I'm not very good at acting on my decisions. Perhaps it has to do with my tendecy to procrastinate, perhaps it has something to do with Newtonian physics. I honestly don't know. However, the fact remains, my deciding to do something and my actually doing it, are not the same thing. I bring this up because after about six minutes of deliberation I have decided I will start going the the gym. This will not be the first time I've decided to go to a gym. I have, in fact, even been a member of a gym. That gym has since closed - though they did wait until they'd charged my credit card for every month of that year long membership before they locked up the butterfly machine.
Still, in the intervening decade the idea of joining a gym has occurred to me on and off. In fact, I even went so far as to buy a Total Gym. The machine, was endorsed by Chuck Norris, the man who brought us the push down and most likely invented, based on the two torn rotator cuffs I suffered, by Torqemada. Unlike the actual gym memebership the Total Gym has proven surprisingly useful, making for a great paper weight, door stop and, most importantly, a clothes hanger.
Given this history a new gym membership may seem like a bad idea, but that's looking at it from a selfish point of view. Sure the odds are against my using this membership to its fullest, and in favor of my flushing $50 a month down the drain, but think of how many people will benefit from that money. My membership fees will help keep the gym open (as evidenced by what happened to my previous gym once my membership expired), keep trainers employed and most importantly allow men women to work out. My money will keep people in shape thereby beautifying the world in general. So yes, the odds might say this is a bad idea for me, and you may try and tell me 'I told you so', when I tell you I've gone once in the last 6 weeks, but that's only because you're too self-absorbed to see that I'm doing this for your own good.
Dec 31, 2009
Dec 30, 2009
UNINTENDED CONSETEXTES
Welcome back Readers! I have some interesting news. It would appear a conglomerate of bloggers have been keeping abreast of this little here website and have decided they'd like me to share my posts with them. The details haven't exactly been worked out yet but the way I figure it, I got to use 'conglomerate' and 'abreast' in a sentence, and any time you can justify doing that, it's been a pretty good day. Heh breast.
In honor of this possible new relationship I'd like to talk a bit about the new hazards technology has inserted into relationships in general. First and, in my mind, foremost among these is the text. While I could probably do this post in bullets and just list 5 or 10 things with little quips I feel like texting has enough meat on its digital bones to allow me to avoid relying on our base ten number system. It has been my experience as one who says pretty much anything that comes to his mind that most people manage to avoid being in trouble as often as I am by simply keeping their mouth shut. Now, while I'm pretty much perpetually screwed by this pre frontal cortextual quirk, y'all aren't exactly safe either (What? Sometimes I wish I was Southern, it's not that odd). Thanks to the text people are able to talk without having to look at their subject. Now, while this feature has obviously increased the rates of hook-ups among the MTV audience, the boldness it encourages has personal effects for you as well (assuming of course none of you are teenagers or hooking up with teenagers. I frown on that just so you know, not sex with teenagers but teenagers in general. As I close in on 30 I've come to the conclusion that I pretty much frown on anyone younger that me. They make me feel old and that would make me frown, only now I'm worried about frown lines. So instead I frown on.).
For example, let's say you're having a textlogue (That will be my new words for a dialogue via text and no we can't spell it textlog because we do not recognize dialog as an acceptable spelling here) with a friend and you see an opportunity to make a joke. Now, if you're anything like me you make the joke (You're also devilishly handsome, erudite and lactose intolerant), if you're not like me (my condolences) here's the kicker, you might still make the joke. Yes, because texting removes the tension from a given situation, it allows one to be bold, to say things you'd perhaps be better served keeping to yourself. I suppose in and of itself that wouldn't be so horrible, but it doesn't end there. Texting, like herpes, is a gift that keeps on giving. Your joke, which was ill-advised at first, will, given the vagaries involved in tone and context not to mention response time issues, more often than you realize, be misconstrued, misunderstood miss independent.... sorry I may have gotten off track there. Kelly Clarkson aside, the fact remains your less than innocent joke will end up being an offensive joke. The reasons for this are legion. It could be a typo, it could be your text predictor has a dirty mind, or you have unusually fat fingers, it could be because given the context of your conversation someone made an assumption that turned what you said on it's head. The point is it doesn't really matter how or why, the fact reamins that the inevitable consequences will ensue. Offensive joke will lead to a retaliatory text strike, which, unlike yours, is meant to be mean and offensive. This, according to NATO treaties, will require you to fire back with your own ill-intentioned text bomb until you've destroyed a friendship because your T9 thinks it's more likely you meant 'eating' than 'dating'.
Is there a solution for this? Yes.
Will I share it with you? Yes.
Just call my hotline at (900) TEXT OY. Calls are $3.95 for the first minute $98.05 for each subsequent minute, average answer length depends on the credit limit of your chosen charge card. Also, 42.
In honor of this possible new relationship I'd like to talk a bit about the new hazards technology has inserted into relationships in general. First and, in my mind, foremost among these is the text. While I could probably do this post in bullets and just list 5 or 10 things with little quips I feel like texting has enough meat on its digital bones to allow me to avoid relying on our base ten number system. It has been my experience as one who says pretty much anything that comes to his mind that most people manage to avoid being in trouble as often as I am by simply keeping their mouth shut. Now, while I'm pretty much perpetually screwed by this pre frontal cortextual quirk, y'all aren't exactly safe either (What? Sometimes I wish I was Southern, it's not that odd). Thanks to the text people are able to talk without having to look at their subject. Now, while this feature has obviously increased the rates of hook-ups among the MTV audience, the boldness it encourages has personal effects for you as well (assuming of course none of you are teenagers or hooking up with teenagers. I frown on that just so you know, not sex with teenagers but teenagers in general. As I close in on 30 I've come to the conclusion that I pretty much frown on anyone younger that me. They make me feel old and that would make me frown, only now I'm worried about frown lines. So instead I frown on.).
For example, let's say you're having a textlogue (That will be my new words for a dialogue via text and no we can't spell it textlog because we do not recognize dialog as an acceptable spelling here) with a friend and you see an opportunity to make a joke. Now, if you're anything like me you make the joke (You're also devilishly handsome, erudite and lactose intolerant), if you're not like me (my condolences) here's the kicker, you might still make the joke. Yes, because texting removes the tension from a given situation, it allows one to be bold, to say things you'd perhaps be better served keeping to yourself. I suppose in and of itself that wouldn't be so horrible, but it doesn't end there. Texting, like herpes, is a gift that keeps on giving. Your joke, which was ill-advised at first, will, given the vagaries involved in tone and context not to mention response time issues, more often than you realize, be misconstrued, misunderstood miss independent.... sorry I may have gotten off track there. Kelly Clarkson aside, the fact remains your less than innocent joke will end up being an offensive joke. The reasons for this are legion. It could be a typo, it could be your text predictor has a dirty mind, or you have unusually fat fingers, it could be because given the context of your conversation someone made an assumption that turned what you said on it's head. The point is it doesn't really matter how or why, the fact reamins that the inevitable consequences will ensue. Offensive joke will lead to a retaliatory text strike, which, unlike yours, is meant to be mean and offensive. This, according to NATO treaties, will require you to fire back with your own ill-intentioned text bomb until you've destroyed a friendship because your T9 thinks it's more likely you meant 'eating' than 'dating'.
Is there a solution for this? Yes.
Will I share it with you? Yes.
Just call my hotline at (900) TEXT OY. Calls are $3.95 for the first minute $98.05 for each subsequent minute, average answer length depends on the credit limit of your chosen charge card. Also, 42.
Dec 22, 2009
CUTTING THE TAG
I'm not a spontaneous shopper. I am, by nature, cautious. It's not that I'm cheap, though I'd like to be, I just really hate losing. Sad as this may be to admit, the mere thought that I might buy object X and then see it cheaper somewhere else, or find a better version, lets call it X+ moments after I cut off the price tag, strikes fear in my heart; it sends tremors down my credit card hand. Because of this, I hate the hard sell.
You know the hard seller, the store employee who follows you around complimenting your taste and selection, telling you what a good deal it is and how you better jump on it now before it disappears. Then, when you're home and your purchase is inevitably too loose or tight or redundant, and you feel cheated and want to return the item the hard seller has already moved on, like the girl you dated despite everyone saying she was too hot for you, only to find yourself asking "why?" as you paid for the cab taking her to the apartment of her 'friend from the gym'. Yes, like her, when you come to return your lightly used item the hard seller is busy whoring herself out to some other man, complimenting his selections and sense of style, telling him how they're supposed to fit like that and that undersized is in this season. When I walk into a store and someone asks me if I need help, I flee. I take to the hills like an Afghani (that's an odd place for an 'h' don't you think? Very Delhi) rebel and hope they latch onto someone else before they can reacquire my heat signature.
This, in some length, is why I love book stores. There's no hard sell, no seductive siren sashaying herself (that my friends is alliteration at work) down murder mysteries telling you how reading a Raymond Chandler on the train will perfectly compliment your ensemble and make you irresistible. It's just me and time and books. Or at least it was (cue mood music). Borders, it would seem, has decided to put the hard sell on me. A member of the Borders Rewards Club, I receive coupons in my email, these coupons are valid for a number of days before they go the way of your local Blockbuster and expire. I appreciate these coupons, I do, but I think I've earned them through my patronage, so imagine how I felt when instead of just sending me a coupon and leaving it at my discretion how and if I'd use it, they begun sending me daily emails counting down the days until my coupon expired.
- Only 3 more days left to get your 30% off
- Act soon, your coupon is set to expire!
- Your last chance for savings!
I can feel them closing in on me. It's like I'm in the dressing room, the hot spotlight shining down on me in that conveniently renamed prison cell while the siren stands outside asking what I plan on keeping. They know I don't want to lose my 30% they know it will irk me to think that I might end up buying a book at full price instead. They know this and they abuse their power. Well, I have news for you Borders, it turns out I don't even care after three or four drinks. I find if I have a few drinks in me by the time your email comes in at 9am I can get through the day on nothing more than two shots and a six pack. So you see, I've solved the problem, you can stop reminding me my coupon is about to expire... please?
On an unrelated note, does anyone happen to know anyone who doesn't plan on using their liver any time soon?
You know the hard seller, the store employee who follows you around complimenting your taste and selection, telling you what a good deal it is and how you better jump on it now before it disappears. Then, when you're home and your purchase is inevitably too loose or tight or redundant, and you feel cheated and want to return the item the hard seller has already moved on, like the girl you dated despite everyone saying she was too hot for you, only to find yourself asking "why?" as you paid for the cab taking her to the apartment of her 'friend from the gym'. Yes, like her, when you come to return your lightly used item the hard seller is busy whoring herself out to some other man, complimenting his selections and sense of style, telling him how they're supposed to fit like that and that undersized is in this season. When I walk into a store and someone asks me if I need help, I flee. I take to the hills like an Afghani (that's an odd place for an 'h' don't you think? Very Delhi) rebel and hope they latch onto someone else before they can reacquire my heat signature.
This, in some length, is why I love book stores. There's no hard sell, no seductive siren sashaying herself (that my friends is alliteration at work) down murder mysteries telling you how reading a Raymond Chandler on the train will perfectly compliment your ensemble and make you irresistible. It's just me and time and books. Or at least it was (cue mood music). Borders, it would seem, has decided to put the hard sell on me. A member of the Borders Rewards Club, I receive coupons in my email, these coupons are valid for a number of days before they go the way of your local Blockbuster and expire. I appreciate these coupons, I do, but I think I've earned them through my patronage, so imagine how I felt when instead of just sending me a coupon and leaving it at my discretion how and if I'd use it, they begun sending me daily emails counting down the days until my coupon expired.
- Only 3 more days left to get your 30% off
- Act soon, your coupon is set to expire!
- Your last chance for savings!
I can feel them closing in on me. It's like I'm in the dressing room, the hot spotlight shining down on me in that conveniently renamed prison cell while the siren stands outside asking what I plan on keeping. They know I don't want to lose my 30% they know it will irk me to think that I might end up buying a book at full price instead. They know this and they abuse their power. Well, I have news for you Borders, it turns out I don't even care after three or four drinks. I find if I have a few drinks in me by the time your email comes in at 9am I can get through the day on nothing more than two shots and a six pack. So you see, I've solved the problem, you can stop reminding me my coupon is about to expire... please?
On an unrelated note, does anyone happen to know anyone who doesn't plan on using their liver any time soon?
Dec 21, 2009
RULES AND MEASURES
Have you ever noticed that you hold certain beliefs about yourself that are, to put it charitably, at odds with objective reality. I’ll give you an example that seems quite pervasive, height. My height has changed over the years. I don’t mean this in the literal sense. I stopped growing about 10 years ago and have been at least three different heights since then.
When I was growing up my mother would stand me up against a wall and, using her thumbs and a tape measure about half my actual length, determine my height. The process was not particularly scientific and resulted in statements like: “You’re somewhere between 5’8” and 6’4”.” Now, while I tried to stay level headed about these numbers (I thought taking the average and calling myself six foot even seemed fair, plus I have freakish jumping ability for a white man and, if I was really 6’4” I’d probably be in the NBA… let’s just say height isn’t my only misplaced belief), the truth is I allowed her optimism and questionable engineering skills to color my self-opinion. I’d go to a doctor and get measured with actual equipment designed for the task, he’d say I’m 5’10” and the following exchange would take place:
Me: I’m six foot
Doctor: No, you’re really not.
Me: I’m more than 5’10” though
Doctor: 5’10” and an eighth of an inch, if you want to get technical.
Me: AHA! You admit I’m taller than 5’10”
Doctor: Would you mind getting undressed again and laying down on the table over there, I think I might need to run some more tests on you.
Me: OK, how about we compromise and call it 5’11”?
Doctor: Hold on just a second I’m going to give you a prescription for some mood enhancers.
Me: My mood is fine.
Doctor: They’re for your girlfriend.
My doctor’s dry wit notwithstanding, I spent about 5 years at 5’11”. They were fun times. Eventually though, I had to give up the inch. It was painful, like a second circumcision, but I found that my own version of reality had, like congested pig, begun infecting those of others. Those of you without tape measure wielding mothers, I have found, often use friends and co-workers to ascertain their height. A conversation between two women standing 5’1” and 5’2” might go something like this:
Short girl: How tall are you?
Shorter girl: 5’3”, how tall are you?
Short girl: Well, I’m taller than you so like 5’4”, 5’5”.
