The NHL. Home of some of the world's toughest guys. The only team sport to allow fist fights. And now, a league that is sending its players to charm school. Sean Avery, defenseman for the Dallas Stars, made this statement in a pre-game interview a few days ago:
"I am really happy to be back in Calgary, I love Canada," he said. "I just want to comment on how it's become like a common thing in the NHL for guys to fall in love with my sloppy seconds. I don't know what that's about. Enjoy the game tonight."
Avery has since been thrashed for his candor. Not only thrashed, but suspended--indefinitely. What? Are you serious? For referring to an ex as his "sloppy seconds"? I can see suspending him if it was some sort of racial slur, but not for making a little joke about some girl you used to date. And it's barely a personal attack on anyone. All he did was state "I used to date her" in different words.
As if the NHL didn't have enough trouble earning the interest and respect of sports fans. Hockey is a great sport. Home of the last true warriors. Guys who really do play for the love of the game. Guys who get stitched up on the bench and lose teeth like loose pocket change. And apparently now, guys who aren't allowed to make jokes. Ridiculous.
12.05.2008
12.01.2008
WRITING FOR LETTERMAN.
I was reorganizing my computer and I came across a file that's sort of interesting. About four years ago, my old boss told me he would try to get me some freelance work doing some writing for The David Letterman Show. Of course I was excited. The first step in the process, he said, was to write Top Ten lists for two standard topics: Top Ten Signs Your Gym Teacher Is Crazy & Top Ten Ways The World Would Be Different If A Dog Were President. Here are the lists I put together before narrowing it down to ten:
Top Ten Signs Your Gym Teacher Is Crazy
1. Instead of a whistle, he uses a kazoo
2. Two words: moon-boots
3. While you’re playing basketball, he’s in the corner playing with dolls
4. Keeps screaming “Snakes!” and running out of class
5. Promises relay race winners “a place in heaven”
6. Constantly mumbles “I coulda been a contender”
7. Some days he wears lipstick
8. Puts kids’ bag lunches in blender to make “health shakes”
9. He insists that tether-ball is the “Nazi’s game”
10. Keeps calling you soldier and ordering you drop and give him twenty
11. Coaches you to hit tennis ball with that “giant fly swatter”
12. Thinks hula-hoop is a sport
13. Once a month you dissect frogs
14. Instead of balls, you play dodge-ball with kittens
15. Drinks Capri Suns for breakfast—a lot of them
16. Proclaims those who reach the top of the rope are of a higher order
17. Refuses to wear shirt because it slows him down
18. Forces you to learn mores-code whistle blowing instructions
19. Eats handfuls of dirt from softball field
20. Wears shoe polish under eyes to reduce glare from gym lights
21. Brags about ability to blow whistle without using mouth
22. Makes kids shower before, half-way through and after class
23. Claims human athletic ability determined by alien ruler
24. Instead of a sweat suit, he wears a straightjacket
Top Ten Ways The World Would Be Different If A Dog Were President
1. State of the Union address would be a whole lot cuter.
2. Spaying and neutering…outlawed
3. Fetch finally recognized as national sport
4. All trees cut down to put squirrels on “level playing field”
5. Cats added to axis of terror
6. Year is now 12006, as years are converted to dog years
7. White house carpet cleaning bills—way up
8. US borders lined with invisible fence
9. Giant dog army is mobilized, saving US billions
10. First lady really would be a bitch
11. Lassie appointed attorney general
12. No more interns needed, since President can “service himself”
13. Cabinet consists of the Kibbles and Bits dogs.
14. International posturing reduced to a form of growling
15. Lobbyists do a lot more “back scratching”
16. People who eat grass are now socially accepted
17. Secret service to take new course in chasing cars
18. Public urination-no longer a crime
19. Sniffing asses no longer taboo
20. All fire hydrants declared public restrooms
21. All Korean restaurants…closed
22. Fetch “fake-outs” considered acts of treason
23. Blind dogs given “seeing eye-people”
Somewhere there's a file with my final ten, which he supposedly submitted. I never heard anything back, so here I am, not writing for Letterman. Still, it was fun making the lists.
Top Ten Signs Your Gym Teacher Is Crazy
1. Instead of a whistle, he uses a kazoo
2. Two words: moon-boots
3. While you’re playing basketball, he’s in the corner playing with dolls
4. Keeps screaming “Snakes!” and running out of class
5. Promises relay race winners “a place in heaven”
6. Constantly mumbles “I coulda been a contender”
7. Some days he wears lipstick
8. Puts kids’ bag lunches in blender to make “health shakes”
9. He insists that tether-ball is the “Nazi’s game”
10. Keeps calling you soldier and ordering you drop and give him twenty
11. Coaches you to hit tennis ball with that “giant fly swatter”
12. Thinks hula-hoop is a sport
13. Once a month you dissect frogs
14. Instead of balls, you play dodge-ball with kittens
15. Drinks Capri Suns for breakfast—a lot of them
16. Proclaims those who reach the top of the rope are of a higher order
17. Refuses to wear shirt because it slows him down
18. Forces you to learn mores-code whistle blowing instructions
19. Eats handfuls of dirt from softball field
20. Wears shoe polish under eyes to reduce glare from gym lights
21. Brags about ability to blow whistle without using mouth
22. Makes kids shower before, half-way through and after class
23. Claims human athletic ability determined by alien ruler
24. Instead of a sweat suit, he wears a straightjacket
Top Ten Ways The World Would Be Different If A Dog Were President
1. State of the Union address would be a whole lot cuter.
2. Spaying and neutering…outlawed
3. Fetch finally recognized as national sport
4. All trees cut down to put squirrels on “level playing field”
5. Cats added to axis of terror
6. Year is now 12006, as years are converted to dog years
7. White house carpet cleaning bills—way up
8. US borders lined with invisible fence
9. Giant dog army is mobilized, saving US billions
10. First lady really would be a bitch
11. Lassie appointed attorney general
12. No more interns needed, since President can “service himself”
13. Cabinet consists of the Kibbles and Bits dogs.
14. International posturing reduced to a form of growling
15. Lobbyists do a lot more “back scratching”
16. People who eat grass are now socially accepted
17. Secret service to take new course in chasing cars
18. Public urination-no longer a crime
19. Sniffing asses no longer taboo
20. All fire hydrants declared public restrooms
21. All Korean restaurants…closed
22. Fetch “fake-outs” considered acts of treason
23. Blind dogs given “seeing eye-people”
Somewhere there's a file with my final ten, which he supposedly submitted. I never heard anything back, so here I am, not writing for Letterman. Still, it was fun making the lists.
10.23.2008
VIRGINITY FOR SALE.
So awhile ago that story came out about the girl selling her virginity to pay for grad school. And I just realized what I should do about this:
I want to purchase her virginity and then not have sex with her.
Since there would have to be some sort of binding legal contract proclaiming me the owner of said virginity, I would remain the owner until I personally had sex with her. Which means I could put that virginity in the bank and wait five years, ten years, or maybe forever. I could leave her virginity to my children in a will, which would probably not be very valuable, considering by the time I die she'll be old and rotten.
One flaw in this plan is my lack of self control. If there's beer in the fridge, I drink it. On the rare occasions that I have pot, I smoke it until it's gone. So if I owned some virginity, I would definitely use it up.
The other flaw is that I just plain don't have $250,000. Perhaps a church will buy her virginity and ensure she remains pure, which would save her soul from eternal damnation. They can pass around the collection basket, taking donations to the congregation, who would all be part owners of that girl's virginity.
I want to purchase her virginity and then not have sex with her.
Since there would have to be some sort of binding legal contract proclaiming me the owner of said virginity, I would remain the owner until I personally had sex with her. Which means I could put that virginity in the bank and wait five years, ten years, or maybe forever. I could leave her virginity to my children in a will, which would probably not be very valuable, considering by the time I die she'll be old and rotten.
One flaw in this plan is my lack of self control. If there's beer in the fridge, I drink it. On the rare occasions that I have pot, I smoke it until it's gone. So if I owned some virginity, I would definitely use it up.
The other flaw is that I just plain don't have $250,000. Perhaps a church will buy her virginity and ensure she remains pure, which would save her soul from eternal damnation. They can pass around the collection basket, taking donations to the congregation, who would all be part owners of that girl's virginity.
10.06.2008
I WANT TO LIKE DEXTER.
I want to like Dexter, I really do. But it sucks. Aside from the premise, which I think is interesting and could yield a great show, nothing about Dexter is really all that great. The story-line is okay and I guess it's enough to keep me coming back, but the acting is repulsive. I hate virtually all of the actors and actresses.
The sister is by far the worst. The whole "I want my shield to make daddy proud" routine has been beat beyond recognition. Is it a dead horse? Is it a dead cow? Is it a dead great dane? I just can't tell, it's so badly beaten.
And Dexter's inner monologue is painfully redundant. Oh, your dad made you this monster, oh you're soooo conflicted, ohhh, the code, oh you're in a tight spot. We get it. It's gotten to the point now that I DVR episodes so that I can fast forward through half of the show. I don't really want to hear them talk or see any of the acting, I just want a snapshot of the story.
I guess the silver lining to all of this sucking is that it only takes me about 30 minutes to watch each episode.
The sister is by far the worst. The whole "I want my shield to make daddy proud" routine has been beat beyond recognition. Is it a dead horse? Is it a dead cow? Is it a dead great dane? I just can't tell, it's so badly beaten.
And Dexter's inner monologue is painfully redundant. Oh, your dad made you this monster, oh you're soooo conflicted, ohhh, the code, oh you're in a tight spot. We get it. It's gotten to the point now that I DVR episodes so that I can fast forward through half of the show. I don't really want to hear them talk or see any of the acting, I just want a snapshot of the story.
I guess the silver lining to all of this sucking is that it only takes me about 30 minutes to watch each episode.
9.26.2008
IF JOHN MCCAIN IS ELECTED...
Can they fix his little arms? Please?
I bet they want to punch one another's faces. Debates make me feel sick to my stomach for some reason.
I bet they want to punch one another's faces. Debates make me feel sick to my stomach for some reason.
9.25.2008
DAVID BLAINE: WORST PERSON
"Illusionist" David Blaine has pulled another weak stunt. Apparently, he used to do magic. He could take the head off of a chicken and put it back on. He had some sweet card tricks. And now, he has a publicist, financial backing, and terrible decision making skills.
First, his attempt to hang upside-down for sixty hours straight is mildly intriguing at best. The fact that he was "required" to get down every so often for "medical checks" entirely defeats the purpose of even trying. The whole attraction of these stunts is that he might die. So monitoring him to ensure that won't happen, while also getting him out of his position, completely ruins what was already a pretty lame stunt. How about this for a stunt: David Blaine will never be seen again, ever. That's a stunt I can get behind.
Then, after the weakest "magic" the world has ever seen, he was set to attempt his "dive of death." This sounded more interesting. There was a real chance he could hit the pavement, which people want to see. There was also a real chance for him to use some sort of masterful trickery to regain some of his illusionist mystique. And what happened? He jumped off some scaffolding wearing a harness connected to a wire. Dive of death, indeed. It wasn't even a well-concealed wire. The crowd booed, as they should have. Then the wire lifted Blaine off into the sky, hopefully to begin his next stunt: Never being seen again.
9.18.2008
HEAD PETTING.
