BAKED ALASKA

Is anyone else interested in buying some oceanfront property in Alaska? Get it now while it's cheap! With all of the glaciers breaking up, the sheets receding, the caps melting, and the climate fully expected to grow dramatically warmer in the coming years, I'm thinking Alaska is going to be a vacation paradise in about a decade.

Don't forget to pack your Alaskan Tropic sunscreen.

ALL IN THE FAMILY

THE PEOPLE WRITE:

"I have read your stuff since when you only had a Topica mailing list. I have always enjoyed your viewpoints. Thank you for taking the time to write them.

Way back in the middle part of 2004 (I *think*) you wrote something about Politics is a Family affair. Republicans were Dad... Dems were Mom. etc etc. (BTW... who are the third party candidates?)

Anyway... I can't find it on your blog... Have anyplace you post some of the older stuff? I remember it was very well written and illustrated your point perfectly.

Thank you! -- Connor"

*******************************

Connor, I believe this is the post you are looking for from March 5th, 2004:

*******************************

http://lists.topica.com/lists/AYNtK/read/message.html?mid=1716221118


POLITICS IS A FAMILY AFFAIR
Well, my conversion is official. I am now a liberal. I don’t know how
exactly it happened, but somehow over the past four years I abandoned
the safe harbor of conservatism and swum for more liberal waters – this
according to the political ideology selector on www.selectsmart.com. I’d
like to give G-Dub the nod for showing me the light, but I don’t believe
his evangelical narrow-mindedness is necessarily typical of all
conservatives – so I won’t give him full credit for alienating me. But I
do think his policies have opened my eyes to some of the harsh realities
I’d been ignoring.

Political insider and popular talk show host Chris Matthews often likens
the two major parties to heads of household. When you think about it,
conservatives are traditionally your father figures, while liberals are
your mother figures. The Republicans are the party of strict values,
laws, discipline, and defense. Dad lays down the law. He’ll whip you
with a belt if you get out of line. You’re afraid of dad because he’s
short-tempered. But dad’s the one who keeps the roof over your head. And
dad’s the one you run to when you feel most threatened. Dad keeps you
safe, if uncomfortably so.

The Democrats, meanwhile, are more nurturing – focused more on things
like education, health care, social security, and welfare programs. Mom
gets you out of bed in the morning. She gets you clean, dressed, and off
to school with a full belly. And if you should feel sick that day, mom
takes care of you. But mom sometimes has a tendency to baby you. And she
doesn’t always trust you to do the right thing. Dad will let you learn
from your mistakes…mom doesn’t give you the opportunity to make them in
the first place. So you’re pampered and well fed with mom – even fat and
lazy.

So who do you want running the country – mom or dad? Sometimes, like in
times of war, or global uncertainty, you want dad. You don’t want Jimmy
Carter – you want Ronald Reagan. You want a practical, no-nonsense guy
who’ll speak loudly and carry a massive stick. Other times, when we the
world is a pretty stable place, we elect mom. We don’t want Bush, we
want Clinton. We want someone to feed us, pamper us, and keep us
healthy.

Dad trusted you to take the car on your own, where mom would have been
happy buying you a new bicycle every year to keep you off the road and
out of harm’s way. Dad raised you to be independent, rational, and
responsible. Mom raised you to be polite, courteous, generous, and
respectful of others. America today is a pretty good mix of the best,
and worst, of both mom and dad. And when we sense too much mom or dad in
the mix, we go back the other way.

Right now the Republicans are trying to convince voters that we need
more dad. Their message is that the world is an extremely dangerous
place and we need a leader who won’t let us get pushed around. We need
someone who means what he says and isn’t afraid to make tough decisions
where national security is concerned. The Democrats, on the other hand,
are showing us all of the sick, hungry, unemployed people we’re
neglecting. They’re telling us the world is nowhere near as dangerous a
place as the Republicans would have us believe. It all depends on who
you choose to listen to.

Personally, I’m done listening to both of them. Mom and dad have been
arguing so much I’m sick of it. Some example they’re setting. Why can’t
they sit down and compromise, I wonder? Why are they always accusing the
other one of infidelity? Is dad REALLY sleeping with the Texas oilman?
Is mom really banging all of her lawyer friends? Can’t dad see the merit
in any of mom’s ideas? Mom says dad is too strict with the children. Dad
keeps trying to tear up mom’s credit cards because she’s always out
shopping.

I’m looking into a marriage counselor by the name of Ralph Nader. He
says mom and dad both need to stop bickering and listen to the children.
We’re the ones, after all, who end up suffering in the end.

I’m out, friends. Have a good one. That’s all you need to know.

*****************

Addendum:

This post was originally mailed to the AYNtK subscriber list prior to the 2004 Presidential election. It's clear that a lot has gone on in the American household since then.

Dad became a control freak and started eavesdropping on our phone calls. He then claimed the authority to beat us with a broom handle any time he felt so inclined - to protect us from ourselves, of course. He admitted there was a leak in our basement but said a little agua down there would be a good thing. He's still out late every night, getting drunk on oil and fighting. And when mom criticizes him for tearing the family apart, he smacks her down swiftly and calls her a whiny little bitch. Mom feels powerless, and is forced to watch the family suffer. Our health is getting worse and we can't do anything about it because the family debt is at an all time high. The kids are beginning to wish dad would move out of their big white house for good. The kids all agree that mom should dump this loser and get a new boyfriend - but at the very least she needs to kick dad out of the house so we can all sleep in peace.

THE CIRCLE OF EXISTENCE

"To think of life is to think of death, as the two are inseparable truths - and time the space between."

20 QUESTIONS? WHY STOP THERE?

What a busy weekend I had - answering questions. I can't get enough of it. People are curious about life, and I'm not one to hoard all the answers. Some of the questions I answered this week included:


How long after someone dies is it okay to date again?
Do or do not - there is no try?
Which feels better, sex or masturbation?
Has anyone ever seen House M.D.? (my answer was voted best)
Do child molesters deserve any rights?
Will North Korea bomb the U.S.?
Is anyone else here drunk?
Who is better, Guns N Roses or Led Zeppelin?
Why do they ask you if you want cheese when you order a Quarter Pounder with Cheese - WTF? (my answer was voted best)

And about 50 other burning questions deserving of insightful response.

And then this morning I received my first warning from the abuse department at Yahoo! informing me that some of the content I had posted had been removed for violating the terms of the community. Apparently, when I asked the question: "I am starting a money collection - who wants to help?" I was embarking upon a commercial enterprise, which is not condoned. I sent a reply to Yahoo! explaining that the question was clearly for amusement, and that people clearly understood this as evidenced by the responses that had been posted. I then suggested they spend more time censoring the wide array of objectionable content I'd encountered involving sexual predators and people seeking illicit encounters than rounding up serial smartasses.