These conversations are repeated over and over until everyone’s height is based on some myth created by a tape measure I won in third grade. I even shrunk my law school roommate. I dont know what any of this means, I don't know if a lie is any more or less offensive if the person telling it believes it to be true, but, between this and adult dating sites I think we're going to make the ruler obsolete soon.
When I was growing up my mother would stand me up against a wall and, using her thumbs and a tape measure about half my actual length, determine my height. The process was not particularly scientific and resulted in statements like: “You’re somewhere between 5’8” and 6’4”.” Now, while I tried to stay level headed about these numbers (I thought taking the average and calling myself six foot even seemed fair, plus I have freakish jumping ability for a white man and, if I was really 6’4” I’d probably be in the NBA… let’s just say height isn’t my only misplaced belief), the truth is I allowed her optimism and questionable engineering skills to color my self-opinion. I’d go to a doctor and get measured with actual equipment designed for the task, he’d say I’m 5’10” and the following exchange would take place:
Me: I’m six foot
Doctor: No, you’re really not.
Me: I’m more than 5’10” though
Doctor: 5’10” and an eighth of an inch, if you want to get technical.
Me: AHA! You admit I’m taller than 5’10”
Doctor: Would you mind getting undressed again and laying down on the table over there, I think I might need to run some more tests on you.
Me: OK, how about we compromise and call it 5’11”?
Doctor: Hold on just a second I’m going to give you a prescription for some mood enhancers.
Me: My mood is fine.
Doctor: They’re for your girlfriend.
My doctor’s dry wit notwithstanding, I spent about 5 years at 5’11”. They were fun times. Eventually though, I had to give up the inch. It was painful, like a second circumcision, but I found that my own version of reality had, like congested pig, begun infecting those of others. Those of you without tape measure wielding mothers, I have found, often use friends and co-workers to ascertain their height. A conversation between two women standing 5’1” and 5’2” might go something like this:
Short girl: How tall are you?
Shorter girl: 5’3”, how tall are you?
Short girl: Well, I’m taller than you so like 5’4”, 5’5”.
These conversations are repeated over and over until everyone’s height is based on some myth created by a tape measure I won in third grade. I even shrunk my law school roommate. I dont know what any of this means, I don't know if a lie is any more or less offensive if the person telling it believes it to be true, but, between this and adult dating sites I think we're going to make the ruler obsolete soon.
Dec 16, 2009
WHO, WHAT, WHEN, WHERE AND WHEREFORE
I know it's bad form to follow a post criticizing The Stupid, with one poor about poor grammar, but the two are closely related and really, since when has bad form ever stopped me? I was in my car the other day when I heard a Visa commercial that epitomized exactly what I'd been railing about with The Stupid. The commercial, in short, is about Romeo and Juliet, only in this case there's no Romeo.
Juliet calls out "Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?" and receives no response. Now, despite being one of literature's most romantic characters it would appear Juliet was a bit of a shrew, because when Romeo doesn't answer she repeats in a tone of voice clearly meant to imply that suicide or not he won't be getting a kiss goodnight, "Romeo? Wherefore art thou?" Apparently this is also taking part in a forest because now you can hear Juliet stomping through the Bush so maybe they've moved the play from Verona to the Australian Outback, I don't know, but after ignoring her the first two times, she's clearly lost patience with the man who'd she'd rather die than live without and growls, "Romeo!"
At this point the annoyingly saccharine announcer dude who's been doing these "Priceless" commercials since what feels like the Clinton Administration comes on and says something along the lines of; "Maglite flashlight $25. Always being able to find your Romeo? Priceless." Now ignoring the fact that anyone who pays for love with a credit card probably won't stay Governor of New York all that long, this commercial is still stupid. Do you know why? Of course you do, still, I'll tell you. It's because 'Wherefore' doesn't mean 'where?', it means 'why?' 'As in where is the reason for?' This is something you learn in ninth grade. It's not possible that the people who wrote this commercial didn't know what 'wherefore meant'. It's just not! They knew what it meant and they said, screw it, most people are stupid and think it means 'where'.
Visa commercial writer people, I hate you.
Still, they aren't the only ones. Microsoft, the home of nerds the world over is guilty of pandering too. You'd think a company that for decades has treated the term 'user friendly' the way David Hasselhoff treats O'Douls (Congratulations David you've finally made it into the blog, you should know, I was going to use Lindsey Lohan, but I decided you were the more pathetic fall-down drunk. You should be proud of this moment. Call your mom, just remember, you can't actually talk to her through your watch.).
Now, in their rush to compete with Apple, Microsoft is chasing after The Stupid, touting their user friendliness and, it would seem, dropping any and all pretense that their machine requires a modicum of intelligence. The print ad is for Microsoft 7 (apparently in pandering to The Stupid they also decided it was best to use as simple a name as possible, really? Vista was too big a word?), it's a billboard which reads: "I asked for less clicks, I got less clicks." Something sounds wrong right? I'll tell you what's wrong it's FEWER clicks. Look I can explain why this is wrong, or you can take my word for it. I sugesst you take my word before I devolve into a letcure about adjective noun agreement. Just know this, the good people at Microsoft, the people who invented the little green squigly line that pops up under less when I typed 'less clicks' in this friggin' post know it's fewer, they know and they said screw it, less sounds more populist.
Now I ask you, who's left to pander to us? Quick, someone get me my Visa card!
Juliet calls out "Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?" and receives no response. Now, despite being one of literature's most romantic characters it would appear Juliet was a bit of a shrew, because when Romeo doesn't answer she repeats in a tone of voice clearly meant to imply that suicide or not he won't be getting a kiss goodnight, "Romeo? Wherefore art thou?" Apparently this is also taking part in a forest because now you can hear Juliet stomping through the Bush so maybe they've moved the play from Verona to the Australian Outback, I don't know, but after ignoring her the first two times, she's clearly lost patience with the man who'd she'd rather die than live without and growls, "Romeo!"
At this point the annoyingly saccharine announcer dude who's been doing these "Priceless" commercials since what feels like the Clinton Administration comes on and says something along the lines of; "Maglite flashlight $25. Always being able to find your Romeo? Priceless." Now ignoring the fact that anyone who pays for love with a credit card probably won't stay Governor of New York all that long, this commercial is still stupid. Do you know why? Of course you do, still, I'll tell you. It's because 'Wherefore' doesn't mean 'where?', it means 'why?' 'As in where is the reason for?' This is something you learn in ninth grade. It's not possible that the people who wrote this commercial didn't know what 'wherefore meant'. It's just not! They knew what it meant and they said, screw it, most people are stupid and think it means 'where'.
Visa commercial writer people, I hate you.
Still, they aren't the only ones. Microsoft, the home of nerds the world over is guilty of pandering too. You'd think a company that for decades has treated the term 'user friendly' the way David Hasselhoff treats O'Douls (Congratulations David you've finally made it into the blog, you should know, I was going to use Lindsey Lohan, but I decided you were the more pathetic fall-down drunk. You should be proud of this moment. Call your mom, just remember, you can't actually talk to her through your watch.).
Now, in their rush to compete with Apple, Microsoft is chasing after The Stupid, touting their user friendliness and, it would seem, dropping any and all pretense that their machine requires a modicum of intelligence. The print ad is for Microsoft 7 (apparently in pandering to The Stupid they also decided it was best to use as simple a name as possible, really? Vista was too big a word?), it's a billboard which reads: "I asked for less clicks, I got less clicks." Something sounds wrong right? I'll tell you what's wrong it's FEWER clicks. Look I can explain why this is wrong, or you can take my word for it. I sugesst you take my word before I devolve into a letcure about adjective noun agreement. Just know this, the good people at Microsoft, the people who invented the little green squigly line that pops up under less when I typed 'less clicks' in this friggin' post know it's fewer, they know and they said screw it, less sounds more populist.
Now I ask you, who's left to pander to us? Quick, someone get me my Visa card!
Dec 11, 2009
ON STUPID
As the color sighted among you have most likely realized, we have a new look here at Two For Me. I think with the blog's shift in focus from, 'things that bother' me to a more general advice and observation topic base, a concomitant shift from the darker backgrounds of yesterblogs to today's lighter color, is fitting.
My question to you today is, how long should we fight stupid?
I know that as readers of this blog you are, statistically speaking, far less likely than your fellow non-readers to be stupid, or hold stupid beliefs (especially those readers who have called me 'a genius' or said something I wrote is the 'funniest thing I've ever read'). I'm sure that, like me, you are faced with an unending cavalcade of stupid. I'm also sure that The Stupid infuriate you, that they dig their way into your skin, gnawing at your external safeguards like a disease ridden tick, infecting you with first rage, then acceptance.
First though, I have to warn you; I'm not here to deliver good news. This is no Marathon, the war was fought and lost long ago. This isn't even Thermopylae. It isn't some battle in the midst of a larger war. Our massacre won't cause any to rise up their own army and fight back. The Stupid have won. We are, much like the delicate Cassowary, endangered. We are guests of The Stupid, our presence tolerated and accepted; necessitated only by the need for more Apple products (seriously, have you seen their new mouse?) and Malcolm Gladwell books.
Still, much like our flightless if gloriously plumed mascot, we are proud beings. We are cursed with knowledge and with that knowledge comes the corrective urge. 'It's whom, not who', 'fewer, not less', 'passers by, not passer bys', 'You're pants are on backwards'. We can't help it. We see an error and our nature urges us to correct it. We hear a co-worker state in simple and unequivocal terms that snakes aren't animals because they're reptiles and, no matter how much we try to just nod and move on, our eyelids develop a twitch. We don't want to correct, we need to.
The question then becomes, how hard to we fight to correct? Remember, these are not people looking to be corrected, they are not seeking proper understanding. They fight back, they have forced us to spell dialogue, dialog, and pronounce the silent 't' in 'often'. They have taken the notorious from notoriety and put the lie in laying. There are no objective truths, only their opinion. Allow me to illustrate by recounting for you a conversation I had earlier this week:
The Stupid: Snakes aren't animals, they're reptiles.
Me: Reptiles are animals too, you don't have to be a mammal to be an animal
The Stupid: Right, you just have to be warm blooded, snakes aren't warm blooded
Me: No, warm blooded has nothing to do with it. Dolphins are mammals too.
The Stupid: Right, like sharks!
Me: No! sharks aren't mammals.
The Stupid: Well then what are they? They're not reptiles.
Me: Reptiles ARE mammals! And they're fish!
The Stupid: Well snakes can't be animals.
Me: Why not?
The Stupid: Cuz I like animals and I don't like snakes
Me: (brain aneurysm, followed by): So if you did like snakes they would be animals?
The Stupid: Do you have any candy?
I reproduce this not to embarrass the stupid, because as has become clear to me The Stupid feel no shame. Truly right and truly wrong are not important factors in their self image. Thinking they are right, is all The Stupid need and in most cases, nothing you can say can change that thought. Take this guy for instance. He, as his t-shirt explains, has clearly decided that any attempt at improving himself would be messing with perfection. It's like the 300 pound woman wearing spandex and heels. She has reverse anorexia, where we see exatra chunky oatmeal trying to escape the confines a hot pink Ziploc bag, all she see's is lots of sexy. They all have it, and nothing we can do can ever break their mirror.
So, to offer one view I posit that we go as far as we can. We do the Cassowary proud and shake our fists, or in the Cassowary's case our funky red dangly things and fight until we can fight no more. We push until they ask for candy and then push some more and then, if we're lucky, maybe, just maybe, they'll exile us; take us out of the wild and put us in a zoo somewhere where can be alone together building iPods.
Dec 8, 2009
ON FRIENDS: PART II
Last we met I was explaining to you how the term 'Friend' was overly broad and promised you a more useful and satisfying system. Since it snowed and rained this weekend I couldn't find anything better to do and have thus prepared this for your life changing pleasure:
THE MEANING OF FRIENDSHIP
Much like your favorite swear word, these terms are flexible. You can use them as nouns, adverbs... actually thats pretty much it. Still, if you want, you can tell someone its a past partciple, odds are they won't know better.
- FRIENDLIES - Much like fellow combatants in different battalions, you and your Friendly are on the same side, part of a larger group but when you go on your standard mission, you leave them behind. They are those that are part of your larger 'crew' but through no fault of their own haven't made it to your inner circle. You may share similar interests with these people, even genuinely like them but, when all is said and done, it's just too much effort to assimilate them into your life. Instead, you have an ad hoc relationship, 'friends' whenever your're together but never chasing each other down on your own. Friendish.
-FIFL's - Short for friends in a former life. You know how you and Josh were tight in high school? You know how you were sure you'd be friends forever and how people always said you guys will always be friends? How you assumed your friendship would survive through college and work and girlfriends and wives? Well, it didn't. The problem is both of you are clearly whiny little girls (friends forever was kind of a tip off) and are unwilling to admit this fact to yourselves or each other. You still call each other friends even though you dont actually call each other. Well since neither of you are man enough to cut the cord, and are obviously offending the idea of friendship by continuing to stretch it like contortionist's groin, I give you FIFL.
- FRIENDISH - No, despite how it may sound these aren't a race of beings from Middle Earth. The Friendish are products of circumstance. You associate with them, consider yourself to be on the same side but you're only connected because of an outside agent. People on this list would co-workers people you're friends with in camp and anyone else with whom your friendship is part-time. A subset of this group is the 'friends in small doses' these are people you spend limited time with but whose company you generally enjoy... in small doses. I had a friend in camp who I thought was the funniest person on Earth, after me. We went to high school together, but we never associated until camp. After that summer I made a concerted effort to spend more time with said friend, whereupon I realized, he got annoying fast. I quickly downgraded him to 'Friendish' and have enjoyed his (limited) company since.
- FWOB - Society at large, obviously suffering from the agony of 'Friends' being overly employed, spontaneously gave us 'Friends with Benefits' While I appreciate Societies input I think the much larger group of 'Friends' was ignored, namely 'Friends Without Benefits'. FWOB's consist of men or women who are head over heels for Friend X whom, if they ever had the chance, would kill to turn into 'Friend XXX'. FWOB's, and you know who you are, have either decided that their best route to X is proximity and hope, or that they'll never be able to consumate their love, and are willing to accept whatever X is offering instead.
Have any more? Feel free to add in the comments section. Just don't expect to get credit for frenemies. Oh, and of course you're all Friends to me...
