A cameo role is defined as “a minor part played by a prominent performer in a single scene of a motion picture or a television play.”   These brief, often uncredited appearances titilate the viewers, causing them to hop in their seats and shout, “Oh, I know him! He’s in this movie? Awesome! Thank the LAWD!”

Sure, cameo roles are often nothing more than cheap publicity stunts, but at their best they’re   jolly-good fun!

There is a debate to be had about who can claim the title of ultimate cameo-master. On the one hand, some might cite Alfred Hitchcock as classic cinema’s cameo-Jedi, as he inserted himself into thirty-nine of his movies. However, there’s something to be said for those actors who’ve racked up fewer cameos of higher quality. Perhaps quality should be given precedence over quantity.

Think of Walken in Pulp Fiction or NPH in the original Harold and Kumar flick.

When all’s been considered, one man stands above all others as the true master of the cameo: Matt Damon.

From his debut in 1988’s Mystic Pizza to his December 2011 appearance on SNL, Matt Damon charmed us with brevity. The dude knows how to hop onto our screens, put smiles on our faces, and then peace out. Matt Damon elevates the cameo from the depths cheap PR stunts to the highest echelons of art.

Don’t believe me? Hit the jump and check out the (hardly comprehensive) smattering of Damon-cameos!

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Today is January 2nd, the nightcap on what is typically thought of as the holiday season. The wrapping paper’s been discarded, the ornaments have been put back in the box, and Uncle Bosco’s been evicted from his spot on the couch. This our last chance to sample the holiday pastries before their thrown out, to empty the champagne bottles into our guts when no one’s looking, and to lounge around in sweatpants without worrying about judgment.

This is a glorious day.

I’m doing my best to revel in this final moment of jubilation, as I know that when tomorrow hits I’m going to be a miserable bastard. I don’t hate my job, but it’s incredibly time consuming and I often find myself dreaming of finding a job that’s less demanding, even if that’s synonymous with less lucrative. Which is kind of insane, because I don’t exactly make mad cheddy-donkies right now.

I know I’m not alone.

And thus, I present the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! This is OL’s weekly 9-5ers Anthem, the spot where we share our strategies for surviving the workweek. After you check out the various bits of entertainment I’ll be using to salvage my sanity, hit up the comments section and show off your wares.

Let’s do this.

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As we finish another orbit around the sun, it’s natural to peek over our shoulders and assess the voyage thus far. What’ve we done that we’re proud of? What improvements do we need to make? How closely do our realities resemble our dreams?

All questions worth asking, no doubt.

But if you’re daring, and I mean truly willing to look down the barrel of embarrassment, you’ll take this end-of-the-year opportunity to ask some better questions. Y’know, inquiries into love and hate and sex and death and everything else that makes life both horrifying and beautiful. Ask yourself just one of these types of questions, answer it honestly, and then revel in the ensuing revelations.

So what’s my question? Well, here it is: When did I fall in love with beer?

When I first started drinking, my libations of choice pretty much included anything other than beer. Hard liquor. Zima. Complicated cocktails. All of `em went down the hatch, tasted great, and made me feel good. But for some reason, I just couldn’t understand the appeal of beer. I’d drink it if it were around (show me a picky college student and I’ll show you a coddled miscreant), but it was never my go-to. I was a fool.

But I wouldn’t be foolish forever.

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Hulloh there, folks!

How was your Christmas? How is your Chanukah? Pumped for Kwanzaa? Find someone to smooch on New Year’s Eve? No matter how you get down, chances’re that you’re in midst of celebration. And hell, what’s not to celebrate? We just passed the winter solstice, which means that the days of darkness are going to be coming to an end. While winter is sure to bludgeon us with icy blows, we can rest assured knowing that more and more sunlight will be headed our way.

Unless, of course, you’re a dweller of of the Southern Hemisphere — if that’s the case, you’re still rocking barbeques at the beach. But then again, you’re probably getting into fistfights with joeys and hunting down the dingos that stole your babies. Damn Aussies.

Kiwis are good folk, though.

Anyways, welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! This is the nerd-friendly show-and-tell jump-off! I’m going to sift through the entertainment debris that’ll be occupying my time in the following week, giving you the highlights along the way. After you check out `em out, it’s your duty to hit up the comments section and share your own recreational wreckage.

OL-5, standing by!

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[Is there a better way to celebrate the manger-birth of a superpowered messiah-baby than watching television? Hell no! Join Rendar Frankenstein as he navigates Spaceship OL through the Televised Days of Christmas!]

If pop culture’s taught us anything about Christmas, it’s that it’s the season of redemption. This is the one time of the year during which even the most miserably misanthropic and criminally corrupt are susceptible to the suggestion that underneath their callused exteriors beat hearts of joy and peace and altruism. Even the most seemingly formidable of Yuletide foes have been felled by the most wonderful time of the year.

Ebeneezer Scrooge. The Grinch. Frank Cross.

If the very avatars of greed and contempt are knocked out by Kris Kringle’s right hook, what chance does a run-of-the-mill reprobate stand? Is Christmas magic only reserved for the worst examples of the human condition, or can it be sprinkled on those individuals residing in the darker grey shades of morality? What happens when a lifetime of misdirection is intercepted by holiday responsibility?

Well, when we take a look at the exchange between Santa Claus and the Tenth Avenue Kid it becomes clear that Christmas offers hope not just for sinners and saints, but antiheroes and unlikely champions as well.

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Here it is folks – the final push towards Christmas! In less than a week’s time, the Magic Bearded Arbiter will sneak into our homes and either reward us with gifts or punish us with lumps of fossil fuel. Hopefully the Bearded Arbiter wasn’t looking when you cheated on your taxes, ran a red light, or didn’t tip the waitress because she didn’t preemptively refill your coffee.

