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.

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.

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...

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 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.

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!

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.