Anyhow, I'm moving forward with my money collection if any of you would like to help. I'm running low on beer money.

FAT, JUICY WEINERS

Bobby Earl wanted me to share a pic of this must-own grill accessory (which was custom-built to scale at my place, as evidenced here).

THE PEOPLE NEED ANSWERS (AND I AM HERE FOR THEM)

So I found an addictive new time-waster and I can't get enough of it. No, I'm not talking about masturbation. (I consider that time well spent, actually).

It’s called Yahoo Answers and it's a growing community of people asking and answering questions.

The lure is that there’s an addictive points system that keeps track of how helpful you are. I’ve been answering relationship questions all morning long, racking up the points. The goal is provide the best answer to the question, as judged by the person who asked it. It’s not a whole lot unlike the game Apples to Apples – only these are real people looking for real answers.

Here’s an example of what I’m talking about. Someone asked the question this morning whether there was such a thing as “love at first sight.”

AYNtK replied:

**************

Love at first sight, while romantic, is not possible. You can be attracted to someone - their looks, charisma, personality, power, etc. - but you can't know you are in love with them in the way you know you love someone you have come to appreciate on a much deeper level.

That said, you CAN fall in love with someone you were attracted to upon first glance. But that's not technically love at first sight - that's luck. Love almost always starts with an attraction of some kind because it is an easy way to evaluate your interest in another person. Love is a much more complicated feeling that is devalued every time we suggest it can be achieved with a glance.

Of course, what do I know? I accidentally peed in my eye this morning.

*************

If you think you can do better, Yahoo invites you to try.

And so do I. And not just because I own stock in the company. It really IS fun.

BLOWING STUFF UP

Go ahead and click the post, Sally.

PEER PRESSURE

I don’t know exactly how to say this, so I’m just going to say it.

I peed in my eye this morning.

Yes, really. Okay – give me a second and I will explain. I’d just completed a less-than-satisfying strain atop the commode here at work and reached down to grab the garments hugging my ankles. As I rose from the pot, I pulled my boxers and jeans toward my waist. In doing so, the waistband of the boxers snagged my fleshy acorn on the ride up, causing it to snap back and slap my lower belly. This sudden motion freed a drop of urine that had been clinging to the inside of my urethra and sent it shooting like a liquid comet into my eyeball. I winced suddenly and rubbed my eye in disgust, cursing the misfortune of managing such an unlikely feat. In a thousand tries, I could not duplicate that perfectly orchestrated event. The odds against such a spectacular act ever occurring in the first place were so slim I knew I would have to share it with you – even if it meant admitting that I peed in my eye.

So there you have it.

OOOH...ME SO THORNY!

Here’s a little something you may have seen before. It’s a brainteaser called Petals Around the Rose. I thought I would remember the answer, but repeat encounters with Guinness have apparently dimmed my problem-solving skills. Took me 4 guesses to seize the pattern and declare victory.

TEST EASE

A defiant North Korea has threatened to test more missiles today in the wake of global condemnation over Tuesday’s launch of seven ballistic weapons. An anonymous source at the Pentagon said more tests were actually a good thing.

“I don’t know why everyone’s so up in arms over this testing stuff. Practically speaking, the more rockets they test, the less rockets they’ll have left in their arsenal. Our strategy all along has been to bait them on with tough talk so that they blow their entire load into the Sea of Japan. Seems to be working rather well, wouldn’t you say?”

THE WELL-HUNG BEER GARDENS OF BABYLON

Some friends and I decided to check out the patio at NoMi for drinks on Saturday evening, listed as one of Chicago’s finest outdoor adult beverage consumption destinations.

We arrived at around 7:30 and were fortunate enough to be seated at the last available table. The temperature was comfortably warm, with a gusty summer breeze that made for some really interesting hair. The patio itself was only seven stories up, but high enough you definitely felt like you were on top of things. We were surrounded by many other, far taller buildings and removed enough from surface streets that the only sounds from below were your occasional ambulance siren or fire engine. It was pleasantly peaceful - an oasis in the sky - and an ideal nesting place for an evening of mellow fun in one of the Gold Coast's finest steel trees.

As the sun began to dip lower in the west behind a bank of high rises, we agreed that the atmosphere was hard to beat for a beautiful summer evening – and almost worth the price of drinks there. $12 mixed beverages. $13 martinis. $7 imported bottles. We realized quickly that our drinking locale came with an environmental surcharge. I did a little spot math and figured the cost of the atmosphere to be roughly $30 per 6-pack, or close to $5 a Guinness. We could sit and drink all night in the lap of luxury - but we were going to pay for it.

Shortly after 8pm, and mid-way through my second pint of the black stuff, my eyes caught something in the Peninsula Hotel directly across the street – which is the #1 rated hotel in the U.S., according to Zagat’s. My friend noticed that I was fixed on the view and asked what I was staring at.

“I don’t know," I said. "It looks like two kids keep touching that window on the top floor up there for some reason.”

I motioned in the direction of the Peninsula and everyone at the table glanced up. We all then immediately made the same discovery. I had not been looking at a pair of curious kids touching their room window. I had been studying the back of a woman having sex for all the world to see. Or, at least that corner of the world where Chicago Avenue meets Rush Street.

I say “woman having sex” for two reasons: Her partner could not be immediately identified from our POV, and presuming there was someone else involved, she was definitely the one having the sex.

She was tall and slender with long dark brown hair and a deep tan. We noticed that her arms were bent straight back behind her body, both hands pressing hard against the glass window as she writhed and bucked enthusiastically – all in plain view of a nearby beer garden with a seating capacity of close to 75. I heard the sound of iron chairs turning on brick as the exhibition continued. We laughed aloud, unable to take our eyes off the show. This went on for several minutes before Captain Viagra revealed himself, lifting his sun goddess from the window and spinning around, her knees bent flexibly atop his shoulders as they whirled out of sight. Despite the collective hope of a patio full of eager onlookers, there was no encore.

While overpriced and understaffed, I highly recommend NoMi's outdoor patio at the Park Hyatt Hotel in Chicago for a few stiff drinks and an early evening experience second only to the penthouse suite at the Peninsula.

Bottoms up!

FROM N. KOREA WITH LOATHE

North Korea is back on the International Pain-in-the-Ass radar again after firing off a few fireworks on the 4th of July. The country's long-range missile test launch has drawn worldwide scorn despite proving, in pyrotechnic terms, a series of duds.