This morning I stopped at a barbershop in my new neighborhood. I was in need of a haircut, and since I don't require anything fancy, I like your classic-type barbershop. Sel's seemed to fit the bill--old fashioned chairs, faux wood walls decorated with odd pictures, worn linoleum floors, and an old Italian man who speaks broken English and has that perma-coffee-and-cigarette odor.
So everything seemed to be in order. Then the haircut began. First, Sel cuts hair dry. He doesn't wet you down at all. So your hair doesn't so much fall to the floor as it does blow everywhere and get in your ears. But that was of little concern.
The strange thing was that as part of the haircut, Sel pets your head. He mats down the hair every few snips to see how it's turning out. Which is weird, but not the weirdest. The weirdest part takes place when he pets down the hair in the front and doesn't stop where the hair stops. He pets right down onto your face.
The first few pets made me feel uncomfortable. But at that point, I was in the middle of a haircut and Sel was armed with scissors. I wasn't about to ask him to stop or bring up the strangeness of the face petting. So I let him finish. Then about six or seven pets in, I sort of started to like it. It was soothing.
Now I'm confused.
I don't think I can go back to Sel, but now I sit at work, petting my face all day long. Plus, the haircut kind of sucks.
So everything seemed to be in order. Then the haircut began. First, Sel cuts hair dry. He doesn't wet you down at all. So your hair doesn't so much fall to the floor as it does blow everywhere and get in your ears. But that was of little concern.
The strange thing was that as part of the haircut, Sel pets your head. He mats down the hair every few snips to see how it's turning out. Which is weird, but not the weirdest. The weirdest part takes place when he pets down the hair in the front and doesn't stop where the hair stops. He pets right down onto your face.
The first few pets made me feel uncomfortable. But at that point, I was in the middle of a haircut and Sel was armed with scissors. I wasn't about to ask him to stop or bring up the strangeness of the face petting. So I let him finish. Then about six or seven pets in, I sort of started to like it. It was soothing.
Now I'm confused.
I don't think I can go back to Sel, but now I sit at work, petting my face all day long. Plus, the haircut kind of sucks.
9.16.2008
IPHONE PICTURE PAGE.
Look at all of those ducks!
Seriously, we get it. You're a nurse. Go home and change out of those pajamas, bitch.
The NFL Sunday Ticket + two televisions = perfect Sunday. Except for the whole HD situation, which I can't really talk about right now.
I took a picture of this, not because I love Dr. Pepper, but rather because I was going to write a blog about it on irateads.com. What a stupid idea. If anyone in the world actually collects this "limited edition" can, they are perhaps the saddest person. I might still write that blog.
These are various pictures of New York sights. On a street at sunset, from a roof at night, and one of a horse and buggy going by in the strange neighborhood where I work.
This was going to be a blog entry about how much I love being an adult and how hard it is for me to pick any cereal I want. I can have anything! On this particular day I bought Trix, even though I'm aware they're for kids. Today I actually bought Froot Loops. Trix are better.
I believe this is a jar of chicken fat you can pour on your food, found at Sammy's Romanian Steakhouse.
This was an instructional illustration I found outside a bathroom at Gowanas Yacht Club. For those of you not familiar with this place, it's an outdoor bar that is about three blocks from a dirty canal. It has nothing to do with yachts. However, they do appear to have strict regulations for their bathroom. Pee, yes. Poop, sure. Fuck from behind while pulling hair, no.
9.04.2008
FIRE ALARMS, WORTHLESS.
If you work in a building, you've probably had experience with the worthlessness of fire alarms. Of all the times I've had a fire alarm go off in my building, I don't think there's ever been an actual fire. And I've worked in some terrible, really flammable buildings. Buildings that probably should be burned.
Once you've been through enough false alarms, you start to dismiss them altogether. They're crying wolf. But what happens if there really is a wolf? A wolf who breathes fire and sets your building on fire? What then?
The answer is a smoke alarm. Not an alarm that senses smoke, but an alarm that pumps out smoke. In the case of a real fire, the smoke alarms would start pumping thick, black smoke onto all the floors. If you hear the fire alarm and see smoke in your building, you'd probably get the hell out. Because everyone knows, where there's smoke, there's fire. And wa-la, I just saved you from a terrible burning death.
Smoking Smoke Alarm. Patented 09.04.08.
Once you've been through enough false alarms, you start to dismiss them altogether. They're crying wolf. But what happens if there really is a wolf? A wolf who breathes fire and sets your building on fire? What then?
The answer is a smoke alarm. Not an alarm that senses smoke, but an alarm that pumps out smoke. In the case of a real fire, the smoke alarms would start pumping thick, black smoke onto all the floors. If you hear the fire alarm and see smoke in your building, you'd probably get the hell out. Because everyone knows, where there's smoke, there's fire. And wa-la, I just saved you from a terrible burning death.
Smoking Smoke Alarm. Patented 09.04.08.
8.19.2008
CHASE LICKS BALLS
This morning I went to deposit some checks at my friendly neighborhood Chase bank. In the lobby I was greeted by a giant cardboard sign in front of the counter where the deposit slips are normally kept. It proclaimed "NO HASSLE DEPOSITS!" The sign went on to say that you didn't need to fill out a form or use an envelope. Simply go to the ATM, log in, and slide your money (or checks) into the machine.
Perfect. I hate forms and don't really care much for envelopes.
So to the machine I went. I logged in and selected deposit, at which point the loud beeping and flashing lights directed me to slide my checks into a strange machine mouth. The machine quickly ate my checks, then after 20 more seconds of beeping and flashing, returned to the greeting/not logged in screen. No receipt. No acknowledgement that my checks had been received.
At this point, since the machine was apparently done with me, I had to go inside and see customer service. After waiting in line for five minutes, I was informed I could call a hotline and file a claim. Great. At work, I called the hotline, filed the claim and apparently everything is going to be taken care of.
But I'm not satisfied. I think after work I'm going to stop by and demand they take down that sign. Because to me, having a machine eat your checks, forcing you to wait in line--only to talk to someone who makes you call a hotline where you'll be put on hold is not really "HASSLE FREE." Not hassle free at all.
Perfect. I hate forms and don't really care much for envelopes.
So to the machine I went. I logged in and selected deposit, at which point the loud beeping and flashing lights directed me to slide my checks into a strange machine mouth. The machine quickly ate my checks, then after 20 more seconds of beeping and flashing, returned to the greeting/not logged in screen. No receipt. No acknowledgement that my checks had been received.
At this point, since the machine was apparently done with me, I had to go inside and see customer service. After waiting in line for five minutes, I was informed I could call a hotline and file a claim. Great. At work, I called the hotline, filed the claim and apparently everything is going to be taken care of.
But I'm not satisfied. I think after work I'm going to stop by and demand they take down that sign. Because to me, having a machine eat your checks, forcing you to wait in line--only to talk to someone who makes you call a hotline where you'll be put on hold is not really "HASSLE FREE." Not hassle free at all.
8.07.2008
REVOKING MY FAVRE FANDOM.
Months ago, when Brett Favre finally retired I came out as a fan. Despite being an avid Lions fan (thus programmed to hate Green Bay and Chicago), I couldn't help but admire the passion and grit with which Favre played.
But the recent coming out of retirement circus has been an abomination. The Packers, Favre and the media are all to blame. Mostly the media, in my opinion. In what must have been one of the slowest sporting news months in recent memory, the Favre story was on for about 1/4 of every sporting news show. SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT BRETT FAVRE! Speculation on top of speculation. Interviews with people who have nothing to do with Favre, the Packers or his situation. I mean, they asked Tiger Woods about it. You seriously don't have any better questions for arguably the most dominant athlete (within his sport) in the world? That journalist should be fired and Tiger should refuse to answer any more questions about over-the-hill athletes from other sports possibly coming out of retirement.
Favre has to take some responsibility for this. I mean, make up your mind. I understand the desire to play again once the season gets close, but think about your legacy. This has certainly tainted it. You were a legend--no, a God--in Green Bay. You played there your entire career. You could probably feed a whole nursery full of babies to a pit bull, then torture that pit bull and feed it to your infant daughter and nuns in Green Bay would STILL give you a blowjob on the street. But now you're going to play for the Jets? Ugh. Brett, Brett, Brett. You're ruined everything.
Now we just have to wait for the end of season "will Brett retire" talk to begin. It'll probably start tomorrow and last all season.
But the recent coming out of retirement circus has been an abomination. The Packers, Favre and the media are all to blame. Mostly the media, in my opinion. In what must have been one of the slowest sporting news months in recent memory, the Favre story was on for about 1/4 of every sporting news show. SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT BRETT FAVRE! Speculation on top of speculation. Interviews with people who have nothing to do with Favre, the Packers or his situation. I mean, they asked Tiger Woods about it. You seriously don't have any better questions for arguably the most dominant athlete (within his sport) in the world? That journalist should be fired and Tiger should refuse to answer any more questions about over-the-hill athletes from other sports possibly coming out of retirement.
Favre has to take some responsibility for this. I mean, make up your mind. I understand the desire to play again once the season gets close, but think about your legacy. This has certainly tainted it. You were a legend--no, a God--in Green Bay. You played there your entire career. You could probably feed a whole nursery full of babies to a pit bull, then torture that pit bull and feed it to your infant daughter and nuns in Green Bay would STILL give you a blowjob on the street. But now you're going to play for the Jets? Ugh. Brett, Brett, Brett. You're ruined everything.
Now we just have to wait for the end of season "will Brett retire" talk to begin. It'll probably start tomorrow and last all season.
FROM IRATE ADS: POLITICAL AD
From irateads.com:
jtherkal: In what will become a growing series as November nears, we're going to tackle political ads. For years, political ads have been a stain on our society, littering the airwaves with slanderous accusations, boredom and just plain terribleness. You'd think that candidates would hire professionals to pump out some ads that don't feel like your typical political BS. But to date, few have. We'll start with this gem, which has been a bit of a lightning rod as of late.
It's for John McCain, Republican candidate for president (for the super uninformed). My guess is he has hired some professionals, and those professionals talked him into this outstanding ad. The conversation probably went a little like this:
Ad Guy: So John, the difference between you and Obama is that you're old and crusty. He's young, beloved and hip. Trying to make you seem hip, or Obama seem crusty is a near impossible task. So our angle is this: play up your crustiness and make his popularity seem like a fault.
McCain: Interesting. Can't we just say "McCain is white and will take over the fucking world with guns?"
Ad Guy: No, there's been a bit of a backlash due to all this war crap.
McCain: Oh, continue.
Ad Guy: Well, we start with ominous music. Then we show people chanting "O BA MA! O BA MA!"
McCain: Wait, won't that make him seem popular?
Ad Guy: That's the point, you old bastard. Now shut it and wait for the punchline.
McCain: Sorry.
Ad Guy: So while people are chanting, we show images of celebrities that are idiots. Paris Hilton, Brittany Spears, etc. Then people will think "Obama is a celebrity, Paris is a celebrity, Obama is the same as Paris."
McCain: I like your logic.
Ad Guy: Then we say some of the political bullshit you insist on cramming in my ads, followed by that image of you looking into the light while you say you approve this message.
McCain: Doesn't that clip of me looking into the light make people think of me being old and dying?
