, then bust out your “I Liam Neeson” t-shirts and check it out. I hear you get a discount on admission if you bring your own lion.

Alright chums, that’s it for now. As always, I have a ton of things brimming just beneath the surface that I’ll be excited to share with you in the coming weeks, but until then, I hope you can survive on a steady diet of my biased movie reviews and stereotypes about centaurs (I hear they’re hung like horses. …Kids, don’t repeat that in front of your parents, I don’t need any more angry emails this week).

I might not be Ironman, but I still have buns of steel.

Cheers,
Dustin


Chipotle Costumes for Halloween? Or the original Ironman prototypes? You be the judge.

Famous Last Words

Good evening, comrades. I write you on the brink of what will undeniably be my last few days among you on God’s green earth. For you see, starting tomorrow morning (Thursday, May 1st) I will begin a journey of sheer madness whose end result can only be my utter and complete demise. I’ll spare you the gruesome details, suffice it to say that the combination of starting my new job while still working my old job, plus the wide array of social activities and Mexican holidays on the horizon make for an almost omnipotent opponent. With that in mind, I thought it might be wise to put my last wishes into writing, so that way when you find my charred and disfigured remains (probably still clutching my iPhone) among the wreckage, you’ll know how I wanted things handled. And so we go.

The Last Will and Testament of Dustin Heveron:
I, Dustin Heveron, being of sound mind and body, heretofore bequeath my estate to be distributed among various parties of my choosing as outlined below.

To my beloved father and mother, Phil and Connie, I leave my secret, underground lair and adjoining launch pad. I’m not going to divulge its location or entrances, but if you can find it, the access code is 8675309…I was going through a big Tommy Tutone phase when I built it.

To my beloved father and bass-guitarist, Phil, I leave my bass. Not my bass guitar, but rather the six-foot, stuffed and shellacked fish I have hanging above my bed. His name is Danica, but he doesn’t need food anymore because he’s not alive. In addition to that, I also leave you my other bass. Again, not my bass guitar, but rather the plastic, singing novelty bass I have hanging in my shower so that I have thing to harmonize with when I’m singing in the shower or entertaining people…in the shower.

To my beloved mother, Connie, I leave all my laundry. And if you could have that done before the viewing, so I could be buried in my favorite t-shirt and jeans, that would be great. Don’t worry about the ironing though, I’m saving that for grandma and grandpa.

To my one and only beloved brother, Jared, I leave all my outstanding debts. These include (but are not limited to), the remaining payments on my 2007 Ford Focus SE, the remainder of my collegiate student loans, the balance due on the lease of my apartment and/or house, payments and past-due charges for my credit card(s), whatever money I owe to the bank in overdraft fees, and an undisclosed amount to someone I know in Vegas who will only refer to themselves as “Client X.” Mind you that you won’t actually take possession of any these things, you’ll just be responsible for paying them off in a timely manner. I figure you’ll be the best-equipped person to handle large-scale debt management in my stead, since you should be approximately seven-figures in the red by the time you read this.

To my beloved sister and youngest sibling, Alissa, I leave my entire wardrobe and clothing collection. This is actually not a bad deal since – due to my affinity for undersized and effeminate clothing – you will probably be able to fit into most everything I own and actually put my garments to their intended use.

To my beloved Nick Caruso, I leave my entire collection of alcohol; all my wines, liquors, regular and light beers, wine coolers, jello-shots, moonshine, 151, and that tank of homemade sludge from Davis Hall, spring ’04. But I’m not leaving you my stockpile of alcohol out of kindness, I’m leaving it as a final test. You see, I imagine by the time you read this, you’ll be somewhere between steps 5-8 of the 12-step program, and you’ll need something to convince you to loosen up a little bit and come back to the cool side of life. I figure leaving you my collection of approximately 47 FedEx-boxes of beer and enough liquor to open your own drive-through shop ought to do the trick.

To my beloved Jason Kientz, I leave my half of the intellectual property rights to the entire catalogue of our music. This includes (but is not limited to) The Paige Davis Song, The Isaac Mann Song, The Olsen Twins Song, and any others we have written or will write between now and my passing. I also leave my half of the copyrights to our band names: Common Identity, Second Best, The Dustin and Jason Laugh-Riot Polka-Orchestra and Kazoo Ensemble, and The Duet To-It. I also leave the total amount of my half of all our music-related earnings, a sum totaling approximately 12.5 cents.

To my beloved former roommates at Quail Hollow Drive, I leave the various assortment of smells, stains and bodily fluids that accumulated in and around the house while I lived there. Even the ones I blamed on Gatsby the dog. I also leave each of you one string of my acoustic guitar, so that in order to play it effectively, all of you have to be awkwardly huddled around it as one giant mass of fingers, hands, and arms. To Phil I leave the A and G strings, to Matt I leave the low-E and high-E strings, and to Joe I leave the B and D strings (note: Joe does not get an extra string for songs that are played in drop-D, that string remains Matt’s, regardless of tuning).

To my beloved UALC youth and staff I leave my entire collection of made-up games and wacky, church-appropriate catch phrases. These include games such as Dustin-ball, Ultimate Dustin-ball, Extreme Dustin-ball, Dustin-trivia, Dustin-frisbee, Dustin-relay, Dustin Dress-up Relay, Dustin-challenge, Dustin-tag, Dustin-Capture the Flag, and Blind Herpes Mormon Hunt.

To my beloved, loving (and probably really really hot) wife, , I leave my whole, entire heart. Not metaphorically, but literally. I have left instructions with the coroner to remove my heart, place it in a large jar of formaldehyde, let it set, then mount it on some kind of plaque or bowling trophy. I figure you can keep it on the mantle, above the fireplace, so that you can make some jokes about how my love still burns for you or something. That’ll be doubly funny if one of the kids accidentally knocks my heart into the fire when they’re cleaning.

Finally, to my beloved children, I leave my superior genetic makeup, and my social networking profiles on facebook, myspace, blogger.com, and any others that I’ve forgotten about or haven’t signed up for yet. If you could, try and change the profile pictures every few weeks or so, preferably to something really awesome, like me holding a beer or a guitar or a woman (or all three, to really show what a baller I was). Also, you should probably update the “About Me” section to something befitting my current state like, “Dead.” Or, “The least deceased in the East.” You know, to show that I’m still kicking ass and taking names, even though I’m not alive anymore. And it could kind of be a double joke if the Eastern Conference of the NBA is still pretty weak, because it would be like even a dead guy has a better shot at winning a championship then some of the Eastern Conference teams. I don’t know, just go with whatever seems funniest after I’ve died a horrible, premature death. People love to laugh.

Cheers,
Dustin