It is believed that North Korean leader, the real Kim Shady, planned the tests to coinicide with America's Independence Day for maximum impact. The goal of the test was to demonstrate a military might some believe could threaten the U.S. mainland someday given some technological refinements. While this round of missiles dove into the Sea of Japan like a Flock of Seagulls, dropping off the radar faster than Ashleigh Simpson, experts say they are just a few years away from being taken seriously.

As a result, Californians are being told they can lively safely under normal watches for earthquakes, mudslides, brushfires, smog alerts, and power failures for another 5 to 7 years before "incoming missiles from rogue dictatorships" will be added to the Impending Widespread Hardship and/or Disaster list.

GOODBYE YELLOW BRICK ROAD

It was reported this morning that Enron founder Ken Lay died in Aspen, Colorado. He was awaiting sentencing after being found guilty of conspiracy and fraud. According to a spokesperson for the family, he collapsed suddenly and died of a heart attack. Medical experts are skeptical, however, pointing out that heart attacks are uncommon in people who do not have hearts.

The Tin Man's journey ends here.

HEAD, HANDS, HEART, AND A HEALTHY GUACAMOLE BURGER IN THE ELVIS ROOM AT ED DEBEVIC'S

Like most people, I have a fear of public speaking. But they say it’s good to face your fears, so when my sister invited me to join her in giving a presentation on the merits of a career in communications to a room full of 6th grade 4-H’ers, I told her I would. I figured if ever there were an opportunity to attack this fear of mine, blabbering in front of a bunch of tinsel-mouthed kids would be it. Talking about my job would be quick and painless, I thought – plus, I’d get out of work for a half day in the name of public outreach. Maybe I’d hit the beach afterward, or nap on my couch.

So, yesterday, my sister and I joined a group of 40-50 kids for lunch in the private “Elvis” room at Ed Debevic’s, a touristy diner in River North with excellent, if greasy, lunch fare and notoriously rude service. (Really – that’s their schtick. It’s actually quite amusing.) We showed up a little late, so the first thing we saw was 50 little heads turning as we stepped across the threshold into the room. The kids, decked out in matching red t-shirts, had been loudly making fun of one another but were suddenly silent. Who were these two intruders?

We were escorted back to our table to dine with the gang, an awkward moment made even more awkward when the only words I could muster were: “I must have missed the memo about the red shirt.”

No one laughed. Not even a little bit. I sheepishly pulled in my chair, ordered a Route 66 burger with guacamole and bacon, and resigned to sit in silence until given my cue.

My sister, meanwhile, attempted to make small talk with our 6th grade lunch buddies. Really small talk. But the fact was, we had nothing in common, so there was nothing to say. The kids were undoubtedly cursing their luck for having been seated at the table with the lame-ass grown-ups. I began to grow uncomfortable and wondered how the hell I was going to get over my fear of speaking here. At least adults are empathetic. They understand when you’re having a rough go and will give you a break. Kids are ruthless…and when they smell blood, the frenzy is on.

When it was our turn to stand and present, my sister, sensing my discomfort, smiled and offered to lead things off. I thanked her with a nod. We stood up to a warm round of applause and accepted our introduction as a “brother and sister, both college graduates with careers in communications.” We were now going to share our wisdom.

I looked around the room. It was warm. Everyone had just finished gorging on greasy diner food. The food comas were beginning to set in – our audience looked like a room full of rubber chickens in red shirts. Imagine 50 kids in red t-shirts with the posture of dirty laundry, draped lazily over their chairs and tables, barely able to keep their eyes open. Before I had been worried about how my story was going to compete with the things they’d done that morning – field trips to the Chicago Board of Trade and the WGN radio studio. Now I was worried about how the hell I was going to keep them awake singing the praises of a career writing junk mail.

My sister started talking and was a little over their heads, I sensed, using words these kids wouldn’t see until they started practicing for the ACT. They yawned and fidgeted nervously with dirty spoons and napkins. And I was doing what I always do when standing in front of a bunch of people who are looking at me – I took turns folding my arms and putting my hands in my pockets over and over again until I started to feel seasick. And then my sister turned to me. It was go time.

I was frozen. I had nothing to say. I was here because I had a job and one day they would need one. I should tell them to avoid work at all costs, I thought. Then I imagined that wouldn’t go over so well with the chaperones. And picturing the audience naked to get over my apprehension about public speaking, in this case, was out of the question. I didn’t know what was going to come out of my mouth, but I knew I had to say something. And then, just as I was about to stumble into an impromptu lecture on the merits of reading and doing homework, a kid in the back raised his hand.

Saved!

“Yes, did you have a question?”

“Are you famous?” he asked in earnest. I couldn’t help but smile, flattered that anyone would mistake me for a celebrity. Although I do have a menacing grin and looked fantastic in my pressed shirt and dress pants.

“That depends who you ask,” I said, trying to be clever. This kind of remark would be understood by people over the age of 16 as a joke to mean: “No, I’m not famous.” But to a room full of 11 and 12 year olds, I’d just outed myself as a star. I saw them suddenly sit up, interested if only because they thought they might be in the presence of a star. I instinctively decided to talk it out.

“Actually, I’m not really famous. But I wanted to be. Like some of you, I’d imagine, I always wanted to be a rock star, you know? Write my own songs. Sing and play guitar. I was so sure I was going to be a star, I even made my own CD.” I looked around and saw I had their full, undivided attention. The chaperones, on the other hand, rolled their eyes, secretly hoping I wasn’t about to wade into a history of casual sex and recreational drug use.

“But I found something out while I was trying to be a star.”

“What?” I head several voices say.

“I found out I had stagefright.” They laughed.

“And you can’t be a rock star if you’re afraid of being in front of people. Nobody wants to see a rock star sitting on a stool next to a pail because he thinks he might throw up.” They laughed again, shouting “Gross!”

“So…I couldn’t be a rock star. But I still liked to write. And so I tried to figure out a way to make money writing. I wrote short stories and poems and songs. I even wrote a column for my school newspaper. I wrote a lot. And today, I have a job writing, so when I go to work, it doesn’t really feel like work at all. It’s actually kind of fun.”

“What do you write?” they asked.

“I’m going to guess that some of you watch television. Who here has a favorite television commercial?” About half the hands in the room went up. I called on one, then another, then another. I went around the room listening to them describe their favorite TV spots, most of which happened to be beer commercials. When it became clear that the exercise could go on all afternoon and I would miss my trip to the beach, I cut the discussion short.

“All of those commercials you just mentioned have something in common. They were all written by someone. SOMEONE had an idea and wrote it down. And that’s what I do. I come up with ideas for stuff and write them down. And I do a lot more than just television. Advertising is everywhere.”

My sister handed me a folder full of samples I’d brought with. I started pulling out direct mail packages I’d written and held them up. “Your parents get a lot of these. They’re offers for credit cards, and most of them end up in the garbage before they even get opened. But somebody has to write them, and that’s what I do. I also write radio commercials and print ads and outdoor boards. Anything that’s advertising, I write it.”