Ad Guy: That's the point! We want people to think about how old you are. You're the anti-young. You have so much experience that you're almost dead.
McCain: Brilliant.
Ad Guy: That's why you hired me.
I guess if I have to rate this, I give it a F. The backlash on this has been nothing short of sensational. Paris has even responded with this:
sjbooher: That's it, I'm voting for Paris. That is awesome. How does Paris Hilton have a better campaign ad than McCain? And it also sounds like she already has a better handle on her running mate (Rihanna, potentially) than either of the real candidates! Ha. McCain's ad was lazy and scatterbrained at the same time. FOCUS, MAAAAAAAN. Not to mention he just saved Obama millions of dollars as the backlash is campaign advertising in and of itself. F to the McCain ad, A+ to the Paris ad.
jtherkal: In what will become a growing series as November nears, we're going to tackle political ads. For years, political ads have been a stain on our society, littering the airwaves with slanderous accusations, boredom and just plain terribleness. You'd think that candidates would hire professionals to pump out some ads that don't feel like your typical political BS. But to date, few have. We'll start with this gem, which has been a bit of a lightning rod as of late.
It's for John McCain, Republican candidate for president (for the super uninformed). My guess is he has hired some professionals, and those professionals talked him into this outstanding ad. The conversation probably went a little like this:
Ad Guy: So John, the difference between you and Obama is that you're old and crusty. He's young, beloved and hip. Trying to make you seem hip, or Obama seem crusty is a near impossible task. So our angle is this: play up your crustiness and make his popularity seem like a fault.
McCain: Interesting. Can't we just say "McCain is white and will take over the fucking world with guns?"
Ad Guy: No, there's been a bit of a backlash due to all this war crap.
McCain: Oh, continue.
Ad Guy: Well, we start with ominous music. Then we show people chanting "O BA MA! O BA MA!"
McCain: Wait, won't that make him seem popular?
Ad Guy: That's the point, you old bastard. Now shut it and wait for the punchline.
McCain: Sorry.
Ad Guy: So while people are chanting, we show images of celebrities that are idiots. Paris Hilton, Brittany Spears, etc. Then people will think "Obama is a celebrity, Paris is a celebrity, Obama is the same as Paris."
McCain: I like your logic.
Ad Guy: Then we say some of the political bullshit you insist on cramming in my ads, followed by that image of you looking into the light while you say you approve this message.
McCain: Doesn't that clip of me looking into the light make people think of me being old and dying?
Ad Guy: That's the point! We want people to think about how old you are. You're the anti-young. You have so much experience that you're almost dead.
McCain: Brilliant.
Ad Guy: That's why you hired me.
I guess if I have to rate this, I give it a F. The backlash on this has been nothing short of sensational. Paris has even responded with this:
sjbooher: That's it, I'm voting for Paris. That is awesome. How does Paris Hilton have a better campaign ad than McCain? And it also sounds like she already has a better handle on her running mate (Rihanna, potentially) than either of the real candidates! Ha. McCain's ad was lazy and scatterbrained at the same time. FOCUS, MAAAAAAAN. Not to mention he just saved Obama millions of dollars as the backlash is campaign advertising in and of itself. F to the McCain ad, A+ to the Paris ad.
7.15.2008
IMPORTANT TOPIC.
Last weekend, after several drinks, I was talking to some friends about a most important topic. The question at hand was: How hot is a dragon's vagina? While there were several different opinions on the matter, the only one that matters in this space is mine. Which is that a dragon's vagina is very, very, immensely hot. The beast can breathe fire from its mouth. The mouth goes inside it, as does the vagina. So it stands to reason that much like the mouth, that dragon pussy is burning hot. Also, it is likely lined with sharp scales, which would feel nice on the way in, but rip your charred dick apart on the way back out.
It just goes to show you, don't fuck a dragon.
7.10.2008
CAN I GET SOME?
It happens to everyone. You get some song stuck in your head and you can't stop repeating one chorus, over and over and over and over and over again. In my head, I often get some warped version of the song, where the words are replaced with words that might make sense, might not. Last weekend, I was getting my hair cut and some combination of these items put a song in my head:
-A little boy asking his parents something over and over again in Spanish.
-The song "Damaged" by Danity Kane.
-A hunger and love for pizza.
The result was a warped version of the song, where I imagined the kid was asking his parents "Can we get some pizza?" Pizza. Pizza. By replacing "How you gonna fix it" with "Can I get some pizza?" a song was born. I sang it all weekend long, inspiring a house full of people to sing along with me and to eat pizza. I still can't get rid of it. Here, so you all have to suffer my fate, is "Can I get some?" the music video.
You might have to crank up your volume to hear it. Then again, you might not want to.
-A little boy asking his parents something over and over again in Spanish.
-The song "Damaged" by Danity Kane.
-A hunger and love for pizza.
The result was a warped version of the song, where I imagined the kid was asking his parents "Can we get some pizza?" Pizza. Pizza. By replacing "How you gonna fix it" with "Can I get some pizza?" a song was born. I sang it all weekend long, inspiring a house full of people to sing along with me and to eat pizza. I still can't get rid of it. Here, so you all have to suffer my fate, is "Can I get some?" the music video.
You might have to crank up your volume to hear it. Then again, you might not want to.
6.30.2008
CREST PRO HEALTH TOOTHPASTE
My inability to make decisions always comes to the forefront while shopping for personal hygiene products. Shampoo, deodorant, shaving cream and especially toothpaste. I know what I like, just a simple, minty paste. No gel, nothing that feels like sand or burning in my mouth, just the most average joe toothpaste available.
But then I get in the aisle and my brain gets confused. Which is more important to fight, cavities, gingivitis or plaque? Which brand is better? Do I need whitening or not? So many questions. And then, this time, there was an answer. Crest Pro-Health Total Care Toothpaste.
There, seemingly, was the perfect toothpaste. The shiny package claimed that this toothpaste fought every mouth ailment known to man. My decision was suddenly made. So what if it looked like a slightly fancy toothpaste, it does everything. Surely it can't taste that bad, it's mint. But then I used it. Ugh. Awful. Unbelievably bad. And to make sure it was awful, my girlfriend tested and confirmed that Crest Pro-Health was, indeed, terrible. The only way I can describe it is that it leaves you with a minty, rotten-milk aftertaste. If you like your mouth, do not ever buy this toothpaste.
But then I get in the aisle and my brain gets confused. Which is more important to fight, cavities, gingivitis or plaque? Which brand is better? Do I need whitening or not? So many questions. And then, this time, there was an answer. Crest Pro-Health Total Care Toothpaste.
There, seemingly, was the perfect toothpaste. The shiny package claimed that this toothpaste fought every mouth ailment known to man. My decision was suddenly made. So what if it looked like a slightly fancy toothpaste, it does everything. Surely it can't taste that bad, it's mint. But then I used it. Ugh. Awful. Unbelievably bad. And to make sure it was awful, my girlfriend tested and confirmed that Crest Pro-Health was, indeed, terrible. The only way I can describe it is that it leaves you with a minty, rotten-milk aftertaste. If you like your mouth, do not ever buy this toothpaste.
6.24.2008
Pirates, Still At It.
Fresh off the internet presses at CNN.com: Pirates take four European tourists hostage
It's good to know that pirates are still hard at work, taking hostages, raiding ships, etc. And it's interesting that they're not referred to as terrorists. Seems like most pirate activities are pretty similar to terrorism, the only difference being that pirates operate on the water. People hate terrorists, but we still have some sort of affinity for those sea loving rascals, the pirates. Arrrrrr.
It's good to know that pirates are still hard at work, taking hostages, raiding ships, etc. And it's interesting that they're not referred to as terrorists. Seems like most pirate activities are pretty similar to terrorism, the only difference being that pirates operate on the water. People hate terrorists, but we still have some sort of affinity for those sea loving rascals, the pirates. Arrrrrr.
I'm 30, I guess.
I don't really remember the exact day or year I was born, but according to my parents it was June 18, 1978. Which makes me 30 years old as of last Wednesday. I don't feel much different, but apparently people think it's a "big birthday." The best gift I received was from my girlfriend, who secretly put together a birthday video for me. Not some sort of dirty sex video, as I had hoped, but a touching 30 minute video starring my friends and family. She shipped a Flip around the country, carried out secret gatherings and was all around sneaky to gather as much as she could. The result, while a bit long, was a total surprise and blew me away. Thanks.
And to thank everyone who participated, I used said Flip to put together a little video of my own. It's considerably shorter.
All in all, it was one of the best birthday weeks I've ever had. So far being 30 is awesome. Take that, 20's.
And to thank everyone who participated, I used said Flip to put together a little video of my own. It's considerably shorter.
All in all, it was one of the best birthday weeks I've ever had. So far being 30 is awesome. Take that, 20's.
6.11.2008
THE ULTIMATE MAN COMPETITION WEEKEND THAT IS ALSO A BACHELOR PARTY FOR JON.
So I've taken a long time off. Mostly due to laziness, partially due to spending time working on irateads.com, partially due to other events in life. So here, to kick off what could be another period of active blogging, is a video I cut together with highlights of a recent weekend trip to Michigan.
Events included:
Manathalon
Start with five pushups, sprint 25 yards, slam a beer, sprint 25 yards, pick up a hatchet, while running, throw the hatchet at a stack of wood (time off your score for sticking it in the wood), sprint to finish line.
Winner: Me
Shooting & Shots
Five cans sit on steps of a ladder, with an air rifle, shoot the cans off of the ladder. You must take a shot of beer before every shot you take. Judged on accuracy.
Winner: Me
Tire Throw
Throw a car tire as far as you can.
Winner: Not me, Jamie possibly.
One Man Canoe Race
Chug a beer, get in canoe, race to the other side of a river, touch a log with your oar, row back.
Winner: Me.
Axe Throw
Throw an axe at a tree from different distances. If the axe sticks you get points, based on how far you are from the tree.
Other Games:
Poker Tournament
Pool Tournament
Hot Dog Eating Contest
Getting the drunkest contest
Various points awarded for other man-like things, such as hitting a bird with your car
Planned Games That Never Got Finished Due To Time & Drunk:
100yd Dash Dragging Log
Wood Chopping
Hole Digging
Fishing
Overall winner: Me. Although I kept score. If you ain't cheatin, you ain't tryin.
Events included:
Manathalon
Start with five pushups, sprint 25 yards, slam a beer, sprint 25 yards, pick up a hatchet, while running, throw the hatchet at a stack of wood (time off your score for sticking it in the wood), sprint to finish line.
Winner: Me
Shooting & Shots
Five cans sit on steps of a ladder, with an air rifle, shoot the cans off of the ladder. You must take a shot of beer before every shot you take. Judged on accuracy.
Winner: Me
Tire Throw
Throw a car tire as far as you can.
Winner: Not me, Jamie possibly.
One Man Canoe Race
Chug a beer, get in canoe, race to the other side of a river, touch a log with your oar, row back.
Winner: Me.
Axe Throw
Throw an axe at a tree from different distances. If the axe sticks you get points, based on how far you are from the tree.
Other Games:
Poker Tournament
Pool Tournament
Hot Dog Eating Contest
Getting the drunkest contest
Various points awarded for other man-like things, such as hitting a bird with your car
Planned Games That Never Got Finished Due To Time & Drunk:
100yd Dash Dragging Log
Wood Chopping
Hole Digging
Fishing
Overall winner: Me. Although I kept score. If you ain't cheatin, you ain't tryin.