But chances’re are that your ass is busted. There’s no hiding from Santa. He sees you when you’re sleeping.

So on that note, welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! This is the spot where we meet up to discuss the various bits of entertainment we’ll be relying on to get us through the hellish gauntlet that is the workweek. However, most of us are probably going to be giving half-assed performances at our jobs this week, more interested in cakes and candies and parties than punching in from 9-5. With that being said, last-minute shopping and party-planning carry their own unique brands of stress, and we’ll still need something to get us through.

C’mon, fly down the chimney and I’ll show you what’ll be occupying my mind this week!

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[Is there a better way to celebrate the manger-birth of a superpowered messiah-baby than watching television? Hell no! Join Rendar Frankenstein as he navigates Spaceship OL through the Televised Days of Christmas!]

It can’t be easy to be Santa.

Sure, the guy doesn’t have to work most days of the year. His extended vacation lasts from about December 26th through December 23rd, excepting the occasional check-ins to make sure his slaves helpers aren’t slackin’. He has the distinct pleasure of hanging his stockings with Mrs. Claus.

There’s no doubt that the jolly fat man has a nice life.

Still, Santa has the most stressful job imaginable. In a single night, the dude travels the globe, delivering presents to every single good boy and girl – a task that demands physical prowess, mental clarity, and incredible courage. By the end of his circumnavigation, St. Nick’s body has withstood incalculable g-force speeds, been stretched and crumpled through Chimneys in Chinese acrobat facsimiles, and subjected to countless cookie-calories. Through all this, Santa manages to keep a perfect record of which presents (or coal-lumps) go to which kids, never making a mistake along the way. And to top it all off, the white-beard’s got John McClane-sized balls, visiting even the homes of deserving children who just so happen to have meth-smokin’ gun enthusiasts for parents.

The only way Santa’s job could be more daunting is if his philanthropy had to go interplanetary.

So what are the implications of other planets making demands of Earth’s resident avatar of goodwill? How does a lifelong altruist react he’s told that he’s not reaching enough people?   What happens when a holiday conflict goes worlds-wide?

Well, it just so happens that Santa Claus Conquers the Martians.

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[Is there a better way to celebrate the manger-birth of a superpowered messiah-baby than watching television? Hell no! Join Rendar Frankenstein as he navigates Spaceship OL through the Televised Days of Christmas!]

There’s no denyin’ that there’s some debate as to how Christmas should be celebrated. Religious-folk’ll tell you that the purpose of the holiday is to commemorate the birth of Jesus Christ, and as such there should be plenty of Nativity scenes and trips to church and prayers uttered. On the other hand, secular-folk’ll tell you that the spirit of season is to make a concerted effort to spend time with friends and family, honoring our fellowships with feasts and drinking-bouts and gift-giving sessions.

And somewhere in the middle of this Venn diagram, there is agreement. Peace on Earth. Goodwill towards men. Santa Claus. Zealot or heathen, we can all get down with these Yuletide trademarks.

But what if this harmony is actually overwhelming our senses, robbing us of the ability to hear the strains of discord? Could this seemingly beautiful concord blind us to the truth? With everyone getting along, giving one another the benefit of the doubt, how would we ever know if the most wonderful time of the year had a sordid past?

Well, we’d have to be visited by the Cybernetic Ghost of Christmas Past from the Future.

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[Is there a better way to celebrate the manger-birth of a superpowered messiah-baby than watching television? Hell no! Join Rendar Frankenstein as he navigates Spaceship OL through the Televised Days of Christmas!]

Alas, life is embraced once again! It’s a Wonderful Life reminds all viewers that they’re worth something, even if they don’t think so. And for its saccharine resolution, the movie has come to be known as the forerunner of all holiday entertainment.

But what if the lesson in It’s a Wonderful Life can’t be universally applied? What happens if someone who is a societal malignancy begins contemplating non-existence? What do we learn when peering into another dimension in which an individual’s absence allows others to flourish?

In those instances, we have to accept that It’s a Bundyful Life.

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[Is there a better way to celebrate the manger-birth of a superpowered messiah-baby than watching television? Hell no! Join Rendar Frankenstein as he navigates Spaceship OL through the Televised Days of Christmas!]

There is something to be said of the idea that human beings need excuses to party.

Think about it – holidays have been celebrated since the advent of the human species. While the pretenses and customs vary from tribe to tribe, most cultures have set aside days specifically for the purpose of cutting loose. Work is momentarily forfeited, and individuals are encouraged to engage in social events so that they can relax, enjoy the kinship of their peers, and contemplate concepts that transcend the corporeal.

It’s basically psychic catharsis.

Again, such is the necessity for relaxation that it has been prescribed by multitudes of societies. Anyone doubting this need only consider the confluence of December-holidays: pagans honor the winter solstice, Christians eagerly anticipate Christmas, Jewish folk rock Hanukkah, and of course the saturnalian Romans go bananas for Saturnalia. These holidays are different, for sure, but the common thread is that all celebrants look forward to shirking responsibilities and spending time with loved ones.

For many, the holiday season serves as the canvas upon which some of life’s most cherished memories are painted.

But what about those individuals who, for one reason or another, are without their families during the holidays? How would you feel if in the time between one Christmas and the next, you divorced your spouse and could no longer see your kids on a daily basis? What if you didn’t want to burden friends with your grievances? In what ways would this alter your attitude about the most wonderful time of the year?

If you’re Don Draper it means that you take a swig of booze, bang your secretary, and woefully declare, “I don’t hate Christmas, I just hate this Christmas.”

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