I’d made a connection with my audience and realized I no longer felt scared. In fact, I was in complete control and actually enjoying myself. One curious kid raised his hand again.

“So if everybody throws that mail away, why do you keep writing it?”

“That’s a great question. Do you know how much this one letter package costs to create? Our client paid us $15,000 to make this. And then they had to pay to have 100,000 of them printed. And then they had to pay postage to mail it to 100,000 people.” I saw that I now had the adults’ attention as well. “And most of them will end up in the garbage. But these companies pay that kind of money because they only need 1% of the people to respond. That’s 1,000 new customers to them.”

“So wait,” interrupted one of the red shirts in the back. “You got $15,000 to write that?”

“No, I didn’t. The agency I work for got that. A lot of different people had to work on it to get it to look like this. I just get paid every two weeks like everyone else. But the point to all of this is that if you enjoy what you do, you’re not really working. I see a lot of people on their way to and from work downtown every single day, and they look tired. They look disappointed. They look upset and frustrated and beat down. And it’s because they don’t like what they do. And so as you get older, it’s important to take notice of the things you enjoy in life so that when you start considering different careers, you choose something that won’t make you miserable.” I could see the adults in the room nodding in agreement.

My sister and I tag teamed the room for another half hour, taking questions and describing all of the specialized jobs there are out in the world – and they ate it up. The afternoon of public speaking I had dreaded when I woke up that morning ended up being an extremely rewarding one, even if no one asked me for my autograph on the way out. And I even got to nap a bit on my couch afterward.

I don't think I'll be seeking a career in public speaking any time soon, but it's good to know I can handle a room full of 6th graders if I need to. You get their attention by pretending to be a celebrity, make them laugh with jokes about vomit, lead a discussion about their favorite beer commercials, and then close with a few interesting facts and dollar figures.

If that's not what the 4-H Club is all about, I don't know what is.

CAT AND MOUSE GAMES

This link was amusing…and I don’t even like cats. It’s the world’s most expensive kitten toy. Funny how the little shit gets more and more agitated with each passing second.

1040-H2O

Flooding in the nation’s capital this week forced the closing of the Internal Revenue Service headquarters, prompting tens of thousands of residents in the greater D.C. area to simultaneously turn on their hoses and point them in the building’s general direction. There’s no taxation with proper irrigation!

While there has been widespread flooding in the east, there’s been widespread burning in the west, and widespread complacency everywhere in between.

ONE TRUE LOVE

Apparently, your name says a lot about your love life. There’s a Russian site that has broken down the combination of letters in your name to uncover your life’s biggest love. Will it be your childhood crush? Your first serious partner? Some random World Cup soccer player? Some future person you’ve yet to meet?

Click here to find your life’s biggest love. Just type in your name to get started and the program will guide you through the rest.

ARE YOU MARGIN MATERIAL?

I finally got around to devoting some space in the sidebar to friends who have shit on their minds.

To those of you who've been generous enough to incude my link on your blog, I am now equipped to return the favor. Drop me a line with the URL of your blog and I'll give you props in the sidebar. And thanks for listing AYNtK among your favorites - I appreciate the eyeballs.

Peace.

WHAT THE DOUBLE FUCK

While we've been busy living our lives, going to work so we can feed our babies, pay our mortgages, and buy our precious gasoline, our elected officials have been busily doing "the people's work."

This week, that entailed voting on a Constitutional Amendment to ban flag-burning. Yes - a Constitutional Amendment. The vote, in case you have not been in front of a newspaper recently, failed to pass by a single vote. After cruising through the House 286-130, it failed to win two thirds of the Senate, 66-34, sparing us all a harrowing journey back in time.

Two thoughts came to mind when I read this. The first thought was what the FUCK is going on here? The second thought, eerily, was what the fuck is going ON here? It was a bonafide what the double fuck? Both rare and powerful.

The first "what the fuck" was in reaction to the fact that our government is wasting its time dealing with (what should be) non-issues like flag-burning. Next to banning gay marriage, it's the last thing on a growing list of things we "the people" need to be focused on right now.

Who the hell is in charge over there that we're debating such trivial topics as flag-burning when we've got REAL issues up the wazoo? Let's see: there are the thousands of American men and women our misguided military policies have effectively stranded in the Middle East (protecting us, you will remember, from a mad dictator with zero ties to 911 and a cache of WMD that we still haven't found). Then there are our porous borders, through which a platoon of terrorists could high-step like a marching band at a homecoming parade. There's the environmental holocaust for which our addiction to oil is primarily responsible. There's an insolvent social security system we continue to ignore year after year after year while life expectancy climbs higher with every life-saving drug. Speaking of which, and scarier yet, there's a health care system many now agree is in WORSE shape than social security, if you can fathom that possibility - not to mention the dirty laundry list of perhaps a thousand other (more important) things our elected officials could, and should, be doing to make our country safer, sounder, cleaner, smarter, and longer-lasting!

Instead, we're considering a ban on flag-burning.

Which immediately led me to my second "what the fuck?" thought. Shouldn't it be the other way around? Why would we want to BAN flag burning? Shouldn't we be trying to PROTECT it? How could a nation BUILT on freedom ban the most fundamental freedom of all? I think those crafty, wigged Founders knew exactly what they were doing when they made free speech/expression the very first Amendment. They knew it was paramount to everything else that would come after it. If our government starts banning what we say and how we say it, everything else will follow it right out the window.

If they ever limit our most basic of freedoms, you can be sure the rest of the Amendments will start collecting asterisks as well.

Banning flag-burning is like saying you can say anything you want so long as the government agrees with it. Did I fall asleep in Chicago and wake up in Beijing? This is America, people. Our nation was founded by a bunch of people who broke ranks to make a better life for themselves and all of those who came after them. I'm guessing those no-good hooligans even burned the Union Jack from time to time. For heaven's sake, not only are we wasting our time with dubious domestic policymaking, we've got the bloody car in reverse! If we're going to be making radical changes to our nation's most sacred document, let's at least error on the side of progress. Legalize pot or something. Scrap the tax code. Make recycling mandatory. Impose term limits on lawmakers. There are plenty of controversial ways to mix things up that would at least keep us moving forward. Banning speech is essentially taking a quantum leap back in time.

Does this mean I condone or advocate the burning of the flag? Absolutely not. It just means that I place higher value on the freedoms that the flag represents than the fabric of the flag itself. Speaking of which, if they just made the damn things out of flame-retardant material in the first place, we wouldn't be having this discussion.