4.01.2008
IT'S PEANUT BUTTER JELLY TIME.
Last Halloween my friend dressed as one of the greatest songs ever made. The result, finally available on YouTube, is one of the greatest performances in modern history. The best part, to me, is that he just doesn't quit. If the song had gone for 20 minutes, I think he would have danced for 20 minutes. Enjoy.
The original:
And now one featuring my favorite type of mascot. The crazy walkin' inflatable mascot!
This makes my day.
The original:
And now one featuring my favorite type of mascot. The crazy walkin' inflatable mascot!
This makes my day.
3.26.2008
THE ARCHIVES: MALL LIFERS, 04.21.2001
In an effort to consolidate writing archives I have spread over a few websites, I'm going to start posting entries from the past on this page. Though I'll be tempted to, I won't edit them. I'll start with some of the oldest posts first and work my way up. And if for any reason you want more, you can check out all of them at thelordoursavior.com
4/24/01
Amazingly enough, sometimes I don't have anything to say. However, I will seldom let that stop me from talking, so here's a little insight into human nature for you:
No matter who people are, or what they do for a living, they truely believe that they have the most important job. And, not only is their job the most important, but the also believe that they and others in their field are somehow elite. For instance, I worked evenings for several years in a mall. As a part time worker in an organization you are able to see the culture without ever fully committing yourself. This allowed me to observe the actions and rituals of the "Mall Lifers." Lifers seldom work in the same store for more than a few years before migrating to a new store. No matter how much they move, they seldom leave the confines of the mall community. Those who "get out" of the life mostly trasfer to the same store in another mall. Collectively (and keep in mind there are exceptions to every rule) Mall Lifers all smoke, which enables them to take smoke breaks together. It is at these smoke breaks that one can observe the elitest attitude held by Lifers.
Example:
KB TOY STORE EMPLOYEE: Dude, you should have seen this guy that came in to the store today.
WETZEL'S PRETZEL WORKER: Yeah?
KB: He was looking around, then he dropped a box on the floor and I had to pick it up.
WETZEL: What an idiot.
KB: And then he asked me if I had any Pokemon Battledome games in stock, and I was like, no dude, but we do have Pokemon Stadium.
WETZEL: (laughs and throws cigarette butt in bushes outside mall entrance)
KB: Man, the dumbest people come in the store sometime.
Then those two go back inside, where they are apparently kings. Could have been that man looking for the Pokemon game was the CEO of some company, or a famous scientist. Anyways, it is always amazing how the mall lifers convince eachother that they are the ilk of society. Whatever ilk means.
(in retrospect, I completely misused the work "ilk." And I misspelled "truly" and "transfer." How I've grown as a writer.)
4/24/01
Amazingly enough, sometimes I don't have anything to say. However, I will seldom let that stop me from talking, so here's a little insight into human nature for you:
No matter who people are, or what they do for a living, they truely believe that they have the most important job. And, not only is their job the most important, but the also believe that they and others in their field are somehow elite. For instance, I worked evenings for several years in a mall. As a part time worker in an organization you are able to see the culture without ever fully committing yourself. This allowed me to observe the actions and rituals of the "Mall Lifers." Lifers seldom work in the same store for more than a few years before migrating to a new store. No matter how much they move, they seldom leave the confines of the mall community. Those who "get out" of the life mostly trasfer to the same store in another mall. Collectively (and keep in mind there are exceptions to every rule) Mall Lifers all smoke, which enables them to take smoke breaks together. It is at these smoke breaks that one can observe the elitest attitude held by Lifers.
Example:
KB TOY STORE EMPLOYEE: Dude, you should have seen this guy that came in to the store today.
WETZEL'S PRETZEL WORKER: Yeah?
KB: He was looking around, then he dropped a box on the floor and I had to pick it up.
WETZEL: What an idiot.
KB: And then he asked me if I had any Pokemon Battledome games in stock, and I was like, no dude, but we do have Pokemon Stadium.
WETZEL: (laughs and throws cigarette butt in bushes outside mall entrance)
KB: Man, the dumbest people come in the store sometime.
Then those two go back inside, where they are apparently kings. Could have been that man looking for the Pokemon game was the CEO of some company, or a famous scientist. Anyways, it is always amazing how the mall lifers convince eachother that they are the ilk of society. Whatever ilk means.
(in retrospect, I completely misused the work "ilk." And I misspelled "truly" and "transfer." How I've grown as a writer.)
3.25.2008
TOO MUCH BLOOD.
There's nothing more disorienting than waking up in the morning to find that your nose is gushing blood. This morning I woke from my post-snoozing half-sleep dream to find my nose dripping blood onto my pillow. I immediately leapt from my bed and did an arm-wipe check of my nose. There was definitely blood, a lot of it. What better time for every one of the 30 mini packs of tissues I keep laying around to disappear. After digging an old paper towel from the trash, I plugged up the nose. It continued to bleed at a steady clip for about 10 minutes, soaking about 5-6 tissues with a bucket of blood. Then it stopped. Just like that. There was barely any evidence in my actual nose that this trauma had taken place. Only the trash can full of bloody Kleenex and my constant fear that blood would again start shooting from my schnoz remained.
photo from lunch when my nose started bleeding again
So fearing a brain tumor, I went on WebMD to see what was up. The general information on nose bleeds didn't really give me any reason to worry, but it also didn't give me a definitive answer as to the cause of the blood fountain. Luckily, I have figured it out. Because I have such a super-human body, my immune system and life sustaining capabilities are sometimes too great. My body temporarily lost its focus and produced entirely too much new blood. The solution? Open the flood gates and drain the extra blood. If not, I probably would have exploded, like an over-inflated balloon. I just need to pay more attention to how much blood I'm making.
In related news, my college roommate used to get these gushers on the regular. And last year, about this time, I was out to lunch with co-workers at a job I had just started in CT. We were sitting outside at a picnic table near a little shrimp shack on the water. Awesome day, getting to know my new work friends. Then...BAM...massive nosebleed that wouldn't stop for the duration of the lunch. Try explaining to your new co-workers that it's not from cocaine. Weird.
3.24.2008
FAMOUS IS FAMOUS.
One saying I've always stood by is "famous is famous." Meaning, it doesn't matter how you get famous--just get it. Of course, there's a difference between the fame achieved through serial killing and that achieved through rescuing 1000 babies from a burning building, but most of the inbetween nets out to just plain famous. A shining example of this theory has come to light in the last few weeks (and yes, I'm going to refer to the Spitzer scandal again).
Ashley Alexandra Dupre.
Ashley has been on the famous is famous plan for awhile, as is evidenced by her appearance on Girls Gone Wild years back. Everyone knows, showing your tits is one way to jump-start your fame. Here's a special look at her GGW stint, with some sort of special VCR slow motion/rewind treatment added in by an ambitious YouTube user who, no doubt, is also trying to get famous.
Girls Gone Wild apparently didn't launch her career the way she envisioned it would, so she took the less-traveled "become a high-priced whore involved with a government official and then get busted" path to fame. This scandal has vaulted her into the limelight and the offers for fame-related gigs are rolling in.
She appeared topless on the cover of the Post. $1 million offered by Hustler to do a nude spread. $1 million was originally offered by Girls Gone Wild for a non-nude spread; then they found they already had Ms. Dupre in their archives. Imagine the luck. Whoever found that bit should get a bonus.
And what's more, she is starting to achieve the type of fame she probably wanted in the first place. As a musician. She's posted songs on Amie Street, where users can buy tunes for $0.98 each. Artists take home 70% of that fee, leaving Ashley around $0.69 per--insert 69 joke here--song sold. As of ten days ago, estimates were that over 300,000 people had visited the site and listened to the song. Who knows how many people bought that piece of crap. And how many hits do you think her MySpace page got? A shit-ton, that's how many.
So is Ashley famous? I would say so. First, I'm blogging about her, as are hundreds of other worthless web-writers. Second, she's on television weekly, if not daily. That might not last long, but most people will remember "Spitzer's whore" for a long time. And third, her song and other web items get a ton of hits. For reference, check the hit counter on this blog on the top right, then compare that to her 300,000 hits. That number over there is not how many people have been here today. That's the total number of people who have been here, ever. And I'd wager it's 1/3 me checking to make sure things look right, 1/3 the same six people (you know who you are, and you're appreciated) checking in, and 1/3 accidental hits from people who quickly click out of it.
Maybe I should start whoring.
Ashley Alexandra Dupre.
Ashley has been on the famous is famous plan for awhile, as is evidenced by her appearance on Girls Gone Wild years back. Everyone knows, showing your tits is one way to jump-start your fame. Here's a special look at her GGW stint, with some sort of special VCR slow motion/rewind treatment added in by an ambitious YouTube user who, no doubt, is also trying to get famous.
Girls Gone Wild apparently didn't launch her career the way she envisioned it would, so she took the less-traveled "become a high-priced whore involved with a government official and then get busted" path to fame. This scandal has vaulted her into the limelight and the offers for fame-related gigs are rolling in.
She appeared topless on the cover of the Post. $1 million offered by Hustler to do a nude spread. $1 million was originally offered by Girls Gone Wild for a non-nude spread; then they found they already had Ms. Dupre in their archives. Imagine the luck. Whoever found that bit should get a bonus.
And what's more, she is starting to achieve the type of fame she probably wanted in the first place. As a musician. She's posted songs on Amie Street, where users can buy tunes for $0.98 each. Artists take home 70% of that fee, leaving Ashley around $0.69 per--insert 69 joke here--song sold. As of ten days ago, estimates were that over 300,000 people had visited the site and listened to the song. Who knows how many people bought that piece of crap. And how many hits do you think her MySpace page got? A shit-ton, that's how many.
So is Ashley famous? I would say so. First, I'm blogging about her, as are hundreds of other worthless web-writers. Second, she's on television weekly, if not daily. That might not last long, but most people will remember "Spitzer's whore" for a long time. And third, her song and other web items get a ton of hits. For reference, check the hit counter on this blog on the top right, then compare that to her 300,000 hits. That number over there is not how many people have been here today. That's the total number of people who have been here, ever. And I'd wager it's 1/3 me checking to make sure things look right, 1/3 the same six people (you know who you are, and you're appreciated) checking in, and 1/3 accidental hits from people who quickly click out of it.
Maybe I should start whoring.
MY MAYOR, MY GOVERNOR.
If I were to start my own state, I already have my top officials lined up; two guys who, together, can bring my land the prosperity it deserves--and the corruption that goes along with it.
From my home state of Michigan, let me introduce Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick, who was just indicted today on eight counts, including perjury and obscruction of justice. All to cover up a scandalous interoffice affair. KK could end up serving YEARS in prison, unless he somehow manages to get every official in Detroit fired or murdered.
And of course there was the alleged Manoogian Mansion Party, where it was rumored Kwame and his boys got down and dirty with some strippers and such. Of course, the police officers in charge of investigating these allegations were fired and consequently sued the city of Detroit, which settled for $8.4 million. A hefty price tag for a little Mayoral get-together. And if that wasn't enough, there's also suspicion that Kwame and company had a stripper from that party murdered. A lead investigator on the case stated, "I suspected that the shooter was a law enforcement officer, and more specifically, a Detroit Police Department officer." My man knows how to get it done.
