A Quarter Life Crisis

Rarely do I post on Sundays but while letting my fingers walk across the week in weird news on the Comcast home screen I stumbled into the true week in weird. In some respect it might actually be considered the week in sad.

If for some reason you don't recognize the awkward figure thrashing about attempting what some might call rapping I will clue you in. That's Oscar nominated actor.....drum roll please, Joaquin Phoenix. Oh wait here's a better likeness in case the caveman beard and coolie boper hat threw you for a loop (I have to admit I was a bit taken aback). Some might call this the good years.

Don't worry all you fans this is coming to a radio station near you produced by none other than Sean "Diddy" (is that the right stage name these days) Combs. And just in case you for some reason don't listen to rap/hip hop stations the cinema version is on the way. I for one can't wait.

It takes major cojones to step out on stage and not kill it (slang term for do a great job). Reason being when you're hot I mean So Cal wildfire hot the stage is your playpen. But when you're bone chilling Hudson River in negative degree weather cold it takes elephantitus sized testes to don the stage. Of course one can't rule out alcohol/cocaine induced fearlessness. As we all know alcohol suppresses the WTF alarms that go off in your head and well coke just keeps you up.

But you know who I blame for this debacle. Outside of Diddy whose helping dilute hip-hop to a popish, cookie cutter product sold in a Tar-jay and Wal-Mart near you, above Joaquin himself I put majority of the blame on Casey Affleck. There's probably some readers thoroughly confused by that statement, don't worry I intend to explain.

Casey Affleck is sitting by idly watching his friend run head first into a brick wall. Come on folks, friends don't let friends drink and drive. At some point a compadre recognizes the slur in your voice, glaze in your eye and overall hitting on everything with two legs and pulls the keys out of your wasted hands. Not Casey folks no not Casey.

What he's done while Joaquin's shown his arse, nothing but sign up for the rights to produce the cinematographical masterpiece documenting the walk from Oscar parties to underground nightclubs to rock the mic. Someone key the Lionel Ritchie ballad, That's What Friends Are For.

Granted sometimes I have rip open a scab ridonkulous ideas too, which is why I don't fault Joaquin. We all need someone to rope us in from time to time. Casey being the friend he claims to be should have stepped up an said, "Dude stick to your day job because rapping just ain't your thing. Acting like Johnny Cash and singing country music sort of worked for you and I totally support you if maybe you want to form a little punkish country band like Keanu and play in some podunk clubs but trust me there's only one decent white rapper and his name is Marshall Mathers. And to be honest he's a little questionable with his constant kill my wife, rape my mom lyrics."

Oh wait maybe that's what I would have said to Joaquin, either way Casey should have been responsible enough to club Phoenix over the head and lock him in the closet if need be.