A good friend of mine named Ben Franklin was also incensed about this latest exercise in congressional masturbation, and offered the following to be cut-and-pasted into an e-mail for wider distribution. I think this letter pretty much says it all. And if you'd like to read more from my boy, B-Frank, you can check out more of his politically inspirational ramblings at Voice America.

**********OPEN LETTER TO MY CONGRESSMAN

"I have always been a fan of yours. Your voting record is indicative of one who votes with conscience and judiciousness; not bending to the unending influence of big business. As a constituent, it is heartening to see that there is still a voice; someone that understands that the government serves at the pleasure of the people, for the good of the people.

I was shocked and disappointed at your vote on the flag burning proposal. This country was founded on the principles of liberty and justice, and truths that are held to be self evident and timeless. One of those immutable truths has been held to be the freedom to express one's self.

"I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it."

-Evelyn Beatrice Hall, 1906 (under the pseudonym Stephen G. Tallentyre)

Words expressed, coincidentally, 100 years ago, but every bit as true, and perhaps more imperatively so, today. Even then, this sentiment was intended to paraphrase the attitudes of Voltaire - even then, over 100 years older, still. Timeless, self-evident, truths.

I am sickened when I see flags burned on the evening news - especially in lands where freedom of expression is prohibited, insofar as it deviates from officially sanctioned state or party lines. The United States, however, has ever shined as an example for the world - an environment in which contrarian ideologies might be expressed without fear of reprisal from the government. An environment that has birthed the greatest nation on Earth. A nation of industry, art, generosity, pride, and heritage.

A war is started with a single shot. True, but often overlooked. Let us be ever vigilant against the subversion of the people by its government. Please reconsider your stance and, disgusted as we both are by the act of desecrating a symbol of our great nation, realize that it is only symbol - and that the greater offense is to allow those who would impose their will on the masses to begin to do so. With a single shot."

ALL THAT VIRGINS IN THE AFTERLIFE NUNSENSE!

STATIONARY JUSTICE

Here’s a clip that’s now been sent to me by three different people. I’ve watched it three separate times and don’t really see the humor in it – but apparently it’s making its way around the net and folks are digging on it – so here ya go!

It’s basically just a closed circuit video clip of some drunk guy falling down at a police station. And, honestly, who hasn’t done that before?

MASTER OF TICKETS

I went to a concert not long ago at the Vic theater in Chicago. Saw the band Live live, which actually sounds kind of funny to say, but wouldn’t be as funny as saying I saw the Counting Crows counting crows, Train train, the Spin Doctors spin doctors, or – heaven forbid – the Pet Shop Boys pet shop boys.

Anyhow, I remember being inside the theater, looking down at my ticket, and discovering a $7.00 “convenience” fee had been tacked onto the price of admission. Seven dollars for convenience? And that, like every other injustice in my extremely narrow world of rules, got me thinking. What exactly was this fee all about and what conveniences did it get me?

Our beer wasn’t conveniently cheaper, or any easier to get. To get in, we still had to stand in a long line outside the theater like everyone else, getting felt up by “security” in leather pants. It was a general admission show, so we weren’t guaranteed seats, or even an unobstructed view. Parking was extra…if you could find it. There weren’t reserved restrooms for our convenience. And the tickets themselves weren’t delivered overnight, or printed out from the convenience of home. They had been sent snail mail, third fucking class, and arrived just a couple days before the show - which would NOT have been terribly convenient had I been planning to sell them.

As far as I could tell, that seven dollar “convenience” charge afforded me no conveniences at all…aside from the fact that it got me in the door – which is what an admission ticket is SUPPOSED to do. It made me want to get a refund on that seven dollars.

“Excuse me – hi – yeah, I’ve decided I don’t really need this convenience thing, whatever it is. So if you guys could just refund me that $7, that would be great.”

“Huh? Oh, that – we don’t have anything to do with that. It’s just part of the price.”

“Oh – well see, MY ticket actually has a separate number right here for the price. See? It's $35.50. And then there’s a separate charge right here for taxes, which I understand. I mean, I wish the taxes were just included in the price instead of always tacked on as an afterthought, but at least I understand what they are. This convenience charge here is the one I don’t want. So if you could refund that portion, I’ll just head back in.”

“I don’t think we can do that. Everybody pays that. It’s just part of the cost of the show.”

“Well, then I’m missing something. Because I thought this line over HERE was the cost of the show. This convenience thing is itemized – so, to me, it appears to be something extra, and I don’t want it…whatever it is. I don’t mind inconvenience – I’m actually quite used to it. I know I may be sorry later, but $7 is a lot for convenience. Don’t you think? That's the cost of a pint of beer in there.”

“You’re kidding with me, right? Do you know Kyle? This is a joke.”

“No, not really. Beers are six dollars, and then I usually tip a buck so I don’t look cheap.”

“Not about the beer. I mean about the charge. You really want seven dollars back?”

“Unless you can tell me or show me what I’m getting for those seven dollars, I would really like the seven dollars back – yes.”

“I don’t know. I mean I really don’t know what that is for. I just work here. No one has ever complained about it before, or asked for their money back.”

“Well, it’s not like fifty cents or some trivial amount of spare change. It’s seven bucks. That’s like a whole hour of your time. But I understand…there’s nothing you can do about it. I just wish the ticket would just say $42.50 instead of $35.50, since that seems to be the actual price of admission. Itemizing this phantom fee and calling it a convenience makes me feel like my wallet is getting fucked by the master of tickets himself. And there's nothing remotely convenient about that. Convenient would be you handing me seven dollars since you can't tell me what the hell the charge is for.”

"Maybe I should get the house manager."

"That's okay - I don't want to inconvenience you."

***********

The whole episode reminded me of a woman I was standing in line behind at the bank last week. A bank teller had just informed her that there would be a “convenience” charge for them to count her bag of loose change in the bank’s fancy coin-counting machine, to which she loudly responded:

“Sheeeeeeeee-it. I don’t know why they call this the land of the free when ain’t nothin’ free no more – least not round here.”

Land of the free. Nice.

Not exactly what that phrase is supposed to mean – but in that moment, I felt her point. Ain't nothin' free in the land of the free.

DEJA VIEW

Don’t you just love watching the deleted scenes on a DVD rental, just to see what the director decided you wouldn’t have the patience to sit through?

Me neither. But sometimes I accidentally hit that button in the dark and can't find the right button, so I end up watching them all anyhow. It's actually kind of cool to sit through all of the deleted scenes first - THEN watch the movie. It's like taking a two hour deja vu trip where everything seems eerily familiar, yet it's all completely new.

Anyhow...here’s a little something you may not have seen that’s definitely worth checking out. It’s a deleted scene from Star Wars that didn’t even make the DVD!

Yeah – the deleted DELETED scene from Star Wars. I’m here for you, people.