If only he had been around to advise the other half of my dynamic duo. Recently resigned from public office, he narrowly beat out Jesse "The Body" Ventura as my selection for Governor of my imaginary state. Introducing the former Governor of New York, Elliot Spitzer. Elliot has fallen on hard times as of late. But I'm sure if he were united with Kwame, serving together in a state that prizes both victory and corruption, the two would usher in an unprecedented era of opulence. Not since Roman times has the world seen such ravenous orgies and celebrations. And since I would be the president of my imaginary state--yes, my state has a president--I would preside over all these affairs. There would be no need to cover up scandal, because cultivating scandal would be a matter of public policy. If there's one thing the public craves, it's scandal.
From my home state of Michigan, let me introduce Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick, who was just indicted today on eight counts, including perjury and obscruction of justice. All to cover up a scandalous interoffice affair. KK could end up serving YEARS in prison, unless he somehow manages to get every official in Detroit fired or murdered.
And of course there was the alleged Manoogian Mansion Party, where it was rumored Kwame and his boys got down and dirty with some strippers and such. Of course, the police officers in charge of investigating these allegations were fired and consequently sued the city of Detroit, which settled for $8.4 million. A hefty price tag for a little Mayoral get-together. And if that wasn't enough, there's also suspicion that Kwame and company had a stripper from that party murdered. A lead investigator on the case stated, "I suspected that the shooter was a law enforcement officer, and more specifically, a Detroit Police Department officer." My man knows how to get it done.
If only he had been around to advise the other half of my dynamic duo. Recently resigned from public office, he narrowly beat out Jesse "The Body" Ventura as my selection for Governor of my imaginary state. Introducing the former Governor of New York, Elliot Spitzer. Elliot has fallen on hard times as of late. But I'm sure if he were united with Kwame, serving together in a state that prizes both victory and corruption, the two would usher in an unprecedented era of opulence. Not since Roman times has the world seen such ravenous orgies and celebrations. And since I would be the president of my imaginary state--yes, my state has a president--I would preside over all these affairs. There would be no need to cover up scandal, because cultivating scandal would be a matter of public policy. If there's one thing the public craves, it's scandal.
I'M ELECTRIC.
Recently, I find myself getting shocked every time I touch metal. It doesn't matter what shoes I'm wearing, or if I have a wool sweater on or where I'm at. Sometimes the shock is so shocking it produces a blindingly bright flash. People can hear the shocks from ten yards away. We're not talking little sparks here, I'm dealing with some serious voltage. It's gotten to the point where I flinch before I touch my computer or DVD player. I use my sleeve or notebook to try and open doors. Is it possible that I'm becoming some sort of electricity man? Will I soon be required to get a costume and fight crime? Why is this happening to me? Why, God, why!?
Zap.
3.22.2008
SECRET COUNTRY SONGS.
Everyone has secret songs; songs they're ashamed to admit they love, but deep down they can't get enough of. For some reason I've developed an affinity for these two songs. My secret country songs.
Something Like That, Tim McGraw
My heart don't forget a song like that. I might get the chorus tattooed on my back. In related news, I have a friend who worked on a Frito Lay commercial shoot with Tim McGraw. He showed up really late, apparently coked out, and bailed early. Didn't talk to any of the people there and was a real ass. I guess that good ol' boy polish wears off when you become a millionaire.
Gone Country, Alan Jackson
Now this one I'm truly ashamed to love. I mean look at Alan Jackson. Really look at him. He IS country. Look at 'dem boots.
Something Like That, Tim McGraw
My heart don't forget a song like that. I might get the chorus tattooed on my back. In related news, I have a friend who worked on a Frito Lay commercial shoot with Tim McGraw. He showed up really late, apparently coked out, and bailed early. Didn't talk to any of the people there and was a real ass. I guess that good ol' boy polish wears off when you become a millionaire.
Gone Country, Alan Jackson
Now this one I'm truly ashamed to love. I mean look at Alan Jackson. Really look at him. He IS country. Look at 'dem boots.
3.13.2008
BE A MAN.
Dear Governor Spitzer,
First, I'm sorry you got caught. You're sort of a fool and on some level, I bet it feels like a relief. But your strategy, post-bust, seems to be a bit scattered. Currently, you're resigning as governor of New York. Why? Because you happen to enjoy the company of a lady. Granted, it's a lady who is not your wife. And it's a lady whom you have to pay thousands of dollars to take care of certain man needs. But still, you haven't committed murder, have you?
You could have claimed that you hadn't been doing this long and you're ashamed. People love apologies and you'd likely have been forgiven within a year. Instead, you went down the old I've been seeing whores for ten years and I've dropped about $80,000 on all that ass route. Not what I would have picked. Perhaps you're setting us up for the pathetic "I have a sickness, I can't stop banging prostitutes" crybaby speech. Sorry. Not buying it. You're the damned Governor of New York. It's not like you're some schmo on the street who randomly just picks up hookers. You have to go out of your way to get these high priced whores and keep it a secret.
It seems to me that you're resigning because you can't handle the heat. Your actions hadn't affected your ability to do the job thusfar. In fact, a little weekend recreation probably enhanced your on-the-job performance. Am I right? But no, instead of standing up and being a man about it, you're going to run and hide in your mansion or wherever you live. Why can't you just admit it? You're addicted to pussy. You're a grown man and you like a little something on the side every once in awhile. I'm fine with that; you have a stressful job.
Anyways, I just wanted to say that I don't blame you (see above). And if you took a pro-prostitution stance and tried to run for office, I'd support you.
Sincerely,
One New Yorker
First, I'm sorry you got caught. You're sort of a fool and on some level, I bet it feels like a relief. But your strategy, post-bust, seems to be a bit scattered. Currently, you're resigning as governor of New York. Why? Because you happen to enjoy the company of a lady. Granted, it's a lady who is not your wife. And it's a lady whom you have to pay thousands of dollars to take care of certain man needs. But still, you haven't committed murder, have you?
You could have claimed that you hadn't been doing this long and you're ashamed. People love apologies and you'd likely have been forgiven within a year. Instead, you went down the old I've been seeing whores for ten years and I've dropped about $80,000 on all that ass route. Not what I would have picked. Perhaps you're setting us up for the pathetic "I have a sickness, I can't stop banging prostitutes" crybaby speech. Sorry. Not buying it. You're the damned Governor of New York. It's not like you're some schmo on the street who randomly just picks up hookers. You have to go out of your way to get these high priced whores and keep it a secret.
It seems to me that you're resigning because you can't handle the heat. Your actions hadn't affected your ability to do the job thusfar. In fact, a little weekend recreation probably enhanced your on-the-job performance. Am I right? But no, instead of standing up and being a man about it, you're going to run and hide in your mansion or wherever you live. Why can't you just admit it? You're addicted to pussy. You're a grown man and you like a little something on the side every once in awhile. I'm fine with that; you have a stressful job.
Anyways, I just wanted to say that I don't blame you (see above). And if you took a pro-prostitution stance and tried to run for office, I'd support you.
Sincerely,
One New Yorker
3.10.2008
BUY SUITCASE STOCK.
On a recent trip, I insisted my girlfriend only bring a carry-on bag. Difficult, I know, to fit everything you'll need for a weekend on the beach in one suitcase. A bathing suit, some flip-flops, a few t-shirts. But she did it. Imagine our surprise, then, when we were on our way to security and one of the female guards motioned for her to put her carry-on, clearly a bag of carry-on size, on this measuring plate. The plate was obviously too small for the bag. I think it was 22" x 14" x 9", which is approximately the size of no luggage ever invented. We were directed to go back and check the bag. And by directed, I mean that the security woman stood with her arms folded, staring at us, shaking her head "no," and not answering any questions. Watching from the bag-check line, we saw the security guard turn back about 10 more people, randomly letting some bags that exceeded her size limits slip by. It was infuriating.
So my insider tip today is to go buy stock in luggage companies (i.e. Samsonite). Because if they really enforce that luggage size limit, we're all going to need new carry-on bags.
So my insider tip today is to go buy stock in luggage companies (i.e. Samsonite). Because if they really enforce that luggage size limit, we're all going to need new carry-on bags.
3.09.2008
THE WIRE FINALE: WE LOVE, WE HATE
It's over. And can I just say, good work. Since there is no more Wire to come, here's a rundown of what was good and bad about the last ever episode. I'm not going to sit and go through it scene by scene, but this is what I remember:
First, the mayor's sidekick, Norman, was classic in that office at the beginning.
Carcetti ended up being a piece of shit, which is disappointing. There should have been some scene where Daniels marches down into his office and tells him what a two-faced typical politician he'd become. Maybe it would have shaken Carcetti up and he would have agreed to let Daniels do his job, as initially promised. Seeing the lady lawyer as a judge and Daniels as a lawyer felt lame and forced. But seeing them crown Valcheck commissioner was priceless.
In better news: Eat it, Cheese! After that blah blah blah speech about the game, he gets his card pulled by that tall raspy-voiced dude. Perfect ending to Cheese, and I'm glad that Raspy was the trigger man. I've always liked him. RIP Prop Joe.
The young'uns provided some of the best and worst of the finale. Without a doubt, Michael going Omar on that old guy was one of the best surprises of the show. When we first met Michael, he seemed like he would make it out. Quiet, strong, confident. But I suppose he had to look out for his family however he could. I guess when you've got nothing left to lose, you end up Omaring (new term coined). Either that, or you end up as the saddest, but probably truest part of the wrap-up. Young Dookie borrowing money from Mr. P and then, yeah, shooting up. We hate to see it. Kid just got eaten up by the streets.
I loved seeing Chris in the yard with Wee-Bay. Wee-Bay is to Avon as Chris is to Marlo. And now they're pals. Nice.
On the other side of the law, we got a perfect parting scene from Kima and Bunk. Kima at the scene, doing her job as Bunk strolls up. She tells him to watch his step, which prompts a barely comprehensible, cigar-muffled tirade. Classic Bunk.
Daniels fought a good fight; his scene in the elevator with McNulty was nice until he left and uttered that awful, scene-ruining "to be continued..." I wanted to see McNulty get strung up. In the end they celebrate him, which I thought was a total waste of film. You need to punish idiots for doing idiot things, otherwise other idiots will think it's okay.
There was one glaring omission, and I'm sure they did this on purpose, but Scott needed to eat some serious humble pie. McNulty served him up a little dish, but what we really needed was for Gus to jam a whole pie into Scott's terrible, lie-spitting mouth. Drag him through the streets, let the people throw stones. He's a despicable character and I can guarantee that Wire fans the world over were aching for Scott to get his. Gus did what he could, I guess.
And no Clay Davis? Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit.
Here, in its entirety, is the final six minutes. Watching Scott take that awards makes me furious, but seeing Bubs at dinner warms my heart. Love and hate...
So long, Wire.
First, the mayor's sidekick, Norman, was classic in that office at the beginning.
Carcetti ended up being a piece of shit, which is disappointing. There should have been some scene where Daniels marches down into his office and tells him what a two-faced typical politician he'd become. Maybe it would have shaken Carcetti up and he would have agreed to let Daniels do his job, as initially promised. Seeing the lady lawyer as a judge and Daniels as a lawyer felt lame and forced. But seeing them crown Valcheck commissioner was priceless.