THE MEANING OF FRIENDSHIP
Much like your favorite swear word, these terms are flexible. You can use them as nouns, adverbs... actually thats pretty much it. Still, if you want, you can tell someone its a past partciple, odds are they won't know better.
- FRIENDLIES - Much like fellow combatants in different battalions, you and your Friendly are on the same side, part of a larger group but when you go on your standard mission, you leave them behind. They are those that are part of your larger 'crew' but through no fault of their own haven't made it to your inner circle. You may share similar interests with these people, even genuinely like them but, when all is said and done, it's just too much effort to assimilate them into your life. Instead, you have an ad hoc relationship, 'friends' whenever your're together but never chasing each other down on your own. Friendish.
-FIFL's - Short for friends in a former life. You know how you and Josh were tight in high school? You know how you were sure you'd be friends forever and how people always said you guys will always be friends? How you assumed your friendship would survive through college and work and girlfriends and wives? Well, it didn't. The problem is both of you are clearly whiny little girls (friends forever was kind of a tip off) and are unwilling to admit this fact to yourselves or each other. You still call each other friends even though you dont actually call each other. Well since neither of you are man enough to cut the cord, and are obviously offending the idea of friendship by continuing to stretch it like contortionist's groin, I give you FIFL.
- FRIENDISH - No, despite how it may sound these aren't a race of beings from Middle Earth. The Friendish are products of circumstance. You associate with them, consider yourself to be on the same side but you're only connected because of an outside agent. People on this list would co-workers people you're friends with in camp and anyone else with whom your friendship is part-time. A subset of this group is the 'friends in small doses' these are people you spend limited time with but whose company you generally enjoy... in small doses. I had a friend in camp who I thought was the funniest person on Earth, after me. We went to high school together, but we never associated until camp. After that summer I made a concerted effort to spend more time with said friend, whereupon I realized, he got annoying fast. I quickly downgraded him to 'Friendish' and have enjoyed his (limited) company since.
- FWOB - Society at large, obviously suffering from the agony of 'Friends' being overly employed, spontaneously gave us 'Friends with Benefits' While I appreciate Societies input I think the much larger group of 'Friends' was ignored, namely 'Friends Without Benefits'. FWOB's consist of men or women who are head over heels for Friend X whom, if they ever had the chance, would kill to turn into 'Friend XXX'. FWOB's, and you know who you are, have either decided that their best route to X is proximity and hope, or that they'll never be able to consumate their love, and are willing to accept whatever X is offering instead.
Have any more? Feel free to add in the comments section. Just don't expect to get credit for frenemies. Oh, and of course you're all Friends to me...
Dec 2, 2009
ON FRIENDS: PART I
So I've been thinking about friends lately. Not actual people mind you, but the idea of them. The jokers among you might say this is because I don't have any (bite me), but the truth is, I am having some trouble with the broadness of the word. Like the rice noodle http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rice_noodles, the definition of important words should be narrow. For example, when I say 'tax' or 'nudity' or 'you're a douchebag' you know exactly what I mean (In the case of 'nudity' this is true even at the acronym level. I doubt there is a man over the age of 13 who couldn't tell you what BN stands for at the beginning of any cable movie let alone N or SSC. Oh just google it girls.). Now while 'Friend' is a similarly important word and should, likewise, be narrowly defined, it is instead given the Chow Fun noodle treatment http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beef_chow_fun, its definition broad and unwieldy. Sure we have 'aquaintance', 'this person I know', 'the person with whom I have an embarrassing sexual involvement' and many other terms we use when 'Friend' does not suffice, but what about when friends does suffice? What does the word mean when it can encompass the guy you met a month ago who lets you play with his Xbox360 (God, you people have dirty minds!) and the person with whom you share a deep and secret love for Battlestar Galactica (I mean if you like that kind of stuff... Not that I do, though if I did it would be totally justified given that "Rolling Stone" called it the best show on TV two years in a row. I'm just saying... if I was a fan.). The word is demeaning. It denigrates the value of individuals and lumps them all together like some kind of communist mixer. I'm surprised Fox News hasn't accused Barak Obama of creating "friends". (The word not the show, if he'd created the show I imagine he'd have been President a while back and would now be sitting on a beach somewhere retired. Also and this is probably a minor point, but am I supposed to know the difference between socialists and communists? I feel like I am.) For these reasons, and because I like naming things, I submit that we do away with the word's usage as currently employed, and instead create a hierarchy of friends, a new lexicon with easily identifiable prefixes and suffixes that identify just how close you really are with friend X.
Tomorrow: The hierarchy is revealed!
Tomorrow: The hierarchy is revealed!
Nov 27, 2009
REGULAR, DECAF OR EMPTY?
I feel like I owe you after spending much of October and November mocking you all for having to work on national holidays like Columbus Day, Veteran's Day, National Vinegar Day, Plan Your Epitaph Day and Notary Public Day http://www.classbrain.com/artholiday/publish/article_220.shtml to admit that I write this from my office, the day after Thanksgiving. So, as you sit at home, enjoying the digestive and excretory processes that complete the circle of last night's gustatory orgy, cherish this day you have off that I do not and ponder this:
How much do drinks cost in TV world and are all characters in it profligate spenders?
Have you ever noticed how when characters order a drink at a bar they spend much of the time talking, then, two or three minutes into the scene, the drink is delivered, but by this time, one character is ready to move on? No? Well let you me tell you what happens. Because I am not what you'd call a drinker, I still find the price of cocktails and other alcoholic beverages at bars shocking. I'm not saying they're overpriced I'm saying they're movie theater priced. The kind of pricing that leads you to regret having stopped reading newspapers and never bothering to re-locate the channel for CNN when your cable provider reaaranged everything that time, because now you're left wondering if unbeknowst to you the government has collapsed, food has become scarce and the time to start digging that bunker you decided to make for yourself after reading "The Road" is now in your rearview mirror. (I may also be unreasonably cheap, this has been suggested, though I did just tip a waiter last week, so I'm clearly not) Anyway, this character who for reasons beyond my understanding felt the need to order a drink even though he's leaving the bar in 180 seconds, stands up takes a sip from his drink, says something to the person he was conversing with, puts the drink back down slaps down a twenty on the bar and leaves. This happens at leats two or three times a night, more if you're flipping during commercials and I find it annoying every time. To me, that, not the Miss September playing a marine biologist, is the most unrealistic aspect of TV, it's like the writers aren't even trying. At least the casting directors have the decency to make Ashley, Amber or Tiffani wear glasses and a bun, like all those other marine biologists.
While we're on the topic I thought I'd also bring the coffee shop scene. My problem here isn't quite as prevalent as with the bar, but, in scenes in which a waiter or waitress is walking around with a carafe and filling up those huge ceramic cups every coffee shop on TV has, how is it that these people are OK settling for what is at most a third of a cup of coffee? I understand it'd be weird on TV if the waitress had to keep going back for more pots of coffee, but you need to pour for a good three count if you're going to get anywhere near a full cup and these guys dont even get to two!
Nov 24, 2009
COVER JUDGING
I didn't sleep much last night and my brain is lagging several steps behind my fingers, but you don't come here for filtered speech anyway. So, on with the show. I played this game called Mafia the other night, for those of you not familiar, its essentially Clue without clues. In the game, everyone is assigned a role, some are murderers some are detectives, some are peasants, and, depending on your part, you have to either fool your competitors and live to kill another day, or convince your teammates that someone is the killer and kill him back. Now I think its important to point out that these roles are not chosen, but rather assigned by the picking cards, they're essentially random. So, logically speaking, the odds of the killer being the same person every time are quite low. Accordingy, you'd think that the players would vary their guesses. It would seem however, mathematics wilts in the face of what is apparently my homicidal well... face. Time after time I found myself dead, the victim of some ineffable quality that makes people think I'd enjoy watching them die. 'I look guilty' they said, 'there wasn't a real crime!' I retorted, 'we should probably kill him, just in case' they concluded.
All of this is a long winded way of asking you, is it possible I'm supposed to be a serial killer? Did I miss my calling? Sure there are some obvious signs: the long list of people I want to watch die, my being paler than an agoraphobic albino and my watching the entire 2009 Best All Around Taxidermist Competition at the National Taxidermists Association Convention. (It was ESPN 85, the Ocho Cinco)http://www.taxidermy.net/ Still, I don't want to give up the whole law thing on a whim. Is it possible that there's something in my face, my demeanor that was meant to kill? I do respect the concept of destiny, and it'd be a shame if I ignored my designated fate. After all who am I to argue with that which is predestined? What defense would I have to not spending my life murdering and possibly eating the duodenum of my victims (I forsee them calling me the Acid Reflux Killer) when I approach the pearly gates? How could I explain a life devoted to helping others and encouraging harmony (were clearly speaking hypothetically at this point) when cannibalism is expected? I guess what it comes down to is this; Do you think serial killers get the Friday after Thanksgiving off?
All of this is a long winded way of asking you, is it possible I'm supposed to be a serial killer? Did I miss my calling? Sure there are some obvious signs: the long list of people I want to watch die, my being paler than an agoraphobic albino and my watching the entire 2009 Best All Around Taxidermist Competition at the National Taxidermists Association Convention. (It was ESPN 85, the Ocho Cinco)http://www.taxidermy.net/ Still, I don't want to give up the whole law thing on a whim. Is it possible that there's something in my face, my demeanor that was meant to kill? I do respect the concept of destiny, and it'd be a shame if I ignored my designated fate. After all who am I to argue with that which is predestined? What defense would I have to not spending my life murdering and possibly eating the duodenum of my victims (I forsee them calling me the Acid Reflux Killer) when I approach the pearly gates? How could I explain a life devoted to helping others and encouraging harmony (were clearly speaking hypothetically at this point) when cannibalism is expected? I guess what it comes down to is this; Do you think serial killers get the Friday after Thanksgiving off?
Nov 19, 2009
SOMETIMES MATTER MATTERS
Sorry for the slow posting week, readers. No, really I am. Not because I've let you down mind you, but because the paucity of posts is indicative of my actually being required to work this week. Still, I've saved up quite an array of theories, observations and complaints in my head so don't feel too cheated.
BULLET POINTS!
BULLET POINTS!
I was on the train last night, sans book, (A major oversight on my part. As a general rule the maximum acceptable length of a subway ride without reading material or an iPod is 10 minutes) and so, found myself reading the advertisements (I wish I could pull off say ad-VER-tis-ment) on the walls. Nothing against Dr. Zizmor, but it's rare than any of these signs stokes the intellectual fires, you know? Yesterday, however, was an exception. One ad struck me as being so blatantly absurd as to render it paradoxical; kind of like how people sometimes think Keannu Reaves is deep. The ad was, as 58% of all advertisements now are, for 'man problems'. It read, in part, "Don't let Impotence Ruin Your Sex Life". It's probably safe to assume that you all know what impotence is, but I think this makes for a good opportunity (excuse) to bust out some of the euphamisms I've been thinking up.
Mr. Softee
Lincoln Logless
Frightened Turtle Syndrome (FTS)
Droop Mountain (no really it's a thing http://www.droopmountainbattlefield.com/)
Anyway, I'm reading the sign and I'm asking myself if they really mean what they say or if they just don't know how to say what they mean, because as I'm sure you've figured out as well, it's kind of impossible for impotence not to ruin your sex life. Sure you can do things to make yourself potent again, take pills, hire someone to travel back in time and take naked pictures of the 20 year old Jennifer Love Hewitt for one. Which reminds me, if anyone owns a time machine I have a favor to ask of you... and a digital camera you can borrow. All that being said, those are methods to combat impotence, to undo the problem. This ad, on the other hand, wants you to 'get past' the whole impotence thing, work around it, find a backdoor (that's an unfortunate pun) to the problem. It's like telling your puppy he can knock up as many poodles as he wants, the day after you take him to get fixed.
Role playing - I recently had a training seminar on public service. I don't know why, I find the public reasonably serviceable, though I'd prefer it if there were fewer of them. Still, in our seminar we were required to play the part of an angry person from the public and an unhelpful public servant. Apparently, this was supposed to help us understand the difference between providing full service and minimal service. Now, I'm a full service kind of guy, which is why in my role play I offered to meet my customer at her place and discuss her problems over a nice bottle of wine, or if she preferred, cheap tequila. I've been told I still have a job, but it's unlikely I'll be asked to role play again. So much for the city really being about providing satisfaction.
Due to someone's mistake (I've been having some trouble figuring out who I can hold responsible for said mistake, as I am obviously excluded from the suspect list, so for the time being I'll hold off on assigning blame and just leave it as 'someone') I didn't actually prepare for work yesterday. This isn't to say I didn't work, I did, I just found myself unprepared even after all that work was done. What happened after though was almost as surprising as an impotent man being told to enjoy his sex life anyway. My day went smoothly! Literally, no obstacles presented themselves, no one called me names or looked at me the way they did the one time I got that guy deported by accident. It was amazing. I have to say, I'm now tempted to try it out on a regular basis. I call it 'The Reverse Raincoat Effect'. You see, as with an umbrella, the odds of it raining on a given day is inversely proportional to the number of people wearing a raincoat or an umbrella, the more people making use of one, the less likely it is to rain. So, I theorize, it is with work, the more prepared you are for every eventuality, the more questions you preemptively answer, the more problems you create. As Newton said evey action has an equal and opposite reaction. They call this the preservation of momentum/motion, I call this the preservation of problems. Every solution has a consequence and every consequence potentially creates a new problem. So, if you do nothing, if you don't prepare, don't answer a single question or solve a single problem then, according to the theory, you can avoid creating any new ones. So, who wants to be my guinea pig? What? I need this paycheck!
Nov 13, 2009
I'M AN ARTISTE'!
I've got nothing today. I know it seems counterintuitive but these posts actually take more focus than work does. As such today's post will be brief and technically more of a complaint. You see, I'm unable to access that special place I go to when I write these things because a co-worker of mine has designated today as "Friday is for yelling at customer service representatives". There are many things I don't understand, people who find Dane Cook funny, why someone would name an edible fish Scrod, 'Tofurkey', but I truly don't understand how some people can be comfortable talking about their credit card bills in a room full of people to whom they aren't related. Aside from everything else, shouldn't you be concerned that I could just take take your information on a post-it and order myself a fine leather european men's shoulder bag?
Bah! Now someone's asking me to donate money to charity. Some people are just so selfish. Can't I be left alone for even a moment to spread the gospel? I bet people didn't interrupt Jesus when HE was talking just to ask for food.