ASS HAPPY

This morning I found a whoopie cushion in the back of one of the cabinets here at work and life at the office will never be the same. I've been walking aroung trumpeting it loudly all morning long, mostly to awkward chuckles and turning heads. It's one of those self-filling whoopie cushions, too, so instead of having to blow it up after each flatulent expulsion, it swells up on its own.

This efficiency in third-world-produced gag gifts has enabled me to get far more use out of it than any other toot-mimicking toy of its kind. Innovation rocks!

I've spent a good bit of my day attmepting to perfect a virtual symphony of fart sounds. I just followed up a long, high-pitched ass siren with a series of bassy cheek blasters that sounded like a like a chipmunk getting run over by a lawn mower. You would have loved it. Here - let me try another one for you.

Did you hear that? Yeah. A Harley Davidson crashing into an ambulance. Sweet.

And the best part is, I've been using this damn thing so frequently, I've a been able to fart as loud as I like - and no once can tell the difference. At least not until they walk by my desk. But most people know better than to try that by now.

AS A CUCUMBER

What does it mean to be cool?

I mean, I’m pretty fucking cool. But what does that MEAN? How does one get to be cool? What are the criteria of coolness? Do you have to smoke to be cool? Not anymore. Do you have to hate your parents to be cool? So not cool. Do you have to have your own rock band to be cool? We may be getting warmer. Does being tall improve your coolness? Use of slang? Body piercings?

Some social scientists recently developed a short questionnaire designed to reveal your “cool” factor, and it's pretty enlightening.

So are YOU cool? You can take the cool test here.

BOX OFFICER

If you people think I'M a big prick, check out this grinnin' needle dick.

But seriously, that's not why I wanted to type up this post. Sometimes my fingers start clicking and I can't stop them. Next thing you know I've attached a photo of a pervert in a cowboy hat humping desert flora.

The REAL reason I started this post was to recommend a couple more movies. In addition to An Inconvenient Truth, the must-see docu-horror film of the century, I also wanted to offer public praise for the film Thank You For Smoking. Saw it yesterday and found it a light-hearted stroll down mammary lane. No wait - now I'm thinking of Thank You For Stroking. A different film altogether. I don't recommend that one so much - gets boring after the first three or four minutes.

Anyhow, Thank You For Smoking is based on the Christopher Buckley novel by the same name - which I also (HIGHLY) recommend. Every line is packed with frivolity and attitude - a refreshing change of pace from the mind-numbing non-fiction I insist on force-feeding my overworked, underpaid brain day after day. The film, in case you couldn't tell from the title, is a grandiose exercise in hyperbole. The plot and characters are so overdone you can't help but smile - which makes the movie's multiple messages all the more powerful. It's still in limited release - but definitely rent that bad boy when it's pressed on plastic.

Another movie I don't mind recommending is Cinderella Man. I'm talking about Ron Howard's historical boxing drama here, not the unauthorized biography of an "artist" most people still refer to as Prince - who I'm sure has been called a Cinderella Man more than once in his life.

Geri and I watched Cinderella Man this past week and both enjoyed it immensely - although Geri thinks the movie would have been a lot better without all the graphic boxing scenes. I personally don't remember much else about the movie EXCEPT for the graphic boxing scenes. Regardless, we both remember liking it. Geri actually got so anxious about the ending she made me stop the movie and wouldn't finish watching it without knowing in advance how it ended. So I told her to Google "Braddock vs. Baer" since the movie was based on a true story. She glanced at a few of the matches, breathed a sigh of relief, smiled knowingly, and let me hit the play button again.

"You're ridiculous," I said, adding: "And don't tell me how it ends."

Definitely worth renting, if not Googling.

GUT CHECKED & TONGUE TWISTED

Just when you thought I had a monopoly on all the good ideas…

Check out this link and read about a beer belly you actually WANT. It’s a strap-on gut that helps you sneak into all your favorite places with a tummy full of cerveza. Not only does it LOOK real, it was designed to FEEL real when patted down by security at sports and music venues. Where there's a will to swill, there's a way.


This picture has nothing to do with this post. Just included it for your viewing pleasure. You're welcome.

I am a lot like this dog, actually. No need to be jealous - it's not how you think. I too am short, hairy, goofy looking, brown-eyed, and love to wear colorful ribbons in public. And yes, like this pug, I am paradoxically hideous and adorable at the same time. I just don't have a tongue like that.

Mine is defiitely a little fatter and longer.

BEATING THE HEAT

Steven Hawking says we’re in trouble. And when Steven fucking Hawking says we’re in trouble, we’re really in trouble.

Who is Steven Hawking? WHO is Steven HAWKING? You did NOT just ask me that. He’s the ultimate brain – a brilliant mind, and a man whose health has been steadily deteriorating over the years due to ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease). He’s now a quadriplegic who no longer has the ability to speak. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a lot to say about what’s going on in the world.

First the credentials. Hawking is perhaps the world’s most renowned theoretical physicist, and a man you would not want to challenge to mathematical duel. He would stomp all over you with complex equations and bury you under a truckload of digits – all correct to the last decimal point. Some have even suggested Steven Hawking approaches me intellectually. A stretch, to be sure, but the comparison should give you a pretty good idea of the mental powerhouse we’re dealing with here. Wait – did I say he approached ME intellectually? I’m sorry. I meant Sir Isaac Newton. Sorry, I always get the two of us mixed up. Newton had a better wig – I have the much heavier testicles. Sorry, Newton – gravity says so!

Anyhow, Steven Hawking – a fucking master of science, math, physics, and one of the great mental powerhouses of our time – is now on record as saying we’re in trouble. It all started last week when he warned that global warning posed an imminent threat to the health and safety of everyone on the planet. To drive this point home he made the assertion that, to survive, the human race would have to colonize elsewhere in space. He suggested an eventual colony on Mars by way of a base on the moon.

Then, just this week, he publicly stated at a conference in China that he’s “very worried about global warming.” He went on to say that he’s worried the Earth “might end up like Venus, at 250 degrees centigrade and raining sulfuric acid.”

If this doesn’t sound like science fiction to you, you need to read more science fiction. Of course, Hawking isn’t hawking fiction here. He’s pitching science. He’s legitimately concerned with the numbers, and the numbers foretell of an irreversible warming trend with apocalyptic consequences. Can you even imagine a handful of humans on a moon colony, clinging to survival, watching the earth boil from a safe distance - inhabitable? This is where the top scientific minds of our time are taking us.