In better news: Eat it, Cheese! After that blah blah blah speech about the game, he gets his card pulled by that tall raspy-voiced dude. Perfect ending to Cheese, and I'm glad that Raspy was the trigger man. I've always liked him. RIP Prop Joe.
The young'uns provided some of the best and worst of the finale. Without a doubt, Michael going Omar on that old guy was one of the best surprises of the show. When we first met Michael, he seemed like he would make it out. Quiet, strong, confident. But I suppose he had to look out for his family however he could. I guess when you've got nothing left to lose, you end up Omaring (new term coined). Either that, or you end up as the saddest, but probably truest part of the wrap-up. Young Dookie borrowing money from Mr. P and then, yeah, shooting up. We hate to see it. Kid just got eaten up by the streets.
I loved seeing Chris in the yard with Wee-Bay. Wee-Bay is to Avon as Chris is to Marlo. And now they're pals. Nice.
On the other side of the law, we got a perfect parting scene from Kima and Bunk. Kima at the scene, doing her job as Bunk strolls up. She tells him to watch his step, which prompts a barely comprehensible, cigar-muffled tirade. Classic Bunk.
Daniels fought a good fight; his scene in the elevator with McNulty was nice until he left and uttered that awful, scene-ruining "to be continued..." I wanted to see McNulty get strung up. In the end they celebrate him, which I thought was a total waste of film. You need to punish idiots for doing idiot things, otherwise other idiots will think it's okay.
There was one glaring omission, and I'm sure they did this on purpose, but Scott needed to eat some serious humble pie. McNulty served him up a little dish, but what we really needed was for Gus to jam a whole pie into Scott's terrible, lie-spitting mouth. Drag him through the streets, let the people throw stones. He's a despicable character and I can guarantee that Wire fans the world over were aching for Scott to get his. Gus did what he could, I guess.
And no Clay Davis? Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit.
Here, in its entirety, is the final six minutes. Watching Scott take that awards makes me furious, but seeing Bubs at dinner warms my heart. Love and hate...
So long, Wire.
3.06.2008
3.05.2008
BOOK REVIEW: THE BOOK, THE FILM, THE T-SHIRT
I'm not sure where, exactly, I picked up this book. I know I have it because I read e, a short novel by Matthew Beaumont, and it cracked me up. It was a story set in an ad agency, told entirely through e-mails sent between characters. The format made for a fast, hilarious read.
But when I opened this book, The Book, The Film, The T-Shirt, I was shocked to see that once again he had chosen to tell his story in a very fragmented style. The narration was from the POV of just about everyone involved in the story, which was--surprise, surprise--once again set in an ad agency. Which means most of the characters are the same types, many of the interactions are similar and to be honest, it didn't feel authentic this time. While the e-mail book was a nice gimmic and made for a great read, this book quickly started to annoy me. So quickly, in fact, that I struggled to make it to page 60. I put it back on the shelf shortly thereafter.
It should come as no surprise, then, that the book wasn't even listed on BarnesandNoble.com. I seldom put down a book, and never before page 100, but this was pure trash and I'm amazed it found its way into a bound version. The best part of the book? The cover, which was well-designed enough to fool me into thinking, wait, this might be good...it's not. Also, he looks like a real douche:
3.03.2008
LITTLE ANGEL.
Looking to cash in on the popularity of recently, fictionally deceased gangster Omar Little, my associate and I have developed a spin-off series starring Omar and other stars of The Wire. If you work for HBO and would like to purchase the idea or hire us as writers, let me know. We're wildly available for such projects.
Little Angel: Series Synopsis
After meeting his death, Omar Little, a Robin Hoodesque, homosexual robber, murderer, and drug dealer finds his soul in a bind. He can't get into Heaven, because we all know they don't take gays in Heaven. And because of his strange code of ethics and his refusal to just be pure evil, the devil won't take him either. So he's banished to limbo, wandering the earth and trying to earn his way into Heaven by way of being an avenging angel.
His earthly associate is Bunk, a play it by the numbers detective, who takes down the criminals Omar doesn't see fit to take with his shotgun. Omar and Bunk have a love-hate relationship. Bunk doesn't like having to take anything from Omar, a former criminal and murderer, but he can't let the criminals Omar turns him onto go free.
Omar roams the streets. Criminal fear him. Citizens fear, but respect him, unsure if he's real or a ghost, avenging angel or wandering madman. He subsists entirely on a diet of Newports and Honey Nut Cheerios, which he either steals or accepts as gifts from those thankful for his brand of justice.
The first episode begins with the much ballyhooed showdown between he and Marlo. That alone would be enough to attract the entire Wire audience. Between Omar's likable brand of street justice, his frequent meetings with representatives from Heaven and Hell, and the gradual friendship that grows between he and Bunk, this is a sure fire winner.
Did I miss anything, Steve?
Little Angel: Series Synopsis
After meeting his death, Omar Little, a Robin Hoodesque, homosexual robber, murderer, and drug dealer finds his soul in a bind. He can't get into Heaven, because we all know they don't take gays in Heaven. And because of his strange code of ethics and his refusal to just be pure evil, the devil won't take him either. So he's banished to limbo, wandering the earth and trying to earn his way into Heaven by way of being an avenging angel.
His earthly associate is Bunk, a play it by the numbers detective, who takes down the criminals Omar doesn't see fit to take with his shotgun. Omar and Bunk have a love-hate relationship. Bunk doesn't like having to take anything from Omar, a former criminal and murderer, but he can't let the criminals Omar turns him onto go free.
Omar roams the streets. Criminal fear him. Citizens fear, but respect him, unsure if he's real or a ghost, avenging angel or wandering madman. He subsists entirely on a diet of Newports and Honey Nut Cheerios, which he either steals or accepts as gifts from those thankful for his brand of justice.
The first episode begins with the much ballyhooed showdown between he and Marlo. That alone would be enough to attract the entire Wire audience. Between Omar's likable brand of street justice, his frequent meetings with representatives from Heaven and Hell, and the gradual friendship that grows between he and Bunk, this is a sure fire winner.
Did I miss anything, Steve?
THE WIRE: SAY IT AIN'T SO.
One more episode?! Don't do it to us. Don't take away our Wire.
HBO, if you don't think I'm a dedicated Wire fan, please be aware that--much to my girlfriend's dismay--I watched last night's episode while drinking a Balashi in my hotel room in Aruba. It's a most enjoyable way to spend a Sunday evening. So when I write to you, I'm writing from the heart.
Last night's episode was pretty great, so I'll just jump to saying what we're all thinking:
With only two episodes left, we knew Lester's efforts were about to pay off. It was a little disappointing that there wasn't any sort of shootout and that there were no real confrontations. Show us Cheese getting pulled over and such. Show us the squad rolling up on Marlo and his reaction. We see the aftermath, when they're already in cuffs, but we've been waiting a long time to see this happen. Take your time and give us the goods.
One of the things that has stuck with me all season is a quote about Michael, from Marlo (I think it was Marlo): Puppy got big paws. Indeed he does. As much as we hate to see Snoop get it, I was glad to see Michael handle that. Too often Marlo and his crew have just acted without real proof of anything, dropping folks left and right (Bodey!) so when Snoop was once again just following orders and met her demise, it was fitting. She best watch herself, though. I have a feeling Omar is waiting whereever it is Snoop is heading.
And couldn't someone have told Marlo that Omar was looking for him!? Look at how mad he got. His name is his name! After seeing him so reserved all the time, it's great to see him get so fired up. Boy is fierce! (not fierce like Christain from Project Runway)
Kima dropped the dime, so McNulty's ball of yarn is about to unravel. Quickly. As in it has to unravel at light speed, because we've only got about 50 minutes left, and you have to share that 50 minutes with Marlo's rampage, Scott's downfall (come on Gus! Pull his card and pull it now!), Bub's newfound glory, Carcetti's whatever the fuck is happening with him and a host of other issues. And, was it just me, or did that preview show the emergence of a real serial killer mimicing McNulty's style? We can only hope Scott and McNulty resort to killing bums and get riddled with the bullets of justice for doing so.
The final Wire of all time is setting up to be a doozy. If only they could give us a 2-hour season finale. I already know I'm going to spend almost the whole episode checking my watch to see just how much more Wire I have in this life. If we're lucky, the universe will be struck by some sort of strange gas cloud which extends time and allows whatever program you're watching to continue infinitely.
HBO, if you don't think I'm a dedicated Wire fan, please be aware that--much to my girlfriend's dismay--I watched last night's episode while drinking a Balashi in my hotel room in Aruba. It's a most enjoyable way to spend a Sunday evening. So when I write to you, I'm writing from the heart.
Last night's episode was pretty great, so I'll just jump to saying what we're all thinking:
With only two episodes left, we knew Lester's efforts were about to pay off. It was a little disappointing that there wasn't any sort of shootout and that there were no real confrontations. Show us Cheese getting pulled over and such. Show us the squad rolling up on Marlo and his reaction. We see the aftermath, when they're already in cuffs, but we've been waiting a long time to see this happen. Take your time and give us the goods.
One of the things that has stuck with me all season is a quote about Michael, from Marlo (I think it was Marlo): Puppy got big paws. Indeed he does. As much as we hate to see Snoop get it, I was glad to see Michael handle that. Too often Marlo and his crew have just acted without real proof of anything, dropping folks left and right (Bodey!) so when Snoop was once again just following orders and met her demise, it was fitting. She best watch herself, though. I have a feeling Omar is waiting whereever it is Snoop is heading.
And couldn't someone have told Marlo that Omar was looking for him!? Look at how mad he got. His name is his name! After seeing him so reserved all the time, it's great to see him get so fired up. Boy is fierce! (not fierce like Christain from Project Runway)
Kima dropped the dime, so McNulty's ball of yarn is about to unravel. Quickly. As in it has to unravel at light speed, because we've only got about 50 minutes left, and you have to share that 50 minutes with Marlo's rampage, Scott's downfall (come on Gus! Pull his card and pull it now!), Bub's newfound glory, Carcetti's whatever the fuck is happening with him and a host of other issues. And, was it just me, or did that preview show the emergence of a real serial killer mimicing McNulty's style? We can only hope Scott and McNulty resort to killing bums and get riddled with the bullets of justice for doing so.
The final Wire of all time is setting up to be a doozy. If only they could give us a 2-hour season finale. I already know I'm going to spend almost the whole episode checking my watch to see just how much more Wire I have in this life. If we're lucky, the universe will be struck by some sort of strange gas cloud which extends time and allows whatever program you're watching to continue infinitely.
2.28.2008
THE OPPOSITE OF QUICK.
While I was working on a Nike project about quickness, I had a discussion with someone about what quickness is; that led to a conversation about what the opposite of quick was. In my mind, one thing on earth represents the opposite of quick, and that is the cow. Cows are dumb and lumbering and, well, slow. My brain turned rabid, thinking it would be a great idea to do a whole campaign around "the opposite of quick." This brilliant campaign would not feature shoes or sports at all. It would just be two cows standing in a field talking, maybe not even about sports or shoes.
Then there would be a website, NikeMooz.com, that would eventually filter you through to a page that tries to sell you shoes. In the frenzied state that it was in, my brain forced me to make some "proof of concept" videos--simple examples of what the campaign would be like, proof that it would work. Here, for your viewing, are the results of said frenzied brain's output.