Have a good weekend.
Bah! Now someone's asking me to donate money to charity. Some people are just so selfish. Can't I be left alone for even a moment to spread the gospel? I bet people didn't interrupt Jesus when HE was talking just to ask for food.
Have a good weekend.
Nov 11, 2009
I GOT YOUR SIX!
Veteran's day means I'm not working and you are. I know this has been a running theme for a while now recurring meme if you will; me not having to work and you slaving away at your job while your life passes you by at speeds faster than a drunk driving Halle Berry. Normally, this would mean I'd leave subject alone, after all this is like the fourth random day off I've had in the last month and if I keep beating this joke every time I don't have to work and you do, pretty soon it'll be giving an interview to Katie Couric on 60 minutes. Still, I have to say today is different. It's Veteran's day. Our soldiers fought and died so that we, as a nation, could take off a random Wednesday in middle of November and I am the only one respecting their sacrifices by spending the afternoon in pajamas watching West Wing reruns whilst repeatedly scratching certain nether regions. You? You're working!
This isn't really relevant (though really how much ever is?), and I don't have a particularly good segue for it, but I won $110 playing poker yesterday. I don't think it was luck or skill so much as it is that in my advancing old age I've become what I like to call frugal, and what wait staff likes to call a turd blossom. Money is a powerful thing, much like dodgeball, if you don't treat it with respect, it will cause you pain. This is a lesson me and my black eye learned well on the dodgeball battle field and so when I found myself mano a mano, head to head, stack to stack with someone who didn't understand it's mythical powers, money taught him a lesson. Also I had a pair of Kings, but that hardly seems relevant.
This isn't really relevant (though really how much ever is?), and I don't have a particularly good segue for it, but I won $110 playing poker yesterday. I don't think it was luck or skill so much as it is that in my advancing old age I've become what I like to call frugal, and what wait staff likes to call a turd blossom. Money is a powerful thing, much like dodgeball, if you don't treat it with respect, it will cause you pain. This is a lesson me and my black eye learned well on the dodgeball battle field and so when I found myself mano a mano, head to head, stack to stack with someone who didn't understand it's mythical powers, money taught him a lesson. Also I had a pair of Kings, but that hardly seems relevant.
Nov 10, 2009
NO, I'M WRITING A BOOK ABOUT HOOKERS
I'll be honest, I have no idea what today's post is going to be about, but I'm sure we'll figure it out as we go along. Oh, here's something, I just found out I'm going to have to do some work today. I don't have anything against the idea in principle, I get paid, I should do something to earn it (assuming my charming presence isn't reward enough). I just don't appreciate when work sneaks up on me. Sloth requires preparation and planning as much as productivity does, perhaps more so. It requires foresight and natural talent to clear one's schedule, while at the same time not actually working hard. It was with that understanding that I came into work today, confident in my ability to spend the day doing little more than looking busy. It was not to be readers. A simple extended breakfast while perusing the interwebs, a momentary exposure of my true intentions for the day and I find myself saddled with work.
I can't help but wonder if we could somehow transfer the ability my bosses have to capitalize on my those brief glimpses behind my facade of industriousness, those insights into my subconscious to our intelligence gathering community. I'm sure you've read by now that the Fort Hood murderer had been in contact with a radical muslim cleric with ties to Al-Qaeda. This is a humorous blog so I'm not going to get into too much depth, but apparently the FBI was aware of this contact and dismissed it because they thought it was for research purposes. Far be it from me to tell the FBI how to do it's job but, "I'm doing research" is pretty much the equivalent of "there was a sick passenger on my train." Seriously, Lindsay Lohan took a role as a drug addict stripper (with an amazing rack) just to cover up for all the times she said I'm not actually a drug addicted, attention seeking, Gift from god wasting slut, I'm doing research. I'm not one to judge (I am, I'm just humble) but if the FBI can't outsmart Lindsey Lohan my hopes for this country have taken a bit of a hit. On the bright side, at least my I can continue my Nigerian Prince business plan.
I can't help but wonder if we could somehow transfer the ability my bosses have to capitalize on my those brief glimpses behind my facade of industriousness, those insights into my subconscious to our intelligence gathering community. I'm sure you've read by now that the Fort Hood murderer had been in contact with a radical muslim cleric with ties to Al-Qaeda. This is a humorous blog so I'm not going to get into too much depth, but apparently the FBI was aware of this contact and dismissed it because they thought it was for research purposes. Far be it from me to tell the FBI how to do it's job but, "I'm doing research" is pretty much the equivalent of "there was a sick passenger on my train." Seriously, Lindsay Lohan took a role as a drug addict stripper (with an amazing rack) just to cover up for all the times she said I'm not actually a drug addicted, attention seeking, Gift from god wasting slut, I'm doing research. I'm not one to judge (I am, I'm just humble) but if the FBI can't outsmart Lindsey Lohan my hopes for this country have taken a bit of a hit. On the bright side, at least my I can continue my Nigerian Prince business plan.
Nov 9, 2009
READING IS FUNdamental
Hello readers, I'm taking my first official 'book day' today. I'm nearing the end of Part II and the finish line beckons like a drunk Jennifer Love Hewitt in heat. But, because I cant leave you without some form of entertainment, google Sammy Sosa and skin rejuvenation procedure. I promise it'll be worth it.
Nov 6, 2009
DE-REK JE-TER!
Today is a bit of a notes article; no real overarching thing just a bunch of short thoughts on what has been a pleasantly relaxing day. I'm sure I'll find something to rage about though.
I hit a bit of a milestone today. I know my readership is worldwide, but I'm assuming you all know about Metro cards and the price of a subway ride. For those of you who don't a ride on the subway costs $2.25 (little known fact, apparently that is also the price for an apartment in the subway station, they're roomy enough but quite drafty) and when you buy a $20 Metro card you get a 15% bonus of $2.50 adding up to a total of $22.50. I'm sure all of you're actuaries, but that works out to 10 rides or 2 rides every business day leaving you with a .25 cent surplus at the end of the workweek. This means that instead of buying a new card every week I'm forced to refill my old one in order not to give up that .25 cents. The following week that surplus grows to .50 cents and .75 the week after and so on and so on. Long story short after 11 weeks of refilling my metro card I finally have enough to use it once more and let it hit $0.00.
I lost it :-(.
Yankee Parade in Downtown Manhattan today - say what you will but I find it heartwarming to see how the police will excuse public drunkenness and illegal exposure if you're smart enough to be a Yankee fan.
"Do you like milk?" - I was going through the tags on the blog the other day and I discovered that Starbucks has merited more rants than anything else. I was a bit surprised, personally I'd have put my money on the Portuguese (what's with that extra 'u'!?). Still, facts are facts, so I apologize for returning to the scene of the crime yet again. I was in Starbucks with a co-worker and I noticed they had a drink called an Eggnog latte. being curious by nature I asked if it was any good. The barista's response, however, assured me that while Starbuck's will continue to thrive, she will probably not be attending Wharton's School of Business anytime soon. I think it's safe to say when you're asking someone to pay $4 for a non-alcoholic beverage, you need a hook, an exotic quality that makes it seem like something you can't get anywhere else (kind of how massage parlors have "exotic" Asian women even though there are far more Asians than Caucasians in the world). So, when I ask the barista if the eggnog latte is good, I don't think "yeah, I mean do you like sweet milk?" is the response corporate had in mind. The fact that my co-worker ordered it anyway, well... I didn't say either of us was going to Wharton's either.
I hit a bit of a milestone today. I know my readership is worldwide, but I'm assuming you all know about Metro cards and the price of a subway ride. For those of you who don't a ride on the subway costs $2.25 (little known fact, apparently that is also the price for an apartment in the subway station, they're roomy enough but quite drafty) and when you buy a $20 Metro card you get a 15% bonus of $2.50 adding up to a total of $22.50. I'm sure all of you're actuaries, but that works out to 10 rides or 2 rides every business day leaving you with a .25 cent surplus at the end of the workweek. This means that instead of buying a new card every week I'm forced to refill my old one in order not to give up that .25 cents. The following week that surplus grows to .50 cents and .75 the week after and so on and so on. Long story short after 11 weeks of refilling my metro card I finally have enough to use it once more and let it hit $0.00.
I lost it :-(.
Yankee Parade in Downtown Manhattan today - say what you will but I find it heartwarming to see how the police will excuse public drunkenness and illegal exposure if you're smart enough to be a Yankee fan.
"Do you like milk?" - I was going through the tags on the blog the other day and I discovered that Starbucks has merited more rants than anything else. I was a bit surprised, personally I'd have put my money on the Portuguese (what's with that extra 'u'!?). Still, facts are facts, so I apologize for returning to the scene of the crime yet again. I was in Starbucks with a co-worker and I noticed they had a drink called an Eggnog latte. being curious by nature I asked if it was any good. The barista's response, however, assured me that while Starbuck's will continue to thrive, she will probably not be attending Wharton's School of Business anytime soon. I think it's safe to say when you're asking someone to pay $4 for a non-alcoholic beverage, you need a hook, an exotic quality that makes it seem like something you can't get anywhere else (kind of how massage parlors have "exotic" Asian women even though there are far more Asians than Caucasians in the world). So, when I ask the barista if the eggnog latte is good, I don't think "yeah, I mean do you like sweet milk?" is the response corporate had in mind. The fact that my co-worker ordered it anyway, well... I didn't say either of us was going to Wharton's either.
Nov 5, 2009
DOGGIE OR BARF?
There comes a point in every meal, every good meal at least, where you have to make a decision; finish the plate or take a doggie bag. Moments like these are pregnant with variables that must be calculated in nanoseconds. Am I full? If I finish this, will I be sick in half an hour? Is there enough left to make a meal out of later? Will I be embarrassed to ask the waiter to wrap it up. If you hesistate, push the decision off even just a bite or two it'll be too late. The moment will have passed and the decision will be have been made for you. I had such a Rubicon moment today. I knew I was full, but also knew I wouldnt feel the effects of it for a few moments yet. I had a window to keep eating. There was also exactly enough food on the plate to fill one of those chinese takeout boxes and it was a dish that reheated well. The forces were marshalled and stacked evenly on each side. It could have gone either way. Unfortunately, I lost focus. I was reading while eating (the only way you can eat alone in a restaurant) and took two bites without thinking. By the time I regained my focus and looked down the remains looked rather puny. I'd waited too long though, the fullness hit me like a an angry transvestite and I was down to a dilemma with no winning choices; stuff myself or throw it out. Only it wasn't really a choice. In my head I'd already committed myself to eating everything on that plate, whether at once or later tonight. I wasn't about to undo all that and so I ate and ate and here I sit, nauseus, lightheaded and frightfully aware that I missed my chance. Don't let it happen to you. Learn from my mistake.
Nov 4, 2009
YOU SHOOT ANYONE THAT COMES THROUGH THAT DOOR!
LA Dodger's pitcher Vincente Padilla was shot in the leg... by his own bodyguard. As this isn't an episode of 24, the guard didn't turn on him, and there was no criminal activity (except for stupidity) involved. The guard simply shot him, by accident, in the leg. What makes this more amusing is that Mr. Padilla (or as we shall henceforth call him, Gimpy) was at the firing range being instructed in the finer points of marksmanship by said bodyguard.
I'll be honest. I enjoy this story. Not because I hate rich people or like seeing other human beings in pain (both true), but because I feel like anyone who thinks they're so important they to need to hire a bodyguard, needs to bleed every once in a while, if only to remind them they belong to the same race as you and I.
Speaking of racial disharmony, I saw 'Where The Wild Things Are' last night. I don't want to say it sucked because that'd be unfair, also because I have a rather high opinion of myself, but we'll get to that in a moment. The movie was well-made, the acting was quite good and it definitely had emotional heft. Still, I was both bored and depressed throughout, and spent most of the movie thinking that all this could have been avoided if someone slipped some Ritalin in the kid's mashed potatoes.
I don't know if this is a kids movie. I know it's based on a children's book, but plenty of adult movies have been made from children's books. For example, this book: Still, even I, as an adult (god, it hurt to say that) have the patience for a movie in which NOTHING happens. More importantly I worry what not liking this movie says about me. It received solidly above average reviews from all the intellectual review sites and I left before it even ended. Normally I'm full of excuses (ask anyone who's ever relied on me for anything) If I didn't like a movie I should I'd say I have the tastes of a child, but that won't work in this case, it's based on a children's book! Still, I'd usually have the other half of the retort (because I'll take either side if I get to be right) and I'd say it was too childish, but again, it was decidedly serious. I have no excuses. Much like my attempts at avoiding going to the gym, I'm left with nothing but honesty and in this case honesty makes me feel like a Philistine. So yes I hate 'Where The Wild Things Are' Not because it sucked (it did) but because I thought it sucked. How's that for a paradox?
I'll be honest. I enjoy this story. Not because I hate rich people or like seeing other human beings in pain (both true), but because I feel like anyone who thinks they're so important they to need to hire a bodyguard, needs to bleed every once in a while, if only to remind them they belong to the same race as you and I.
Speaking of racial disharmony, I saw 'Where The Wild Things Are' last night. I don't want to say it sucked because that'd be unfair, also because I have a rather high opinion of myself, but we'll get to that in a moment. The movie was well-made, the acting was quite good and it definitely had emotional heft. Still, I was both bored and depressed throughout, and spent most of the movie thinking that all this could have been avoided if someone slipped some Ritalin in the kid's mashed potatoes.
I don't know if this is a kids movie. I know it's based on a children's book, but plenty of adult movies have been made from children's books. For example, this book: Still, even I, as an adult (god, it hurt to say that) have the patience for a movie in which NOTHING happens. More importantly I worry what not liking this movie says about me. It received solidly above average reviews from all the intellectual review sites and I left before it even ended. Normally I'm full of excuses (ask anyone who's ever relied on me for anything) If I didn't like a movie I should I'd say I have the tastes of a child, but that won't work in this case, it's based on a children's book! Still, I'd usually have the other half of the retort (because I'll take either side if I get to be right) and I'd say it was too childish, but again, it was decidedly serious. I have no excuses. Much like my attempts at avoiding going to the gym, I'm left with nothing but honesty and in this case honesty makes me feel like a Philistine. So yes I hate 'Where The Wild Things Are' Not because it sucked (it did) but because I thought it sucked. How's that for a paradox?