I know a lot of people will have a hard time taking tips from a man who can no longer dress himself (and I’m talking about me here, not Steven Hawking), but we really need to consider taking action on this – and now. I’m not suggesting we, as individuals, need to curb our individual energy consumption. This isn't your patent go-ride-a-bike speech. While that would be a start, small-scale changes liek that aren’t going to make a whole lot of difference in the grand scheme unless we take on the policies directing energy consumption on a much larger scale. Let's face facts: money buys influence, and oil money has a stranglehold on U.S. policymaking at the highest level. Our fuel consumption standards are among the worst in the world. Our consumption per capita as a people is dramatically higher than anywhere else in the world. And instead of joining the world in an effort to curb harmful emissions, we abandon Kyoto to protect a reckless agenda of selfish consumerism and gluttonous consumption.

There are immediate ways to address the problem – but we need decision-makers in high places willing and able to take dramatic steps toward preserving our common future. Our mission, should we choose to accept it, is to promote global health through advancing the election of representation dedicated to restoring it.

Your vote isn’t just your voice anymore – it’s your thermostat. And when Steven Hawking says it's time to turn the heat down, we probably ought to listen. Hopefully we'll have better luck than the Dallas Mavericks.

SAVED BY HIS FANS

Dustin Diamond needs your help! The actor who played Screech on the teen television sensation “Saved by the Bell” hopes he his house will be Saved by the Internet.

True story. Apparently, the bank is trying to foreclose on his $250,000 house (which in today’s ridiculous housing market won’t get you more than an air conditioned outhouse in most areas) and he’s desperate to hang onto it. So he’s driving people to his web site where people can buy t-shirts that say they helped Screech keep his house. Except that Screech is spelled “Screeech” on the shirts for copyright purposes.

So if you’ve got more money than you know what to do with, there’s something to do with it. Of course, you can also send any extra cash you have laying around to me by clicking on my PayPal link.

Quit laughing…I’m totally serious.

I mean it!

I AM SO HAPPY IT'S FRIDAY

Can I get a witness? Come on now. Testify, my brother!

THE (ACTUALLY) NAKED CHEF

I am such a food slut and I can't help it. I just made an awesome sandwich that I simply must tell you about.

I had no idea what I was going to make for dinner tonight, so I decided to clean out some of the shit in my fridge that was borderline expired. I started by frying up a tube of Jimmy Dean spicy sausage patties. Yes, the whole thing. Once the seal is broken, I figure it's better to cook the whole damn thing than to wrap it up in plastic and send it to the back of my fridge to decompose over the next 14 months - which is the average tenure of anything wrapped in plastic in my fridge. But I digress...

After the patties were cooked down, I whipped the last three eggs from an old carton in a plastic bowl, added a little milk to fluff, and beat 'em down like the U.S. soccer team. I then scrambled them together in the grease from the sausage patties, which had not time to cool. As the egg began to coat the pan, I chased it about with a spatula keeping it all in the center. While this was going on, I had an idea.

I had just purchased a new product by Thomas English Muffins. It was a plastic bag of something called bagel bread. Each bag comes with six square bagels sliced in the middle for use as buns. I'd bought the Everything bagel variety complete with sesame, poppy, onion, garlic, and a host of other seeds I am certain will not digest efficiently.

I pulled a bagel bun out of the bag and toasted it up. As the eggs neared completion I began pushing them together to form a square to neatly match the bread. I then crumbled some of the spicy sausage on top and draped a piece of swiss cheese like a cholesterol blanket over the entire thing.

When the toaster popped, I scooped the egg out of the pan with one swift spatula stroke and perched the egg, sausage, and cheese atop the bottom of the everything bagel bun. I then fitted the top of the bun squarely upon the cheese and pressed down firmly until the it began to melt down around the sides of the egg.

I gave it a minute to cool, then pulled a knife out from the drawer and sliced it down the middle. It was perfect. Crispy bagel bread, 3 light and fluffy eggs, bites of spicy sausage, and dripping with melted swiss. I was in heaven. Still am, if you must know.

And when that was done I busted open a bag of Habanero Doritos and went to town.

Food kicks ass.

BACK IN THE I.R.A.Q.

George W. Bush's approval rating actually did something rare this week - it went UP.

Political analysts say it was the result of a week positive headlines - which included the capture of a slippery terrorista by the name of Al-Zarqawi.

The small jump in Bush's approval also happened to occur just days after the President paid a surprise visit to troops in Iraq - a strong indication that Americans like Bush more when he is out of the country. In fact, the further away he goes, it appears the higher the spike in his approval. It is no wonder, then, that as he trudged about in the mess his administration made in the Middle East, his approval ratings were hiking upward.

Some have speculated that Bush could enjoy much higher approval ratings if only he decided to stay there.

HUMP DAY

Here's a little something to help you celebrate hump day. A very little something.




Feel free to submit your own captions below...





- The impossible dream


- Carlito has his way


- The little Chihuahua that could


- Dubya meets Freedom


- “Lapdog? I’ve always been more of an ass dog.”


- Yo quiero fucko belle


- Please be gentle


- Horace patiently waits his turn


- I like big butts and I cannot lie


- Just do it

THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE

There was a time when I had some less than kind words for Al Gore.

The year was 2000. I was still running for my health and he was running for President. I remember there being something I just didn’t like about the guy. He seemed arrogant when he spoke – and came off as condescending at times. There was little question Gore was a smart guy, but he was also a self-aggrandizing know-it-all…and nobody likes a know-it-all. His whole persona rubbed me the wrong way, so much so that I helped send the village idiot to Washington instead. Given his totalitarian "my way or the highway" style of rule, I would not be surprised if Bush tried to force through an end to term limits before all is said and done. AFTER he's through stamping out the torch of liberty, of course. But that's a fear for another day.

Back to reminiscing 2000.

Like nearly half of the people who voted for a President that year, I decided to hire the guy I liked better instead of the guy who was more qualified. It goes on every day all across the country and it’s considered bad for business. Every successful manager knows the secret to success is hiring people smarter than you (and paying them less than they're worth).

In hindsight, I recognize that my judgment in 2000 was poor and I admit I made a mistake – and not a small one. It was a mistake a single vote for John Kerry in 2004 could not fix. A mistake that gets bigger by the day. A mistake more and more once-proud Americans are coming to realize we must remedy, and the sooner the better.

This is all prelude to something far more important than the ruinous course of American policymaking in the new century.

********

I saw Al Gore’s movie on global warming “An Inconvenient Truth” over the weekend.

Yes, willingly. It was actually my idea, believe it or not. I was curious to see what Al-G (pronounced "algae") has been up to since the Supreme Court’s ruling in favor of G.W. Bush 6 long years ago. I was also hungry for really big words, and I knew Al Gore could not disappoint.