For the record, I actually bought NikeMooz.com. Was it a good idea? Probably not. But now it's out there, so I guess we'll see if anyone likes it. Anyone?
Then there would be a website, NikeMooz.com, that would eventually filter you through to a page that tries to sell you shoes. In the frenzied state that it was in, my brain forced me to make some "proof of concept" videos--simple examples of what the campaign would be like, proof that it would work. Here, for your viewing, are the results of said frenzied brain's output.
For the record, I actually bought NikeMooz.com. Was it a good idea? Probably not. But now it's out there, so I guess we'll see if anyone likes it. Anyone?
2.25.2008
THE WIRE: R.I.P. OMAR
Apparently they're really getting ready to end The Wire. And the execs at HBO must not have read my last post on how to end it. Because they killed off Omar! Nooooooooooooo!
In what has to be the most disappointing turn of events this season, Omar met his demise at the hands of an ambitious youngster (who was about to set a cat on fire! Omar should have saved that cat). Hearts and hopes of audiences across America were dampened at the realization that there would be no showdown between Marlo and Omar. Omar would not deliver the style of street justice we had all hoped for. He didn't even get Cheese, which would have been sweet. Instead, he had an unglamorous, almost embarrassing death. But I guess that's the point of it. It's all just senseless violence. Would his death have been any more noble if it had ended in a blaze of glory? With that in mind, combined with the unexpected nature of his death, I have to say I sort of like wrapping up his end of the story like that. Sure, I wanted to see him creep up on Chris, Snoop and Marlo as much as the next guy, but I like to be surprised.
Here's the only face-to-face we ever got from Omar and Marlo, a classic Omar scene:
All I have left to root for now is that Scott gets so thoroughly humiliated he decides to retire from journalism and resort to a sordid, detestable life as an advertising copywriter, where you never have to tell the truth and it's okay--or rather, it's your JOB--to make boring stories seem extraordinary.
Thumbs up to Bunk and Kima, who keep on doing good police work and won't climb on the bound-for-disaster McNulty deception train. If McNulty doesn't get strung up for this ridiculous masquerade, I'll be severely disappointed. After his spineless dealings with that guy who scammed his way to golfing at Hilton Head, I want McNulty to be explosed as a fraud almost as much as I want it for Scott. And how sweet was it when McNulty listened to the FBI profiler read him a description that was a dead ringer for McNulty's pathetic personality. I'm officially on the down with McNulty bandwagon.
I'm also getting a little tired of Carcetti's windbag act. So far, I've seen a lot of talk, a lot of reactive governing and virtually no leadership. He's getting eaten alive by the political system and Baltimore's problems and still doing a lot of talking. When he leaves for the Governor's office, the city will be just where it was before.
And how is it that there's no montage of Senator Clay Davis delivering shiiiiiiiiiiiit on YouTube? That's a video that's begging to be made. Can you imagine how specatular five years of shiiiiiiiit would be?
The preview for next episode make it look like it's going to be bananas, and I guess it better be, since we're wrapping up five years of story in the next two weeks. Until then, I leave you with the immortal words of Baltimore's favorite gay thug Robin Hood.
"Y'all ain't man enough to come down here and dance in the streets with Omar!"
In what has to be the most disappointing turn of events this season, Omar met his demise at the hands of an ambitious youngster (who was about to set a cat on fire! Omar should have saved that cat). Hearts and hopes of audiences across America were dampened at the realization that there would be no showdown between Marlo and Omar. Omar would not deliver the style of street justice we had all hoped for. He didn't even get Cheese, which would have been sweet. Instead, he had an unglamorous, almost embarrassing death. But I guess that's the point of it. It's all just senseless violence. Would his death have been any more noble if it had ended in a blaze of glory? With that in mind, combined with the unexpected nature of his death, I have to say I sort of like wrapping up his end of the story like that. Sure, I wanted to see him creep up on Chris, Snoop and Marlo as much as the next guy, but I like to be surprised.
Here's the only face-to-face we ever got from Omar and Marlo, a classic Omar scene:
All I have left to root for now is that Scott gets so thoroughly humiliated he decides to retire from journalism and resort to a sordid, detestable life as an advertising copywriter, where you never have to tell the truth and it's okay--or rather, it's your JOB--to make boring stories seem extraordinary.
Thumbs up to Bunk and Kima, who keep on doing good police work and won't climb on the bound-for-disaster McNulty deception train. If McNulty doesn't get strung up for this ridiculous masquerade, I'll be severely disappointed. After his spineless dealings with that guy who scammed his way to golfing at Hilton Head, I want McNulty to be explosed as a fraud almost as much as I want it for Scott. And how sweet was it when McNulty listened to the FBI profiler read him a description that was a dead ringer for McNulty's pathetic personality. I'm officially on the down with McNulty bandwagon.
I'm also getting a little tired of Carcetti's windbag act. So far, I've seen a lot of talk, a lot of reactive governing and virtually no leadership. He's getting eaten alive by the political system and Baltimore's problems and still doing a lot of talking. When he leaves for the Governor's office, the city will be just where it was before.
And how is it that there's no montage of Senator Clay Davis delivering shiiiiiiiiiiiit on YouTube? That's a video that's begging to be made. Can you imagine how specatular five years of shiiiiiiiit would be?
The preview for next episode make it look like it's going to be bananas, and I guess it better be, since we're wrapping up five years of story in the next two weeks. Until then, I leave you with the immortal words of Baltimore's favorite gay thug Robin Hood.
"Y'all ain't man enough to come down here and dance in the streets with Omar!"
BALL WIPES.
Awhile ago I was at the bar having a discussion with some friends about the difficulties involved with dating, being nervous and sweating. One of these difficulties was the unavoidable accumulation of sweat on, under and around your balls. There was a minority arguing that girls were, contrary to common sense, turned on by a musky man ball smell down there. But I wasn't buying it. Sweat from my ass makes it down into that area. It's not a nice smell, and I'd like to make it as pleaseant as possible for a girl who may find herself in the area, as I'd like to encourage repeat visits. So the idea of Ball Wipes was born.
This invention isn't really an invention at all, but merely a repurposing of the wet-wipes you get after eating hot wings. We could hang Ball Wipes dispensers in bar and restaurant bathrooms. Then when it looks like you might have a girl's head near your naked balls in the near future, you can duck into the bathroom, drop $.25 in the machine and give your boys a quick onceover. It's the polite thing to do. And for the ladies who like that musky ball smell, we'll have ball-scented Ball Wipes. No reason you can't be clean and smell dirty.
Also, in disturbingly related news, I used to work with a guy who said that he thought his taint sweat smelled like vagina. He would also chew Nicorette while taking a dump every day. Special guy, really.
This invention isn't really an invention at all, but merely a repurposing of the wet-wipes you get after eating hot wings. We could hang Ball Wipes dispensers in bar and restaurant bathrooms. Then when it looks like you might have a girl's head near your naked balls in the near future, you can duck into the bathroom, drop $.25 in the machine and give your boys a quick onceover. It's the polite thing to do. And for the ladies who like that musky ball smell, we'll have ball-scented Ball Wipes. No reason you can't be clean and smell dirty.
Also, in disturbingly related news, I used to work with a guy who said that he thought his taint sweat smelled like vagina. He would also chew Nicorette while taking a dump every day. Special guy, really.
2.24.2008
BOOK REVIEW: 1 DEAD IN ATTIC
I'm going through some sort of New Orleans/Hurricane Katrina obsession phase, where I want to learn everything I can about the city, its people and the storm. I picked up this book a few months ago, in one of my typical book buying frenzies, and it had been in my on-deck stack. I was just starting it when I learned my sister was moving to New Orleans. Serendipity is a word I hate, but it seems to fit here. After finishing this, I bumped When The Levees Broke, a Spike Lee joint, to the top of my Netflix queue. So anyways, here's the review of 1 Dead in Attic: After Katrina, by Chris Rose.
Having just finished God Save the Fan, I was leery of starting another book that was basically a collection of personal essays on one topic. I wanted to be told a story, to be rewarded for the time I was investing. But after one plane ride and sixty pages, I was hooked.
The book is a collection of Chris Rose's articles, originally written for the Times-Picayune, a New Orleans newspaper. And it wasn't at all what I expected. I thought I'd have to wade through story after story about WHY things went wrong and WHO was to blame and HOW this could have been prevented, etc. Though there are traces of these themes laced throughout his stories, he didn't use his column as a forum for complaining about logistics and tactics. Instead, he told stories. Stories about people. Little moments that let you know that New Orleans wasn't just about the number of people displaced or dead, but it was about the actual people, one at a time.
Even his story about trying to decide what to name the book is telling of life after Katrina. 1 Dead in Attic: After a phrase he saw spraypainted on a house in the city's 8th ward. Simple, true and terrifying to think about. Your mother or great aunt dying alone in her attic. And no one to come get her. You just have to scrawl your message on her collased home and hope that eventually someone will give her a dignified burial. He writes this about a title he almost used instead:
"I was preparing a follow-up to 1 Dead in Attic, another collection of stories that I was going to call Purple Upside-Down Car, a declarative observation my four-year-old son made from our car during a tour of the Lower 9th Ward that I clung to as the perfect metaphor for the whole of New Orleans, not just some wasted, toppled vehicle lying in a field of debris down on -- get this -- Flood Street.
The irony in this place could kill you."
Each and every story touches you in some way and brings you vividly into New Orleans as Rose saw it post Katrina. Stories about people, about refrigerators, about love and loss, about sports and steaks. His tales are heartwarming and heartbreaking, humorous and depressing, endearing and frightening. The writing is conversational, yet elegant. I put down the book feeling like I knew the people, the city, the sorrow and the hope of New Orelans. What more can you ask for?
SIGNS WE NEED: BRING CHANGE
This sign should be placed near the bike rack of any food delivery man. Please don't ever show up at my house and not have change for a $20. Is this your first day on the job? Seriously? Are you trying to screw yourself out of a tip? I think this subtle reminder would help.
2.21.2008
VIVA OBAMA!
This has been floating around today, so I went to check it out. What an uplifting tribute to Obama. I think. See, I can't understand the words, which would have been solved by the subtitles--had the subtitles not also been in Spanish. Maybe it's just me, but I think if you speak Spanish, you'd understand the words. Is the deaf Spanish YouTube audience so large that this was necessary?
Or is the whole video a plant by the Republican party? Maybe the words actually say things like, "Viva Obama! He'll build a wall between Mexico and the United States. Viva Obama! He'll deport you and all of your illegal immigrant friends. Viva Obama! He'll put your children to work in factories." I don't think they're saying that, but they could be. Dirty Republican politicians.
Thanks to Paige for the factory line.
2.20.2008
BOOK REVIEW: GOD SAVE THE FAN
A review of God Save the Fan: How Preening Sportscasters, Athletes Who Speak in the Third Person, and the Occasional Convicted Quarterback Have Taken the Fun Out of Sports (and How We Can Get It Back), by Will Leitch:
This is a perfect example of why a blog is a blog and a book is a book and a blog should not be a book. Someone decided the founder and editor of Deadspin had cultivated a large enough following to warrant the publishing of what is essentially a collection of mildly amusing, poorly crafted essays. The end product is merely good to keep in your bathroom and read while taking a dump.