Nov 3, 2009
GLOATING
Much like our differing manners of observing Columbus day, my employers, in their infinite wisdom and mercy, have seen fit to give me the day off today to deliberate on who I think is the right choice for Mayor of New York, yours, well, yours think you can decide while you work on spreadsheets. But enough bragging (hahahahahahahahahahahaha I have the day off and you don't nyeh nyeh nyeh nyeh) today is about voting, about the power of choice, the meaning of democracy and that, friends, is a sacred and special thing. Look at American Idol, thanks to voting we have umm I can't remember the names of anyone on American Idol, there's that chubby one that won the first one and that girl in a bikini and the one who dated Tony Romo, didn't she get fat too though? No wait that was Jessica Simpson... was Jessica Simpson on American Idol? That seems like a bit of a mismatch.
Anyway, I watched 'Paranormal Activity' last night and I have to say, if the same people who recommended this movie are voting today, I think it's time we abolish democracy. I get the whole, is it a movie or is it real footage, thing. I mean I got it ten years ago when 'The Blair Witch Project' sucked, but I still get it today. Only we KNOW it's a movie and we know this because YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO SHOW SNUFF FILMS IN A MOVIE THEATER! If people actually died it'd be evidence, the police would be investigating or, I don't know, SETI (google it). Either way you wouldn't be paying to see it. Also, I get the whole 'the unknown is scarier than anything you can see on screen' and that's true to an extent, we have amazing imaginations, in fact, just the other day I was daydreaming and imagined that Jennifer Love Hewitt was dating Jamie Kennedy. Crazy, I know. You know what's not scary though? A door moving on its own being the #3 most scariest moment in your movie. Maybe I'm being harsh, it could have been #4, the chandelier slightly swaying on its own may have been #3. My point is, the movie sucks and I want 90 minutes of my life back and all of you voters out there owe it to me!
Anyway, I watched 'Paranormal Activity' last night and I have to say, if the same people who recommended this movie are voting today, I think it's time we abolish democracy. I get the whole, is it a movie or is it real footage, thing. I mean I got it ten years ago when 'The Blair Witch Project' sucked, but I still get it today. Only we KNOW it's a movie and we know this because YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO SHOW SNUFF FILMS IN A MOVIE THEATER! If people actually died it'd be evidence, the police would be investigating or, I don't know, SETI (google it). Either way you wouldn't be paying to see it. Also, I get the whole 'the unknown is scarier than anything you can see on screen' and that's true to an extent, we have amazing imaginations, in fact, just the other day I was daydreaming and imagined that Jennifer Love Hewitt was dating Jamie Kennedy. Crazy, I know. You know what's not scary though? A door moving on its own being the #3 most scariest moment in your movie. Maybe I'm being harsh, it could have been #4, the chandelier slightly swaying on its own may have been #3. My point is, the movie sucks and I want 90 minutes of my life back and all of you voters out there owe it to me!
Nov 2, 2009
Teasers
Hello folks, after several consecutive weeks of blogging I find my creative juices restored and my slightly off kilter world view decidedly askew. I want to thank you for helping me reach this point again and giving me the wherewithal to pick up my long neglected Cinderella of a book. As a thank you I will be posting several excerpts from my magnum opus over the next few days. These tidbits will, I hope, grant me some measure of believability when I blame a day without a post on being busy with my book. Anyway, here are a few paragraphs from the opening chapter of Part II of my novel 'Codswallop'.
Chapter I
When I was twenty-three, and in my defense, quite lonely, I agreed to go on a blind date at the urging of a family friend. The girl, I was assured, was a dark haired beauty with the kind looks that drive men to bad decisions and lawyers to raise the price of prenuptial agreements. The “matchmaker” may have also mentioned something about her personality, I don’t recall. I do, however, quite clearly recall thinking upon her opening her apartment door for me that my decision-making faculties would remain decidedly unimpaired. It may well have turned out to be a pleasant evening.(1) I mean Monica Lewinsky managed to catch the eye of the most powerful man in the world, so nothing’s impossible, but about twenty minutes into our evening she made a declaration that guaranteed that our already doomed experiment of a blind date would end in total and complete failure.
She was a “naturist.”
Before I could inquire as to whether that was an actual word, (2) she explained that naturists (by this I deuced that there was at least one other) don’t believe in wasting their lives indoors. They prefer to live, as she put it, lives engaged with nature. Her idea of a night of fun included hiking, sitting in front of a bonfire, taking walks on the beach, and anything else you might do in summer camp or read in a personal ad. Anyway, the long and short of it was, she didn’t own a TV! I knew right then (along with when she opened the door(3)) that would be the last time we went out.
Television is, as you may have gathered by now, very important to me. In fact, during summers when I wasn’t in school or working, and during my extended period of unemployment, television made up a solid three quarters of my waking life, trumping such activities as exercising, being outside and dating. If she was a naturist than I was technologist, an avid indoorsman, preferring to live a life engaged with my remote control. It was nearly four years since that unfortunate date and in all that time, I had never met another person who cared about TV as much as I did. Then I met six hundred of them.
Footnotes:
1) As I understand, there are an infinite number of parallel universes in addition to our own, and the way I see it, in at least one of them, I must be something other than shallow.
2) My spell check seems to think it is though I still have my reservations.
3) Like I said, decidedly unimpaired.
Chapter I
When I was twenty-three, and in my defense, quite lonely, I agreed to go on a blind date at the urging of a family friend. The girl, I was assured, was a dark haired beauty with the kind looks that drive men to bad decisions and lawyers to raise the price of prenuptial agreements. The “matchmaker” may have also mentioned something about her personality, I don’t recall. I do, however, quite clearly recall thinking upon her opening her apartment door for me that my decision-making faculties would remain decidedly unimpaired. It may well have turned out to be a pleasant evening.(1) I mean Monica Lewinsky managed to catch the eye of the most powerful man in the world, so nothing’s impossible, but about twenty minutes into our evening she made a declaration that guaranteed that our already doomed experiment of a blind date would end in total and complete failure.
She was a “naturist.”
Before I could inquire as to whether that was an actual word, (2) she explained that naturists (by this I deuced that there was at least one other) don’t believe in wasting their lives indoors. They prefer to live, as she put it, lives engaged with nature. Her idea of a night of fun included hiking, sitting in front of a bonfire, taking walks on the beach, and anything else you might do in summer camp or read in a personal ad. Anyway, the long and short of it was, she didn’t own a TV! I knew right then (along with when she opened the door(3)) that would be the last time we went out.
Television is, as you may have gathered by now, very important to me. In fact, during summers when I wasn’t in school or working, and during my extended period of unemployment, television made up a solid three quarters of my waking life, trumping such activities as exercising, being outside and dating. If she was a naturist than I was technologist, an avid indoorsman, preferring to live a life engaged with my remote control. It was nearly four years since that unfortunate date and in all that time, I had never met another person who cared about TV as much as I did. Then I met six hundred of them.
Footnotes:
1) As I understand, there are an infinite number of parallel universes in addition to our own, and the way I see it, in at least one of them, I must be something other than shallow.
2) My spell check seems to think it is though I still have my reservations.
3) Like I said, decidedly unimpaired.
Oct 30, 2009
FIVE O'CLOCK SHADOW
Sorry about not posting yesterday readers. I've fallen into a bit of a rut lately, posting my pearls in the late afternoon well past that magic 90 minute span from 9:00-10:30 when everyone searches for something to read while they acclimatize themselves to the rigors of the day. Much like shaving at night, I left myself with an unenviable dilemma; repost again in the morning and let yesterday's flowers bloom for but a moment, or, wait till they have had time to open their petals and scented the air for their allotted day (yes, I know, I mixed my metaphors, I'm open to rhetorical miscegenation). Being lazy, I chose the latter and so the cycle continued, repeating itself like a computer following shampoo instructions (lather, rinse, repeat...). Anyway, I finally decided it was time to break the cycle. So that's why there wasn't a post yesterday. As for why today's post is not going up till lunch time well, five o'clock, I refer you back to 'I'm lazy'. Hey, it's not like I'm getting paid for this! Well I mean technically I'm doing this while I'm at work and I'm getting paid for that so... Whatever, on to the show (Is it 'on to' or 'onto'? it sounds like onto but on to makes much more sense, I think this is one of those situations where 'sounds right' might lead you astray).
I was walking down Broadway today and there were these two women walking down the street carrying corn stalks in shopping carts. Not ears of corn mind you, not corn with the husk still on, friggin' whole stalks of corn. It's like they'd just come back from visiting Ohidowa (that would be Ohio, Idaho and Iowa) and decided to take a cash crop back as a tsotchke, only we were in the middle of New York City and there wasn't an airport in sight. What amazed me more than the stalks though was that no one else seemed to think it was odd! I mean the Children of the Corn are walking about the like Four Horsemen and not a single person in sight reacted. I think we've become desensitized to the absurd and abnormal. I mean, you don't even realize how odd I am anymore. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate your obliviousness, but I think you may be in danger. For example, I was sitting on one of those wooden benches waiting for the subway the other day and this crazy dude who smelled like fermenting vomit sat down next to me. I, of course, being in possession of all five of my senses, got up and moved as far away as my olfactory receptors necessitated. When I turned around, however, the dude who was sitting next to me was still there, only now he was having a conversation with eau de puke. I guess it's possible that he was just a nice guy and didn't want to offend another human being, but trust me on this crazy dude was CRAZY he didn't need anyone to talk to, he had a whole cast of characters he seemed to converse with on a regular basis all on his own; at least one of which should probably be on antipsychotics overweight or not.
I was walking down Broadway today and there were these two women walking down the street carrying corn stalks in shopping carts. Not ears of corn mind you, not corn with the husk still on, friggin' whole stalks of corn. It's like they'd just come back from visiting Ohidowa (that would be Ohio, Idaho and Iowa) and decided to take a cash crop back as a tsotchke, only we were in the middle of New York City and there wasn't an airport in sight. What amazed me more than the stalks though was that no one else seemed to think it was odd! I mean the Children of the Corn are walking about the like Four Horsemen and not a single person in sight reacted. I think we've become desensitized to the absurd and abnormal. I mean, you don't even realize how odd I am anymore. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate your obliviousness, but I think you may be in danger. For example, I was sitting on one of those wooden benches waiting for the subway the other day and this crazy dude who smelled like fermenting vomit sat down next to me. I, of course, being in possession of all five of my senses, got up and moved as far away as my olfactory receptors necessitated. When I turned around, however, the dude who was sitting next to me was still there, only now he was having a conversation with eau de puke. I guess it's possible that he was just a nice guy and didn't want to offend another human being, but trust me on this crazy dude was CRAZY he didn't need anyone to talk to, he had a whole cast of characters he seemed to converse with on a regular basis all on his own; at least one of which should probably be on antipsychotics overweight or not.
Oct 28, 2009
DOES THIS STRAIGHT JACKET MAKE ME LOOK FAT?
So (some have you may have noticed that many of my posts begin with 'So' or similar derivations, before you correct my grammar, this is both acceptable and purposeful. You see, by starting with 'so' I invite you into the post; it makes it seem as if we're simply picking up a conversation we'd started earlier that had been interrupted [how rude!]. There, now you know), I was on the NY Times website today and, because I, like most of you, am too lazy to look for articles I personally want to read, I found myself scanning the 'Most Popular' menu on the bottom of the screen. I know I should be more of an independent reader and that limiting my news intake to the 'Most Popular' section is akin to listening to Britney Spears music (OK I'm not going to lie... I really like it. It's good! No really it is, it's catchy. You're just biased because you think you're supposed to hate it. Come on, I know someone out there agrees with me! Granted the words 'Radar' and 'Operator' don't actually rhyme and I'm pretty sure there are machines involved in making her sound good, but the woman is clearly disturbed, I don't think we should hold her to such exacting standards). Anyway, I was scanning the list of most popular stories and I saw a title that caught my eye:
Weight Gain Associated With Antipsychotic Drugs
OK here are my questions regarding this story:
1) If you're on antipsychotic medication shouldn't you be less concerned about weight and more focused on the whole becoming a psycho killer thing?
2) Is this a bad thing? Are we treating this weight gain like some sort of negative side effect? I don't know about you, but I prefer an overweight and out of shape psychotic community. If something goes wrong and they forget their medication or someone knocks off the delivery truck and keeps them from getting it, I want to know I can outrun the stampeding psychotic herd.
3) Did someone tell the psychotics about this? I'm sorry, but I don't think I want them weighing the pros and cons of taking their crazy people pills. What if they have a hot date or something? I know this may seem preposterous, but there are people who'd rather date a crazy person than a fat person... I'm just saying, I have a uh, 'friend' like that.
4) Do they actually call them antipsychotics? That seems like poor branding to me. If I was a doctor and wanted to get my patient to take medicine, I feel like telling him he needs antipsychotics wouldn't be the best approach. Someone needs to come up with a better name for these things. Any suggestions?
Weight Gain Associated With Antipsychotic Drugs
OK here are my questions regarding this story:
1) If you're on antipsychotic medication shouldn't you be less concerned about weight and more focused on the whole becoming a psycho killer thing?
2) Is this a bad thing? Are we treating this weight gain like some sort of negative side effect? I don't know about you, but I prefer an overweight and out of shape psychotic community. If something goes wrong and they forget their medication or someone knocks off the delivery truck and keeps them from getting it, I want to know I can outrun the stampeding psychotic herd.
3) Did someone tell the psychotics about this? I'm sorry, but I don't think I want them weighing the pros and cons of taking their crazy people pills. What if they have a hot date or something? I know this may seem preposterous, but there are people who'd rather date a crazy person than a fat person... I'm just saying, I have a uh, 'friend' like that.
4) Do they actually call them antipsychotics? That seems like poor branding to me. If I was a doctor and wanted to get my patient to take medicine, I feel like telling him he needs antipsychotics wouldn't be the best approach. Someone needs to come up with a better name for these things. Any suggestions?
Oct 27, 2009
I'LL DRINK YOUR MILKSHAKE!
I'm kinda tired, let's meet up after lunch. I might have something for you then. I don't want to tease it too much, but let's just say it involves the greatest athletic achievements in history.
