Episode 2.4 of Throw Oz Under The Bus Blog Challenge. For the second week in a row the winner is Rachel. This time, however, she has to share the spotlight with her husband Kit. For the first time in this blog’s illustrious history, there has been a tie in the voting. For a moment I considered being the tie breaker vote, but I decided against it. It seemed far more fun to do them both, mostly because Kit’s suggestion throws his wife under the bus too.
Grill-detonating wives, and the threat they pose. Also, how to safely respond to a flame-engulfed grill.
I loved that grill. Four propane burners under the hood and one on the outside for large pots and such. It had little cabinet doors to hide the tank and keep the various BBQing implements accessible yet out of the rain. I loved that grill. We had an understanding, I wouldn’t infringe on its personal space by cleaning it, ever, and it wouldn’t burn my food. Sure, the relationship was a bit dysfunctional. I broke my word a time or two and gave it a good scrub down. Sometimes it would passive-aggressively overcook my chicken if I didn’t pay it enough attention, but it worked for us. Until I let Rachel use it.
She showed up with a positively Bedrockian size Tri tip with a fat layer thick enough to keep a walrus warm and toasty under the northern ice caps. “We’ll cook it over indirect heat with the fat side up,” she said. “It’ll take a couple hours,” she said. “Nothing bad will happen and I definitely won’t blow up your barbecue,” she said. Actually, no, she didn’t say that last thing, and that should have been my first clue.
After about an hour, hour and a half, it happened. Rachel and I were standing in my kitchen when, what sounded like, a black powder hand gun went off in my backyard. My neighbor and good friend Josh is way into black power, so I know what that sounds like. We immediately turned to look, her out the back door and me out the widow over the sink. Completely obscuring the poor BBQ was a pattern of thick billowy smoke that I quickly deciphered, through my intensive smoke signal training, to mean “Help me, my ass in on fire.” Rachel and I quickly leapt to action, closely followed by Kit. Rachel reached into the dense smoke, blindly groped for the lid handle, lifted the hood with a heroic flourish, and jumped back with a less than heroic “eeepp”. The tri tip was completely engulfed in a raging inferno hotter than the flames surrounding Pope Nicholas III.
Now, fire doesn’t scare me, not even a little bit. Some would call it overconfidence. Others, those that know my history as a professional fire performer, would call it dumbassery. I reached in with a woefully short pair of BBQ tongs and pulled forth the fleshy ball of fire, singeing my arm hair for my trouble. No joke, we had to blow out the flames on the tri tip. It was so burnt I swore I heard Liam Neeson say “I’m Darkman.”
As for safely dealing with a flaming BBQ, don’t do what I did. Don’t, I repeat don’t, reach into the flames unless it is to save your baby or your porn collection. If the fire is small, turn off the propane at the tank. If the fire burns through the hose it becomes a spectacular flame thrower. If it is a big ass fire, or the fire is already at the tank, leave it open and just get the hell out of there and call 911. A flame thrower is WAY better than a propane bomb.
And now for the suggestion brought to you by Rachel, the BBQ assassin.
Who is worse Michael Bay or M. Night Shyamalan
This is truly a tough call. I could easily skew it in either direction by careful selection of works, but, as the Muslim scholar Al-Biruni said “We must not compare the best of ours to the least of theirs, for each has its extremes. We must compare best to best, and least to least.”
What then is the best work of Michael Bay? Top three in ascending order of those I’ve seen: The Island, The Rock, and Armageddon, with the last being the only one I don’t mind watching again.
The best by M. Night Shyamalan is undoubtedly The Sixth Sense, with Unbreakable a clear yet distant second. I’d put the Sixth Sense in my Top 100 films. I really dug it.
If I stopped there I’d declare M. Night the best, but I wasn’t tasked with which was better.
The worst from Michael Bay? Unequivocally, without reservation or doubt, Transformers, all of them. Not only were the fight scenes blurry and undecipherable, and the voice-over work unintelligible, aside for Peter Cullen (he can do no wrong. He’s Optimus Prime AND Eeyore!), but Mr. Bay made Bumble Bee a midsize car. I’m a small guy, and I was an even smaller child. Bumble Bee was the little badass of Saturday morning cartoons and he was turned into a Camaro? Really? I get it if you couldn’t get VW to sign on, but why not some other small car? How about a Mini Cooper? That would have been SWEET! I had such high hopes for this movie. I feel like I extended my hand with the universal greeting “BAH WEEP GRA NA WEEP NINNY BONG!” and instead of reciprocating, Michael Bay shit on my childhood. Fuck you Michael Bay!
As egreeous as Bay’s sins are, they are nothing compared to M. Night. The Happening was one of the worst movies I have ever seen, and The Last Airbender? Un-Fucking-watchable. Bay may have shit on Bumble Bee, but you Mr. Shyamalan, shat on Aang. No one fucks with Aang. That little dude saved the four nations from Fire Emperor Ozai! Every episode of The Last Airbender, from the opening sequence of episode one, to the final battle three seasons later, were fucking GOLD! Worst of all Mr. Shyamalan, I would have thought someone with an easily mispronounceable name would have been a little more sensitive. IT’S AANG, with a long A, not OUNG, you fucking dick-swizzle.
My conclusion—M. Night Shyalaman is worse, but also better, than Michael Bay. M. Night has had higher highs and lowers lows, but at least he is an artist. He took chances and created things he felt would resonate with people. Michael Bay is just in it for the money.
But you know what? Neither one of them blew up my Barbecue.
Thanks for reading.
Let me know what you think in the comments.