Glaring examples of the thrown-togetherness of this book are the numerous "glossaries" he uses as filler. They list players, or owners, alphabetically, followed by a three or four sentence summary of his thoughts on said person. He occasionally repeats the same entry in multiple glossaries, which is absurd to me. Come on. Put your glossary at the end of the book.
The other thing that bothered me was his blatant self-aggrandizing attitude. As if his view on the sports world is so radical it's almost dangerous. He even puts "blackballed by ESPN" on the cover of the book. Congratulations, rebel. He did make some interesting points about ESPN being an evil empire; points that were almost good enough to make me question my undying loyalty to and gratitude for the Entertainment and Sports Programming Network. But alas, most of his thoughts were just well written versions of the same thoughts had by the average sports fan.
Overall, there are plenty of funny bits, but that's it. Funny bits, no bigger idea. No opening essay laying out his argument for "How Preening Sportscasters, Athletes Who Speak in the Third Person, and the Occasional Convicted Quarterback Have Taken the Fun Out of Sports". No wrap-up with his vision of "How We Can Get It Back." When I read a book, I want to be told a story. Not led down a meandering path by half-baked anecdotes that basically lead nowhere.
I will say the writing is pretty good, and his little essays would be good pieces where they're meant to be--on the internet, where I can read them instead of doing my work. I can't very well sit at my desk and read a book at work. Or maybe I could.
2.19.2008
THE WIRE: SO GREAT, SO FAR.
In case you were wondering, I love The Wire. I started watching when the first season came out and I've been hooked ever since. It's safe to say "the shipping port" season was a bit slow, but otherwise I think it's been one of the best shows on television, hands down. Last season, in the schools, was the best of all. This is evidenced by the fact that I watched almost the entire box set in a 24-hour window. Perhaps that's sad, but I think it's glorious.
This year started off strong, but recently I have a few gripes. And hoping that someone at HBO is reading this and can somehow magically alter already-in-the-can upcoming episodes, here are 10 suggestions to help finish the season strong:
1. This McNulty storyline is KILLING ME. Normally, I find the plots and action on The Wire to be pretty realistic and believable (based my extensive experience slinging dope on the rough streets of Baltimore and my other years spent working as a Baltimore city policeman). But this whole manufacturing evidence thing, it's waaay out there. And it's annoying. Please, please, put an end to this before I tie a red ribbon around my wrist and bite my own ass.
2. More Omar! We can never get enough of Omar. I've never felt so attached or affectionate towards a murdering, homosexual gangster. You ain't man enough to come down and dance in the streets with Omar!
4. Scott needs to get his. I know it's coming, but it better be big and bad and humiliating. And while you're at it, Cheese can get his as well.
5. How can you bring the newspaper people into the plot and NOT have the police think of involving them in the investigation? You're short on manpower, you need surveillance, you need people asking questions...use those reporters, you idiots! All you have to do is give them the inside scoop and let'em loose. Shit, they'll practically do your job for you.
6. There should be at least three instances in each episode which prompt Senator Clay Davis to say, "shiiiiiiiiiiiiit."
7. Give Bunk his due. The man works hard and is good at his job.
8. The lesbian mother wannabe story line? No one cares. Drop it.
9. Let Avon Barksdale out of prison. I like Marlo, but that kid has to learn some respect. If Omar doesn't teach him, Avon will.
10. You must stop this OnDemand early release program. I've already had one key moment ruined by it (the end of Prop Joe), and I feel like I can't talk to people for fear they'll spoil the next episode.
That's all. Thank you.
NBA ALL STAR GREATNESS.
First, someone must have been reading my blog. Because in the Dunk Contest there were two dunks that I feel were taken from my list of ideas. The first is perhaps one of the greatest dunk ideas ever:
Gerald Green puts a cupcake with a lit candle on the rim, and while in mid-air dunking, he BLOWS IT OUT! Now, that's not exactly eating a donut while in the air, but it is a dunk involving a pastry, so I'm going to count it as my idea.
And second, Dwight Howard actually wears a cape! Maybe he read my suggestion to Brent Petway (who won the D-League Dunk Contest, btw).
Brilliant. This year the Dunk Contest was reborn as a premier event. I think people have been getting a little bored, wondering what new Dunks kids could come up with, but this year guys went all out. Athletic ability + creativity = fun.
The second greatest discovery of All Star weekend came during the 3-point contest, when at one point Reggie Miller referred to a spot on the court as "the titty." Seldom have you heard the word "titty" used on national television, despite it being one of the greatest words in the english language.
Kenny and Charles saw an opening and picked right up on the titty talk. We can only hope that this leads to titty being incorporated into sportscasters' normal terminology, much as the term "trickeration" stubbornly became commonplace after that awful woman announcer used it in a game a few years back.
You gotta get to the titty.
The titty, that's the sweet spot.
Yeah, that guy loves the titty.
Sometimes, when you're at the titty, you just get a feel.
You can't leave him alone at the titty, you know he's gonna hit that.
And so on and so forth.
Gerald Green puts a cupcake with a lit candle on the rim, and while in mid-air dunking, he BLOWS IT OUT! Now, that's not exactly eating a donut while in the air, but it is a dunk involving a pastry, so I'm going to count it as my idea.
And second, Dwight Howard actually wears a cape! Maybe he read my suggestion to Brent Petway (who won the D-League Dunk Contest, btw).
Brilliant. This year the Dunk Contest was reborn as a premier event. I think people have been getting a little bored, wondering what new Dunks kids could come up with, but this year guys went all out. Athletic ability + creativity = fun.
The second greatest discovery of All Star weekend came during the 3-point contest, when at one point Reggie Miller referred to a spot on the court as "the titty." Seldom have you heard the word "titty" used on national television, despite it being one of the greatest words in the english language.
Kenny and Charles saw an opening and picked right up on the titty talk. We can only hope that this leads to titty being incorporated into sportscasters' normal terminology, much as the term "trickeration" stubbornly became commonplace after that awful woman announcer used it in a game a few years back.
You gotta get to the titty.
The titty, that's the sweet spot.
Yeah, that guy loves the titty.
Sometimes, when you're at the titty, you just get a feel.
You can't leave him alone at the titty, you know he's gonna hit that.
And so on and so forth.
2.15.2008
MASS HOLIDAY TEXTS.
Nothing says, "I think about you when I scroll through my phone book" like a generic holiday text message. I'm almost offended by these pitiful gestures, especially when they're from someone I haven't talked to in months. Why even bother? Does it make you feel like we're still close? Because to me, it's just a reminder of how we never hang out and you never call me. And I never call you.
Sending me that text on a holiday tells me you still have my number in your phone. So you didn't lose it, you just never call. It also tells me that I'm possibly one of the top 50 most important people in your telephone, which is kind of sad. We haven't spoken in months and yet I'm still high enough on the pecking order to make your mass text message list? I probably wouldn't have noticed our slowly dying friendship had I not gotten that weak-ass generic text. Thanks.
Call me, Lisa...
Sending me that text on a holiday tells me you still have my number in your phone. So you didn't lose it, you just never call. It also tells me that I'm possibly one of the top 50 most important people in your telephone, which is kind of sad. We haven't spoken in months and yet I'm still high enough on the pecking order to make your mass text message list? I probably wouldn't have noticed our slowly dying friendship had I not gotten that weak-ass generic text. Thanks.
Call me, Lisa...
2.14.2008
SLAM DUNK CONTEST.
Today while conducting my usual important business, I came across a blog post by former Univesity of Michigan basketball player Brent Petway, aka Air Georgia. In it, Mr. Petway was asking fans to send him ideas for this year's D-League slam dunk contest. This, I thought, I can do. So I sent him a few suggestions, but really, I should have only sent him one sample. I think I could make a living as an slam dunk contest consultant. This is the type of flair I can bring to your game:
-Wearing a jersey for Dunkin Donuts (see endorsement deals), attempt to eat an entire jelly donut while in the air. When you land, have an assistant hand you a glass of milk, which you then drink.
-Bring a horse into the arena. We've seen people jump over chairs and jump over other people, but never over a horse. If you wore a cowboy hat while doing this dunk, that would be a nice touch.
-Get a witch hat and a broom. While you're dunking, hold the broom between your legs, like you're a witch. To the audience it will appear you're flying on the broom up to the basket.
-Plant a cell phone on the rim. Then when you dunk, have the television announcer call that number, hang from rim, answer the call and talk to the announcer on national television! This has phone endorsement written all over it. Cut me a check!
-Capes. Never underestimate the value of wearing a cape. When you see someone in a cape, you can only reach one of two conclusions: 1, they are crazy. Or 2, there is something super about them. That's a 50-50 shot at being super.
I need to start patenting this shit.
-Wearing a jersey for Dunkin Donuts (see endorsement deals), attempt to eat an entire jelly donut while in the air. When you land, have an assistant hand you a glass of milk, which you then drink.
-Bring a horse into the arena. We've seen people jump over chairs and jump over other people, but never over a horse. If you wore a cowboy hat while doing this dunk, that would be a nice touch.
-Get a witch hat and a broom. While you're dunking, hold the broom between your legs, like you're a witch. To the audience it will appear you're flying on the broom up to the basket.
-Plant a cell phone on the rim. Then when you dunk, have the television announcer call that number, hang from rim, answer the call and talk to the announcer on national television! This has phone endorsement written all over it. Cut me a check!
-Capes. Never underestimate the value of wearing a cape. When you see someone in a cape, you can only reach one of two conclusions: 1, they are crazy. Or 2, there is something super about them. That's a 50-50 shot at being super.
I need to start patenting this shit.
BREAKING NEWS
UNKNOWN CANADIAN FIDDLER ENDORSES OBAMA
Carnegie Hall, New York -- Last night at a benefit concert to raise awareness about Tibet, one of the performers, a Canadian fiddler, came out with his endorsement of Barak Obama for president. It's unknown how this will affect the fiddler vote in states across the south and central US, a hotbed of fiddling. While fiddlers in those areas love fiddling and fiddlers, they also hate Canada and Mexico; so an endorsement from north of the border might not have the same kind of impact as the Kennedy endorsement.
In related news, at least one member of the audience was disappointed when he discovered that a fiddle was really just like a violin and that it could actually be used to play slow, boring, sad songs as well as the traditional upbeat fiddle fodder.
And rainbows everywhere got a little brighter when, at one point, the fiddle and the harp were being played on the same stage at the same time. It's rumored that the fiddler's bow was actually made from unicorn tail hair.
Carnegie Hall, New York -- Last night at a benefit concert to raise awareness about Tibet, one of the performers, a Canadian fiddler, came out with his endorsement of Barak Obama for president. It's unknown how this will affect the fiddler vote in states across the south and central US, a hotbed of fiddling. While fiddlers in those areas love fiddling and fiddlers, they also hate Canada and Mexico; so an endorsement from north of the border might not have the same kind of impact as the Kennedy endorsement.
In related news, at least one member of the audience was disappointed when he discovered that a fiddle was really just like a violin and that it could actually be used to play slow, boring, sad songs as well as the traditional upbeat fiddle fodder.
And rainbows everywhere got a little brighter when, at one point, the fiddle and the harp were being played on the same stage at the same time. It's rumored that the fiddler's bow was actually made from unicorn tail hair.
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