UPDATE:
OK, so I had lunch. Unfortunately the only thing it did, aside from make me gassy (if we can't tell each other these things what hope do we have of making this a lasting relationship?), is confirm the fact that I don't want to be at work, and if I have to be, I'd prefer to be asleep. Now, I know what you're thinking, 'I've read about your dodgeball exploits and you're clearly a superior athlete (or as sportscasters say ath-uh-leet), how can you be so tired?' Well, the reasons for my fatigue are two-fold.
First, while most of the people there were calling it some random hunk of rock in Taconic State park, I'm pretty sure I climbed Mount Killamanjaro on Sunday, maybe K-2 (Everest is for blind people and pansies), it's hard to tell, at that elevation the brain gets a bit fuzzy. I was also informed by people who I have on good authority are called "haters", that I didn't rock climb, I rock scrambled. However, I don't think I'll be drinking from that particular can of "haterade" (apparently it's high in electrolytes, who knew?). I got to the top of Killamanjaro WITHOUT EXTRA OXYGEN, I clearly have skills. Now, while the climb was physically taxing and rather hard on the cocyx (google it) that alone wouldn't have been enough to take me down, I am after all a physical specimen (that's what I call a lie of misinterpretation). The climb was, however, directly followed by part two of the two-fold attack on my specimen,the final night of my dodgeball season.
Yes folks, just 24 games and, like the blink of my one black (dodgeball is apparently a contact sport) eye, it's over. Still, as a team befitting my presence, we went out in style, reeking of cheap liquor and going undefeated on the night - winning three and tying once. By the way, anyone who asks about whether we won 2 of those games by forfeit will quickly come know what it means to see eye to eye with a dodgeball.
UPDATE:
OK, so I had lunch. Unfortunately the only thing it did, aside from make me gassy (if we can't tell each other these things what hope do we have of making this a lasting relationship?), is confirm the fact that I don't want to be at work, and if I have to be, I'd prefer to be asleep. Now, I know what you're thinking, 'I've read about your dodgeball exploits and you're clearly a superior athlete (or as sportscasters say ath-uh-leet), how can you be so tired?' Well, the reasons for my fatigue are two-fold.
First, while most of the people there were calling it some random hunk of rock in Taconic State park, I'm pretty sure I climbed Mount Killamanjaro on Sunday, maybe K-2 (Everest is for blind people and pansies), it's hard to tell, at that elevation the brain gets a bit fuzzy. I was also informed by people who I have on good authority are called "haters", that I didn't rock climb, I rock scrambled. However, I don't think I'll be drinking from that particular can of "haterade" (apparently it's high in electrolytes, who knew?). I got to the top of Killamanjaro WITHOUT EXTRA OXYGEN, I clearly have skills. Now, while the climb was physically taxing and rather hard on the cocyx (google it) that alone wouldn't have been enough to take me down, I am after all a physical specimen (that's what I call a lie of misinterpretation). The climb was, however, directly followed by part two of the two-fold attack on my specimen,the final night of my dodgeball season.
Yes folks, just 24 games and, like the blink of my one black (dodgeball is apparently a contact sport) eye, it's over. Still, as a team befitting my presence, we went out in style, reeking of cheap liquor and going undefeated on the night - winning three and tying once. By the way, anyone who asks about whether we won 2 of those games by forfeit will quickly come know what it means to see eye to eye with a dodgeball.
Oct 26, 2009
IT WAS DARK...
Sorry I couldn't get a second post up on Friday. After three straight days of staying at work well past when I stopped getting paid, we're talking almost an hour people, I decided to turn my brain off at about 3pm and, much as it may shock you to learn this, I still need it to write this ramble. I've actually gotten quite a few suggestions for posts lately and while I appreciate them all and plan on getting to most of them, I do have a topic of my own I'd like to discuss; Cheating.
Now I know I said I'd stay away from sports but owing to the salacious nature of the topic and the fact that deep down we all love seeing other people screw up, I think most of you know who I'm talking about when I mention the name Steve Phillips. A quick recap, as you probably know all the gory details: Steve is the former general manager of the New York Mets and a now former TV personality for ESPN, his salary with both institutions was over 1 million dollars. Steve was also caught hiding the sausage with a 22 year old intern. None of this is all that shocking or, to be honest, newsworthy, the man had already admitted to having multiple affairs with underlings in the past and well, once you get a taste of intern... The reason why people care is, quite simply, the intern is six kinds of ugly. It's not JUST that he shouldn't have been tempted it's that we're all surprised he managed to pull it off (especially the second and third time) without a blindfold, a bottle of little blue pills and a severe case of short term memory loss. Which brings us to my poll question for today:
If you found out your significant other was cheating on you, but didn't know whose muffin they were buttering, would you hope that it was someone with three chins and enough muffin top to open a specialty bakery, or would you hope it was some too gorgeous to be fully human, gift from the gods?
To help you decide, I'll clarify the arguments for both sides.
For the fuglies: Two routes. He can't possibly be attracted to her, I'm not even sure she's a woman, for God's sake Magnum PI would be jealous of that mustache. He clearly has a problem, it's not his fault. Or, he can't possibly want to look at that forever, I mean he (or she) may have urges that he (let's be honest it's probably he) feels like he can't express with me, but with Fido over here he doesn't have any guilt. He can explore the full reaches of the urban dictionary without regret or the expectation that she'd say she's too good for that. Whereas he KNOWS I'm too smart, too pretty and too self-confident to Moo Shoo Pork.
For the Angelina's: I know a guy who's friend's girlfriend hooked up with Derek Jeter while they were still dating (the firend's friend and the girlfriend that is). She subsequently told her boyfriend that she'd taken part in what I believe is now refered to as an Eiffel Tower (I could be wrong about that, it may have been a Leaning Tower, or a Big Ben I get my landmarks confused) with Mr. Jeter and another girl. Her boyfriend's response was; "that's freaking awesome, you're so cool! I love you! By the way did you get any Yankee tickets?" I don't mean this to serve as a guide for how you should react to a similar situation, but imagine how the response would have differed if she'd replaced Derek Jeter and another girl with two guys from a Battlestar Galactica convention (I apologize, it really was a very good show). At least with the Angelina's you can understand how someone would be tempted, whereas with the fuglies, you're first thought after seeing the selection of muffin tops would have to be, you'd pork platypus wouldn't you?
So, there you go. Now I leave the comments section open for voting, please add an explanation to your vote if you don't mind; it's science.
Now I know I said I'd stay away from sports but owing to the salacious nature of the topic and the fact that deep down we all love seeing other people screw up, I think most of you know who I'm talking about when I mention the name Steve Phillips. A quick recap, as you probably know all the gory details: Steve is the former general manager of the New York Mets and a now former TV personality for ESPN, his salary with both institutions was over 1 million dollars. Steve was also caught hiding the sausage with a 22 year old intern. None of this is all that shocking or, to be honest, newsworthy, the man had already admitted to having multiple affairs with underlings in the past and well, once you get a taste of intern... The reason why people care is, quite simply, the intern is six kinds of ugly. It's not JUST that he shouldn't have been tempted it's that we're all surprised he managed to pull it off (especially the second and third time) without a blindfold, a bottle of little blue pills and a severe case of short term memory loss. Which brings us to my poll question for today:
If you found out your significant other was cheating on you, but didn't know whose muffin they were buttering, would you hope that it was someone with three chins and enough muffin top to open a specialty bakery, or would you hope it was some too gorgeous to be fully human, gift from the gods?
To help you decide, I'll clarify the arguments for both sides.
For the fuglies: Two routes. He can't possibly be attracted to her, I'm not even sure she's a woman, for God's sake Magnum PI would be jealous of that mustache. He clearly has a problem, it's not his fault. Or, he can't possibly want to look at that forever, I mean he (or she) may have urges that he (let's be honest it's probably he) feels like he can't express with me, but with Fido over here he doesn't have any guilt. He can explore the full reaches of the urban dictionary without regret or the expectation that she'd say she's too good for that. Whereas he KNOWS I'm too smart, too pretty and too self-confident to Moo Shoo Pork.
For the Angelina's: I know a guy who's friend's girlfriend hooked up with Derek Jeter while they were still dating (the firend's friend and the girlfriend that is). She subsequently told her boyfriend that she'd taken part in what I believe is now refered to as an Eiffel Tower (I could be wrong about that, it may have been a Leaning Tower, or a Big Ben I get my landmarks confused) with Mr. Jeter and another girl. Her boyfriend's response was; "that's freaking awesome, you're so cool! I love you! By the way did you get any Yankee tickets?" I don't mean this to serve as a guide for how you should react to a similar situation, but imagine how the response would have differed if she'd replaced Derek Jeter and another girl with two guys from a Battlestar Galactica convention (I apologize, it really was a very good show). At least with the Angelina's you can understand how someone would be tempted, whereas with the fuglies, you're first thought after seeing the selection of muffin tops would have to be, you'd pork platypus wouldn't you?
So, there you go. Now I leave the comments section open for voting, please add an explanation to your vote if you don't mind; it's science.
Oct 22, 2009
NO, I'M NOT OK
OK, so I realize sports aren't everybody's thing and I try and respect (by respect I mean pander - I'm kind of a whore for hits) that by not really spending too much time talking baseball or football on here, but sometimes a scenario that challenges all your best intentions will present itself and things that you thought you could leave unspoken demand to be heard. And (yes I can start a sentence with 'and') so, as a Yankees fan I think I need to just say, in the voice of Sunday afternoon basic cable movies and their alliterative swear word replacement (think "Yippee Ki-yay Mister Falcon), SPELT! FICUS! FICUS, FICUS FICUS! Go to hibiscus AJ! And you Swisher, don't think I forgot about you. How dare you play with my emotions like that you aardvark! BAH!
OK that was for me, I'll have something for you later.
OK that was for me, I'll have something for you later.
YOU CAN MILK ANYTHING WITH NIPPLES
A brief complaint: I went to Starbucks yesterday for the first time in like a year. I don't drink coffee and I don't need a fancy paper cup to help me feel like I'm better than the rest of you, so there's never been much of a draw for me in the first place. Still, it was warm yesterday (you're welcome!) and I felt like something cold. It wasn't anywhere near lunch or breakfast so there was no line and, before I knew it, I was inside and ordering. Now I know these Starbucks jokes are about 10 years old, but DUDE they charged me $4 for sugared milk. It wasn't even a large! I've been given bigger cups to pee into... some of them by doctors. The thing is I didn't even realize what had happened till I was back in my building on the way up the elevator shaft. It's just that that (I hate when I end up having 'that that' happen to a sentence, or 'had had', it makes me feel like I have a finger stutter) freaking wall menu they have is so confusing and written in such tiny print that my pulse is racing by the time it's my turn to order and I'm so relieved just to have gotten my order out without embarrassing myself that I'm on an adrenaline high for the next 3-5 minutes. All of which means I don't realize I've exchanged my $4 for a urine sample cup filled with cold milk until its too late to demand a refund. Still, I guess it'd be OK if it had ended there, money spent lesson learned - my own personal teachable moment and I didn't even have to arrest a guy for breaking into his own home - but, it seems the worst has happened. I've awoken something inside me. Maybe it's the craving for that adrenaline rush, but I find myself thinking about Iced Chai Latte with Soy juice (no nipples on a soybean) and I can't make myself stop...
Oct 21, 2009
THE SCIENCE OF SLEEP
I'm feeling pretty good this morning. The sun is shining, the birds are singing and I don't have to be in court today. I have to say though, this isn't some random cosmic coincidence, no, it has a cause, a first mover an original actor so to speak, and that actor is I. You see, it can all be traced back to the nap I took yesterday afternoon. Now, I grant you, there's no scientific evidence directly connecting my napping habits to the following day's weather pattern or the unified court system for that matter, but, and I think this is key, there isn't anything disproving it either. I'll admit I don't know why it happens this way, aside from Newton's third law, but the fact remains the world always seems to be a better place after I've napped, ooh and after a good meal, especially if it was free and required no cleanup. Now, because I am in a good mood and feeling generous, I'm prepared to share with you this world changing power, this salt in the cloud of slumber. You see not just any nap will change the world. This is actually a common misconception. In fact, the fall of Ottoman Empire can be tied directly to the mistaken belief of His Imperial Majesty, The Sultan Abdülhamid II, Emperor of the Ottomans, Caliph of the Faithful, or Abd Al-Hamid II Khan Ghazi as his friends called him when they were short of breath, that just any old nap would suffice. So, before you find yourself responsible for the collapse of an empire and the loss of thousands of innocent lives, let me lay out the rules.
The Nappist's Manifesto
Rule #1: Your nap must commence during daylight hours. This does not mean that it is OK to nap anytime the sun is shinning, only that one cannot nap AFTER the sun has set. It is important to remember this distinction especially during daylight savings time when the sun is up well past when you should be down.
Rule #2: The primary afternoon napping hours are between three and six pm. Now, while I do suggest that you sleep during these particular hours, it has become clear to me that this is somewhat frowned up on at the workplace, so as long as you start your nap within this period you're safe.
Rule #3: A proper nap, contrary to the false gospels of the so-called "power nappers" (see yesterday's discussion on words in quotation marks), lasts between 90 minutes and two hours. The human body sleeps in 90 minute cycles and to gain the full benefit of your nap you should sleep at least that much. Also there isn't really anything good on TV till at least 7.
Rule #4: Shut your phone off. Don't tell people you're napping, please don't call. Sadly, there are too many His Imperial Majesty, The Sultan Abdülhamid II, Emperor of the Ottomans, Caliph of the Faithful in this world, people who don't give the nap proper respect and will assume it's safe to call you after 45 minutes or an hour. These people are the devil and we must fight them with every tool in our arsenal, particularly the off button.
Rule #5: Blackout. If you are a worker (unite!) and getting home just in time to get into bed before the nap window closes, odds are when you wake up (assuming you don't follow the advice of the false power-nap prophets) it will be dark outside. As you are most vulnerable in the minutes and sometimes hours after your nap (depending on your level of experience), this shift can delay your recovery unless you prepare. I suggest closing the blinds, lights and perhaps even donning a blindfold or a t-shirt if you aren't depraved enough to have a blindfold handy.
Rule #6: No matter what anyone asks or tells you remember the following lines:
- I had a really hard day at work
- I didn't sleep well at all last night
- I got into bed at 6, but I didnt fall asleep till almost 7
- I set my alarm clock I have no idea how that happened
- I must not have had service, my phone was on
There are more rules but I can't hand them out to beginners just yet, and besides, it's almost prime morning nap time.
The Nappist's Manifesto
Rule #1: Your nap must commence during daylight hours. This does not mean that it is OK to nap anytime the sun is shinning, only that one cannot nap AFTER the sun has set. It is important to remember this distinction especially during daylight savings time when the sun is up well past when you should be down.
Rule #2: The primary afternoon napping hours are between three and six pm. Now, while I do suggest that you sleep during these particular hours, it has become clear to me that this is somewhat frowned up on at the workplace, so as long as you start your nap within this period you're safe.
Rule #3: A proper nap, contrary to the false gospels of the so-called "power nappers" (see yesterday's discussion on words in quotation marks), lasts between 90 minutes and two hours. The human body sleeps in 90 minute cycles and to gain the full benefit of your nap you should sleep at least that much. Also there isn't really anything good on TV till at least 7.
Rule #4: Shut your phone off. Don't tell people you're napping, please don't call. Sadly, there are too many His Imperial Majesty, The Sultan Abdülhamid II, Emperor of the Ottomans, Caliph of the Faithful in this world, people who don't give the nap proper respect and will assume it's safe to call you after 45 minutes or an hour. These people are the devil and we must fight them with every tool in our arsenal, particularly the off button.
Rule #5: Blackout. If you are a worker (unite!) and getting home just in time to get into bed before the nap window closes, odds are when you wake up (assuming you don't follow the advice of the false power-nap prophets) it will be dark outside. As you are most vulnerable in the minutes and sometimes hours after your nap (depending on your level of experience), this shift can delay your recovery unless you prepare. I suggest closing the blinds, lights and perhaps even donning a blindfold or a t-shirt if you aren't depraved enough to have a blindfold handy.
Rule #6: No matter what anyone asks or tells you remember the following lines:
- I had a really hard day at work
- I didn't sleep well at all last night
- I got into bed at 6, but I didnt fall asleep till almost 7
- I set my alarm clock I have no idea how that happened
- I must not have had service, my phone was on
There are more rules but I can't hand them out to beginners just yet, and besides, it's almost prime morning nap time.
Oct 20, 2009
THE GREAT PIG SCARE
For those of you in New York (my readership is after all world-wide), I'd like to welcome you back to Fall. Until tomorrow, at which point I'll be welcoming you back to Spring, and then next week, when I welcome back to either Fall or Winter depending on the trade winds coming up from the Canary Islands. Either way though, welcome to 'OH MY GOD THEY'RE RUNNING OUT OF H1N1 FLU SHOTS!' season.
Don't worry though, I think I have a solution. You see, I've been through these so-called "crises" before (I feel like quotation marks don't give me the same level of sarcams air quotes do so please close you eyes and pretend you can see me doing it, sure, fine, you can use Megan Fox too, just keep it clean, OK? I'd really hate to be responsible for your morning "calisthenics"). I remember the celebrations at CNN and MSNBC when Avian flu, El Nino (I don't know how to do the accent thing, does that make me a racist?) and Killer African bees fed news cycle after news cycle like a Jesus fish and I think we can use those lessons to solve the vaccine "crisis". First, take the hospital mask you got back during the avian flu of '07 and put it on, then, take the bottled water, and sandbags you bought to protect you from El Nino flooding and barricade yourself in your apartment. Now this is the most important part, so listen carefully. Once you're safely locked into your apartment with no hope of anyone being able to break in, take the bug spray you bought to kill the Killer African bees and Binaca that sucker, 'cuz honestly, if you fell for every one of those 'it's just like Michael Crichton said, we're all going to die' scams then I fear a thinning of the herd might be in order.
I'm kidding. I love you all very much and I don't approve of suicide, though, in an interesting sidebar, I was walking in the city, eavesdropping on strangers conversations as is my wont (don't judge me) when I overheard these two guys talking about their suicide support group. Apprently, this group wasn't to prevent people from committing suicide, it was for preventing them from trying it AGAIN! Can you imagine it, an entire room full of people who've all tried to kill themselves (I have a sneaking suspicion I'm getting close to that 'he should NOT have made that joke' line)? I feel like if I could just find this place, I could probably become a cult leader by the end of the month! How cool would that be!?
Update: I do apologize, I owe a shout out to my breeding habits expert and source for all things polygamous - my friendly neighborhood chinaman.
P.S. We won another game of dodgeball, I think i prefered being historically bad to depressingly unmemorably mediocre.
Don't worry though, I think I have a solution. You see, I've been through these so-called "crises" before (I feel like quotation marks don't give me the same level of sarcams air quotes do so please close you eyes and pretend you can see me doing it, sure, fine, you can use Megan Fox too, just keep it clean, OK? I'd really hate to be responsible for your morning "calisthenics"). I remember the celebrations at CNN and MSNBC when Avian flu, El Nino (I don't know how to do the accent thing, does that make me a racist?) and Killer African bees fed news cycle after news cycle like a Jesus fish and I think we can use those lessons to solve the vaccine "crisis". First, take the hospital mask you got back during the avian flu of '07 and put it on, then, take the bottled water, and sandbags you bought to protect you from El Nino flooding and barricade yourself in your apartment. Now this is the most important part, so listen carefully. Once you're safely locked into your apartment with no hope of anyone being able to break in, take the bug spray you bought to kill the Killer African bees and Binaca that sucker, 'cuz honestly, if you fell for every one of those 'it's just like Michael Crichton said, we're all going to die' scams then I fear a thinning of the herd might be in order.
I'm kidding. I love you all very much and I don't approve of suicide, though, in an interesting sidebar, I was walking in the city, eavesdropping on strangers conversations as is my wont (don't judge me) when I overheard these two guys talking about their suicide support group. Apprently, this group wasn't to prevent people from committing suicide, it was for preventing them from trying it AGAIN! Can you imagine it, an entire room full of people who've all tried to kill themselves (I have a sneaking suspicion I'm getting close to that 'he should NOT have made that joke' line)? I feel like if I could just find this place, I could probably become a cult leader by the end of the month! How cool would that be!?
Update: I do apologize, I owe a shout out to my breeding habits expert and source for all things polygamous - my friendly neighborhood chinaman.
P.S. We won another game of dodgeball, I think i prefered being historically bad to depressingly unmemorably mediocre.
Oct 16, 2009
THE WEEKENDER
It would appear I missed a rather important occasion yesterday. In my haste to brighten your day and beg for your money, I failed to realize that THE AFTERMATHH: PART II was actually the one hundredth post on this here blog (by the way, I know Microsoft is stodgy and everything, I am afterall almost an Apple person, but how does blog still come up as misspelled on Word). True some of the posting are rather short and would be excluded by a more impartial jury, but fortunately, I don’t care. I reached 100 and you know what that means… RESIDUALS! To be honest I don’t actually know what that means, but I’m pretty sure like everything else that reached 100 episodes, my blog will be on TBS and TNT approximately 400 times a day, right between Law & Order and The Office re-runs.
For our 101st post I’d like to turn to the found comedy section of the blog. Today’s contenders are a sanitation worker sitting in a car with a sign two doors long saying, ‘Help keep our air clean, don’t idle’ leaving the engine idling; A pro football player with low expectations; and three people from building maintenance who spent twenty three minutes trying to unlock an office door (its always the 437th key).
And the winner!
From the ‘I think we may want to clarify the standards for sainthood category’ comes Osi Umenyiora. For those of you unfamiliar with the name, Osi is a defensive end for the NY Football Giants and a millionaire many times over. He’s also according to most reports a pretty nice fellow. That being said I’m reasonably sure he’s spending too much time with the rich and indiscriminate.
Said Osi of a fellow NLF’er Drew Brees: “He’s a boy scout man. I didn’t know him too well before. I must tell you he’s probably the best guy I’ve ever met in my life as far he does everything the right way… He says all the right things, doesn’t cheat on his wife, nothing. He’s the best guy you’ll ever meet in this life, man. Trust me.”
Look I know it’s easy to hook up with women when you’re a rich, famous professional athlete with the body of a GI Joe action figure. I know mammals, for the most part, aren’t naturally monogamous and even elephants, the uptight accountants of the animal kingdom, keep harems of trunk junk around. Still, in the larger scheme of things, if I had to choose one attribute to use as an example of why someone is “the best guy you’ll ever meet in this life” I don’t think I’d lead with “he doesn’t cheat on his wife, nothing.”
This might also be a bit of a minor quibble, but is that what boy scouts are famous for, not cheating on their wives? Aren't most boy scouts like 12? I feel like by the time they're old enough to cheat on their wives the whole boy scout aura has probably faded. Would you really be surprised if it turned out David Letterman used to be a boy scout? And another thing, they're famous for being able to start fires with sticks and leaves how did they become the go to example for nice? Volunteer fire fighters seem nice, they save people's lives, they get cats out of trees, no one uses them as an example. There must be a union or something, boy scouts, brain surgeons and rockets scientists, a regular AFL-CIO of hackneyed hyperbole. Also, if I was Osi’s wife, I think I’d start re-reading my pre-nup (you don't have to be rocket scientist to see that coming). Call me!
For our 101st post I’d like to turn to the found comedy section of the blog. Today’s contenders are a sanitation worker sitting in a car with a sign two doors long saying, ‘Help keep our air clean, don’t idle’ leaving the engine idling; A pro football player with low expectations; and three people from building maintenance who spent twenty three minutes trying to unlock an office door (its always the 437th key).
And the winner!
From the ‘I think we may want to clarify the standards for sainthood category’ comes Osi Umenyiora. For those of you unfamiliar with the name, Osi is a defensive end for the NY Football Giants and a millionaire many times over. He’s also according to most reports a pretty nice fellow. That being said I’m reasonably sure he’s spending too much time with the rich and indiscriminate.
Said Osi of a fellow NLF’er Drew Brees: “He’s a boy scout man. I didn’t know him too well before. I must tell you he’s probably the best guy I’ve ever met in my life as far he does everything the right way… He says all the right things, doesn’t cheat on his wife, nothing. He’s the best guy you’ll ever meet in this life, man. Trust me.”
Look I know it’s easy to hook up with women when you’re a rich, famous professional athlete with the body of a GI Joe action figure. I know mammals, for the most part, aren’t naturally monogamous and even elephants, the uptight accountants of the animal kingdom, keep harems of trunk junk around. Still, in the larger scheme of things, if I had to choose one attribute to use as an example of why someone is “the best guy you’ll ever meet in this life” I don’t think I’d lead with “he doesn’t cheat on his wife, nothing.”
This might also be a bit of a minor quibble, but is that what boy scouts are famous for, not cheating on their wives? Aren't most boy scouts like 12? I feel like by the time they're old enough to cheat on their wives the whole boy scout aura has probably faded. Would you really be surprised if it turned out David Letterman used to be a boy scout? And another thing, they're famous for being able to start fires with sticks and leaves how did they become the go to example for nice? Volunteer fire fighters seem nice, they save people's lives, they get cats out of trees, no one uses them as an example. There must be a union or something, boy scouts, brain surgeons and rockets scientists, a regular AFL-CIO of hackneyed hyperbole. Also, if I was Osi’s wife, I think I’d start re-reading my pre-nup (you don't have to be rocket scientist to see that coming). Call me!
Oct 15, 2009
DODGEBALL: THE AFTERMATH PART II
No hunters? No soldiers? No premature ejaculators? No anabolic steroids? HA! I laugh in the face of such mundane requirements. HA! I scoff! Yeah, that's right, I scoffed. What happened? I'll tell you what happened, only the most amazing underdog story in the history of human athletic endeavors, nay, in the entirety of all mammalian endeavors (except maybe that baby water buffalo that escaped from a lion and an alligator that were attacking it simultaneously, oh and Jamie Kennedy dating Jennifer Love Hewitt. Really? she's banging the dude who got killed second in Scream 3!? Other than those two things though it stands up to pretty much anything.). In fact it's a lot like Braveheart. I'd get into details, but I don't think words can accurately express the balletic beauty that was our team. We threw balls like Zeus's thunderbolts, dodged like ninja poets and caught with the grace of a moderately inebriated professional curling squad. And, after we lost the first three games, we won one... by a point! So, to all the doubters, the haters, the people who pointed and laughed (not cool mom, NOT COOL!) I say this: 'Damn you for accepting my bets against my own team! Seriously, I can't afford to pay all of you. Who thought we'd even win again, I mean we suck! Now we suck and I'm broke and in hiding.'
More tommorow, unless of course they find me.
P.S. Can anyone lend me some money, I have some umm... bills I need to pay... I'm totally good for it.
More tommorow, unless of course they find me.
P.S. Can anyone lend me some money, I have some umm... bills I need to pay... I'm totally good for it.
Oct 14, 2009
PRIORITIES
Welcome back,
I apologize for the late post, but apparently SOME people (my bosses, the court, random child abusers) don't quite understand how integral I am to the days of so many. Sadly, they aren't done with me yet so we're going to have to do this quick and dirty (hee hee quick and dirty).
So there was this attorney in court today who came in wearing a crewneck sweater and khakis, no shirt, no tie. He sat down at the table, pulled out a newspaper and proceeded to read from the NY Post while the judge was talking. I bring this up not to highlight the inappropriate behavior of this obviously intellectually starved individual, but rather because this man was getting paid! Someone actually went to this guys office, spoke to him, looked at him and decided he was worth money! I know I complain about work, but God almighty do I love a profession where a dude like that can get paid. To contrast, there was a dude playing guitar and harmonica (at once!) in a square not too far from my office. He played pretty well and had a funny sign that read "Obama's not the only one hoping for change." I mean the effort this guy put into busking (Knowledge drop: Yes, that's right, there's an actual WORD for people who play music in public spaces for change, and now you know it, see how educational this is!) had to at least be 73 times the work roundneck sweater guy put into his appearance today. You know, now that I think about it I probably should have given that harmonica guy some money...
I apologize for the late post, but apparently SOME people (my bosses, the court, random child abusers) don't quite understand how integral I am to the days of so many. Sadly, they aren't done with me yet so we're going to have to do this quick and dirty (hee hee quick and dirty).
So there was this attorney in court today who came in wearing a crewneck sweater and khakis, no shirt, no tie. He sat down at the table, pulled out a newspaper and proceeded to read from the NY Post while the judge was talking. I bring this up not to highlight the inappropriate behavior of this obviously intellectually starved individual, but rather because this man was getting paid! Someone actually went to this guys office, spoke to him, looked at him and decided he was worth money! I know I complain about work, but God almighty do I love a profession where a dude like that can get paid. To contrast, there was a dude playing guitar and harmonica (at once!) in a square not too far from my office. He played pretty well and had a funny sign that read "Obama's not the only one hoping for change." I mean the effort this guy put into busking (Knowledge drop: Yes, that's right, there's an actual WORD for people who play music in public spaces for change, and now you know it, see how educational this is!) had to at least be 73 times the work roundneck sweater guy put into his appearance today. You know, now that I think about it I probably should have given that harmonica guy some money...
Oct 13, 2009
EDITED FOR CONTENT
We're going to continue yesterday's calendar meme a bit today with a question. Does anyone know what month it is? No, October will not be an acceptable answer. No, it's not Black History month, nice try though. It's Hispanic Heritage Month! Now, unlike some of you I happen to have an Hispanic friend so I'm what you'd call, in touch with the whole Hispanic culture thing, but I'll admit, even I was a bit surprised to find out there was a month. Still, I figured it was a recent development, a product of the new millennium or perhaps even an Obama addition, so I didn't feel that badly. Then I did some research. Yes folks, be prepared to feel insensitive. Hispanic Heritage Month was instituted in 1988! 1988! That's insane! Hispanic Heritage Month is older than the 'Yo Quiero Taco Bell' dog! (I apologize for the profusion of exclamation point but the new blogger format has taken away my ability to bold and italicize which leaves me with nothing but exclamation points and caps, BAH!)
Fortunately, further research obviated my guilt, short lived as it was. You see, Hispanic Heritage month isn't really a month. Sure it's 30 consecutive days, but it isn't the 30 days of October (October has thirty days right? Is it a knuckle or a valley? 30 days have September... For God's sake all the months in that stupid song end in 'ber' how am I supposed to keep track!?). Hispanic Heritage month is 30 days from September 15 - October 15! That's just stupid. I can barely keep track of which months have 31 days and you want me to remember a month that starts in the middle of nowhere!? (I really miss bold and italicize :() Sure Black people got stuck with February, a month with 28 days and an extra 'R' that no one remembers to pronounce (feb-ROO-airy not feb-U-airy), but at least it's a real month, it's got its own page on the calendar! How can I respect a month if it doesn't have a picture of a cute bunny over the top of it? Hispanic Heritage month is almost over, but I'm sorry I don't feel guilty for missing it. It missed me! It ignored my obvious limitations and made demands of me that it knew I couldn't live up to. So yes, our time was short, but it is you HHM that will be taking the walk of shame, not I!
Oh, you've also probably noticed some changes to the blog format, let me know if you like the new, less emo, version of my misanthropy. Also you can now do all the new hip kid stuff like search and subscribe. It's pretty awesome.
Fortunately, further research obviated my guilt, short lived as it was. You see, Hispanic Heritage month isn't really a month. Sure it's 30 consecutive days, but it isn't the 30 days of October (October has thirty days right? Is it a knuckle or a valley? 30 days have September... For God's sake all the months in that stupid song end in 'ber' how am I supposed to keep track!?). Hispanic Heritage month is 30 days from September 15 - October 15! That's just stupid. I can barely keep track of which months have 31 days and you want me to remember a month that starts in the middle of nowhere!? (I really miss bold and italicize :() Sure Black people got stuck with February, a month with 28 days and an extra 'R' that no one remembers to pronounce (feb-ROO-airy not feb-U-airy), but at least it's a real month, it's got its own page on the calendar! How can I respect a month if it doesn't have a picture of a cute bunny over the top of it? Hispanic Heritage month is almost over, but I'm sorry I don't feel guilty for missing it. It missed me! It ignored my obvious limitations and made demands of me that it knew I couldn't live up to. So yes, our time was short, but it is you HHM that will be taking the walk of shame, not I!
Oh, you've also probably noticed some changes to the blog format, let me know if you like the new, less emo, version of my misanthropy. Also you can now do all the new hip kid stuff like search and subscribe. It's pretty awesome.
Oct 12, 2009
HAPPY SYPHILIS DAY!
Sorry for the late start today Readers, but some of us are on what I like to call VAAAAY CAAAAY SHUUUUUN!!! Yes that's right, thanks to that fearless explorer Christopher Columbus, I slept in, had nice relaxing breakfast while perusing the internet, then hung out by the subway station pointing and laughing at all the people heading into work. Yes, I know, you didn't realize today was Columbus Day. Heck (it's too early in the day for Hell), you didn't even realize that Columbus Day was worthy of a day off of work. Now, while I could blame you and your obviously poor calendar reading skills, I'm instead going to give you the benefit of the doubt (if you're reading this you're obviously smarter than those ardipithecus ramidus out there on TMZ right now... it's OK just close it, I won't tell.) and blame whoever out there made Columbus Day a 'Day' in the first place. Which brings us to my point, exactly how low are our award standards?
Before I get too into facts and whatnot -Knowledge drop - whatnot means, nothing. If you're ever having a conversation with a friend, parent, co-worker, employee, significant other, employer, waiter, mechanic or sex worker and they add 'whatnot' to a list of things that they've done, they haven't done anything.
Exempli gratia:
Random person who, since I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt today, we'll assume isn't a sex worker: So that'll be $300
You: $300? For what?
RPWSIGYTBOTDTWAIASW: Well I did a lot
You: Like what?
RPWSIGYTBOTDTWAIASW: Well, I went to the store for you and I had to pick up the necessities and whatnot.
YOU (Before reading this post): OK.
YOU (after reading this post): You filthy good for nothing lying sack of vomit, how dare you lie to me!? You think I'm stupid or something!? I'm on to you mom!
Anyway, I may have gotten distracted there, where was I? Ah yes Facts and whatnot. Now most of these facts are coming from Wikipedia, which means that the greatest minds in the world have had a chance to input their amazing stores of historical knowledge into the internet so everything on it is at least 100% accurate, maybe more. So, onto Columbus. Here's what I've been able to glean from 8 minutes of exhaustive research and that song that begins 'In 1492 Columbus sailed the ocean blue'
-Columbus discovered the Bahamas and thought he landed in Asia, India in particular.
-Upon finding these 'Indians' he remarked that they seemed like they'd make good servants.
- Columbus had sex with lots of them and brought syphilis to Europe.
- For all his good work Columbus was made governor at which point: The native Taino people of the island were systematically enslaved and murdered. Hundreds were rounded up and shipped to Europe to be sold; many died en route. For the rest of the population, Columbus demanded that all Taino under his control should bring the Spaniards gold. Those who didn't were to have their hands cut off. Since there was, in fact, little gold to be had, the Taino fled, and the Spaniards hunted them down and killed them. The Taino tried to mount a resistance, but the Spanish weaponry was superior, and European diseases ravaged their population. In despair, the Taino engaged in mass suicide, even killing their own children to save them from the Spaniards. Within two years, half of what may have been 250,000 Taino were dead. The remainder were taken as slaves and set to work on plantations, where the mortality rate was very high. By 1550, 60 years after Columbus landed, only a few hundred Taino were left on their island. In another hundred years, perhaps only a handful remained.
- He hanged some of his crew for disobeying him
- Was arrested by the King of Spain for mismanagement and stripped of his governorship.
AMERICAN HERO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Look I'm all for low standards. I wish more women and my bosses had them, but I have to say Columbus day kind of irks me. If all it takes to get a day is get lost; call South America, Asia; Enslave, torture, slaughter and drive a native people to mass suicide; hang your employees; get fired by your boss and sent to jail, then should at least have one day by now, maybe two. Not to mention a Nobel Peace Prize. I kid because I love, Barack.
OK that was tiring, I think I'll go nap now.
Before I get too into facts and whatnot -Knowledge drop - whatnot means, nothing. If you're ever having a conversation with a friend, parent, co-worker, employee, significant other, employer, waiter, mechanic or sex worker and they add 'whatnot' to a list of things that they've done, they haven't done anything.
Exempli gratia:
Random person who, since I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt today, we'll assume isn't a sex worker: So that'll be $300
You: $300? For what?
RPWSIGYTBOTDTWAIASW: Well I did a lot
You: Like what?
RPWSIGYTBOTDTWAIASW: Well, I went to the store for you and I had to pick up the necessities and whatnot.
YOU (Before reading this post): OK.
YOU (after reading this post): You filthy good for nothing lying sack of vomit, how dare you lie to me!? You think I'm stupid or something!? I'm on to you mom!
Anyway, I may have gotten distracted there, where was I? Ah yes Facts and whatnot. Now most of these facts are coming from Wikipedia, which means that the greatest minds in the world have had a chance to input their amazing stores of historical knowledge into the internet so everything on it is at least 100% accurate, maybe more. So, onto Columbus. Here's what I've been able to glean from 8 minutes of exhaustive research and that song that begins 'In 1492 Columbus sailed the ocean blue'
-Columbus discovered the Bahamas and thought he landed in Asia, India in particular.
-Upon finding these 'Indians' he remarked that they seemed like they'd make good servants.
- Columbus had sex with lots of them and brought syphilis to Europe.
- For all his good work Columbus was made governor at which point: The native Taino people of the island were systematically enslaved and murdered. Hundreds were rounded up and shipped to Europe to be sold; many died en route. For the rest of the population, Columbus demanded that all Taino under his control should bring the Spaniards gold. Those who didn't were to have their hands cut off. Since there was, in fact, little gold to be had, the Taino fled, and the Spaniards hunted them down and killed them. The Taino tried to mount a resistance, but the Spanish weaponry was superior, and European diseases ravaged their population. In despair, the Taino engaged in mass suicide, even killing their own children to save them from the Spaniards. Within two years, half of what may have been 250,000 Taino were dead. The remainder were taken as slaves and set to work on plantations, where the mortality rate was very high. By 1550, 60 years after Columbus landed, only a few hundred Taino were left on their island. In another hundred years, perhaps only a handful remained.
- He hanged some of his crew for disobeying him
- Was arrested by the King of Spain for mismanagement and stripped of his governorship.
AMERICAN HERO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Look I'm all for low standards. I wish more women and my bosses had them, but I have to say Columbus day kind of irks me. If all it takes to get a day is get lost; call South America, Asia; Enslave, torture, slaughter and drive a native people to mass suicide; hang your employees; get fired by your boss and sent to jail, then should at least have one day by now, maybe two. Not to mention a Nobel Peace Prize. I kid because I love, Barack.
OK that was tiring, I think I'll go nap now.
Oct 8, 2009
COMMENT OR DIE
Before I begin I'd like to make a confession... I'm a PC. I know, I know, I'm ashamed to be honest. I don't own a smart phone, my iPod has like 47 songs on it, I'm still somewhat threatened by the roomba (they're practically sentient!) and I have T-Mobile phone service. Brief aside: Who here, aside from the good people at Verizon, thinks that a good way to promote cell phone service is to give people the impression that evey move they make is being followed by a mob of strangers in hardhats and oddly annoying glasses? Still, I like to think of myself as an Apple/Mac kind of guy. I like the commercials, I think old people are boring and I'm all for making technology user friendly, though I'm still not sure about the whole trusting robots thing, once they gain power they'll turn on us for control of the oil, they've seen The Wizard of Oz, they know what happens to the Tin Man. The point is, I feel as if I'm a part of the Mac revolution, which makes what happened yesterday all the more disturbing.
I was watching TV last night and a commercial for what I thought was the iPhone came on. It had a close up of a pretty phone with a touch screen, music playing and celebrities holding the phone, all the usual iPhone stuff and I have to say was kinda feeling it. I may have even been bopping my head (Now because I think we've been a bit schlong heavy here the last few posts and we're better than that, I'm going to eschew making jokes about head bopping... for today). After a few seconds though -I only give commercials about 18% of my attention - I realized something was wrong; the celebrities weren't young and hip, they were Chevy Chase, that girl who used to smell her armpits on SNL and Dana Carvey (DANA CARVEY!?). The music was also a bit off because it wasn't some new indie singer I've never heard of who's popular in the West Village, it was Bob Dylan (Bob Dylan is old and just released a Christmas album, cool indie singers do not release Christmas albums). Long story short it was a commercial for T-Mobile's new phone the 'My Touch' (No! no schlong jokes today people. We have standards!). The point is I found this commercial and my reaction to it, quite depressing. There are essentially two options here; one, I have no mind of my own and will, Pavlov style, find anything cool if it follows the template of an iPhone commercial; or two, and this one is scarier, Apple doesn't want me. They think people like me pretending to be Apple people are ruining their image and want to pawn me off on T-mobile! Well, I'm not falling for the Apple! I'm going to get an iPhone! (as soon as the price comes down and they switch the service from AT&T, and you know, the price comes down.) So there!
Oh and in case you still trust the roomba, read this: Roomba-Maker Unveils Kill-Bot!
http://www.wired.com/dangerroom/2007/10/roomba-maker-un/
I was watching TV last night and a commercial for what I thought was the iPhone came on. It had a close up of a pretty phone with a touch screen, music playing and celebrities holding the phone, all the usual iPhone stuff and I have to say was kinda feeling it. I may have even been bopping my head (Now because I think we've been a bit schlong heavy here the last few posts and we're better than that, I'm going to eschew making jokes about head bopping... for today). After a few seconds though -I only give commercials about 18% of my attention - I realized something was wrong; the celebrities weren't young and hip, they were Chevy Chase, that girl who used to smell her armpits on SNL and Dana Carvey (DANA CARVEY!?). The music was also a bit off because it wasn't some new indie singer I've never heard of who's popular in the West Village, it was Bob Dylan (Bob Dylan is old and just released a Christmas album, cool indie singers do not release Christmas albums). Long story short it was a commercial for T-Mobile's new phone the 'My Touch' (No! no schlong jokes today people. We have standards!). The point is I found this commercial and my reaction to it, quite depressing. There are essentially two options here; one, I have no mind of my own and will, Pavlov style, find anything cool if it follows the template of an iPhone commercial; or two, and this one is scarier, Apple doesn't want me. They think people like me pretending to be Apple people are ruining their image and want to pawn me off on T-mobile! Well, I'm not falling for the Apple! I'm going to get an iPhone! (as soon as the price comes down and they switch the service from AT&T, and you know, the price comes down.) So there!
Oh and in case you still trust the roomba, read this: Roomba-Maker Unveils Kill-Bot!
http://www.wired.com/dangerroom/2007/10/roomba-maker-un/
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