An Inconvenient Truth, as you may have heard, is an hour and forty minutes of Al Gore giving a PowerPoint presentation on the sorry state of the environment. I knew this walking into the theater, but was hung over and figured a nice long nap in a cool, dark theater would do me some good. An hour and forty-five minutes later I left feeling refreshed and energized – that was certain – only I hadn’t slept a wink.

To say I was impressed with the effort would not do justice the sense of awe I felt downloading fact after nauseating fact on global warming. Gore has a real talent for making a point. It's a gift I believe he's had all along, but didn't open until after his run for the White House.

Algae recognizes the obstacles that stand in the way of progress on this issue, and one by one he deconstructs them, offering hard scientific proof as support. Looking around the crowded theater I could actually see light bulbs going on. People were getting it. This wasn’t some rogue environmental zealot hammering home a message of doom and gloom. It was a practical man with a distinguished history of public service passionately invested in the future of our planet, trying to create a little urgency for REAL problems at a time when there has been virtually none.

Whether you voted for Al Gore in 2000 or reveled at his “Supreme” misfortune as I did, you owe it to yourself to see this film. It is, in my less than humble opinion, a documentary that should be required viewing for every American. It is accessible. It is informative. It is eye-opening. Further, it is something Al Gore was definitely not in 2000 – it is inspiring.

I was actually so moved by his message I left wanting to drag everyone I knew back with me. I would pay for them to see it, I thought. That would be my contribution to the cause – information. It all starts with information, after all, and right now there are mixed messages in the media that would have the masses believe we just don’t know enough to be certain global warming is real, or that we are the cause of it. But the scientific fact of the matter is that global warming is most certainly real, it is happening at a pace so rapid it is beginning to affect us NOW, in our lifetimes, and human activity is without question the primary cause of it. Most importantly, we have reached the tipping point much faster than we ever thought we would.

Over the past ten years there have been a total of 928 peer-reviewed articles on global warming. Can you guess what percentage of these articles expressed doubt as to the cause of global warming? Humor me.

A. 66%
B. 50%
C. 43%
D. 25%
E. 18%

The media has been complicit in our collective ignorance with regard to this issue, perpetuating a culture of agnostic science – "we just don’t know for sure, so let’s be careful not to say one way or the other." The truth is, we DO know for sure. Of the total of 928 peer-reviewed articles on global warming over the past decade, 0% of them expressed any doubt as to the cause of global warming. Zero fucking percent. All 928 peer-reviewed articles on the subject agreed that we are soiling our own pants here. Consensus is unanimous!

According to the politicians and the media, there is widespread speculation and scientific uncertainty as to the exact causes. According to the scientific community, however, the cause of global warming is not subject to debate. Who are you going to believe, the Senator whose reelection depends on campaign contributions from Exxon-Mobil, or the ecologist next door who’s seen species loss skyrocket in just the last ten years? There’s more than one canary in this coal mine.

The point to the film? Acting now is critical to the survival of our species. Many will be quick dismiss the idea of spending their precious time and hard-earned money on an environmental lecture by one of the most long-winded know-it-alls of our time. I went in a little skeptical myself. I suggest wiping your slate clean and giving it a go - I think you will be surprised. It is not a two-hour commercial for the Democratic Party, nor is it a fundraising infomercial for Greenpeace. It stays above politics in presenting only what we know by virtue of science – and the conclusions from what we know are all too clear.

************

My sister turned to me half way through the film and whispered, “I get the feeling this isn’t going to have a happy ending.” Sure it will, I whispered back. Everyone who sees it will get pissed off enough to do something about this bullshit and we’ll reverse course. Let the information be our inspiration.

People actually clapped when it ended (and not BECAUSE it ended, like at the end of anything starring Madonna). Next time you’re thinking about taking in a movie, consider foregoing the standard Hollywood fare and exercise your mind a little. I highly recommend An Inconvenient Truth.

If you’re curious to learn more about this flick, you can read about it here.

ED JUST CALLED YOU A BEOTCH

My friend Ed is a real swinger, as evidenced by the impressive total he managed playing that addictive Flash game I linked in my Pendulonium post.

He dares you to beat him and doubts you can.

THE MOMENT OF TRUTH

Have you ever had one of those life-changing moments when you realized that you were headed down the wrong path and really needed to make some changes?

For me, that moment came a short while back when I woke up really, really hungover, accidentally swallowed a capful of Listerine, and discovered that the cat had taken a sizable crap in my Zen garden. Actually, that wasn't the exact moment. The exact moment came about twelve seconds later when I crawled back into bed, closed my eyes to rest, and remembered that I don't have a cat.

ALL FOR NAUGHTY

So here's the bottom line on life, according to coffee, and delivered through me:

Life is a fucking struggle. From your first breath until your last, it's a constant fight for survival. It used to be that all we needed were clothes, shelter, and food. We hunted and gathered, huddled in caves or built simple structures to shield us from the elements, and fashioned animal skins into makeshift body wraps to preserve the fire that curiously burns in each of us at a very predicatable 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit.

The problem, of course, was all of the fucking we've done since then.

Now we've got billions of people all over creation wrestling over natural resources, competing for political influence, and fighting for economic relevance. Individuals no longer shelter, clothe, and feed themselves. We count on other people to do all of that shit for us. And we pay them with money we earn doing other things of value. Meanwhile, we keep on fucking - sending the total population higher and higher year after year. And that means more competition for natural resources, land, political influence, economic power, and whathaveyou.

We invent things to make our lives easier, then come to depend on them. Cars, remote controls, microwaves, cell phones, e-mail, ATM cards - you name it. And since we don't need to spend our entire lives hunting for food, building shelter, and stitching clothes, we have a lot of free time to have something called fun. You might say that we, as a species, have worked awfully hard to get where we are today and we deserve to have a little fun.

But there's a little fable about a grasshopper and some ants that we probably ought to keep in mind while we're out on our cruises, tuned into American Idol, shopping for things we don't need, zipping about on thrill rides, and drinking ourselves half blind because life bores us to death: Winter isn't gone for good.

There remains much work to be done. The first frost isn't far off. Will it bring bird flu? More natural catastrophe? Nuclear self-destruction? How will we come to pass? By the heavy hand of something much larger than us - perhaps a wayward comet? By the soft fingers of something far smaller - perhaps a deadly pandemic? By our own undoing - perhaps another world war or glacial meltdown? This is not stuff to worry about. This is simply the work that needs doing now, or all of this fucking we've been doing since the dawn of time will have been, well, for naughty.

Now, if you'll excuse me, all of this coffee I've been drinking is initiating its exit strategy.

CLICK TO MEET COOL

Here’s a little something to help you break the ice.

Fun for minutes!

And if this doesn't make you grin, try calling someone a fuck nugget. It just rolls off the tongue. Go ahead and try it. Feels good, no?



Fuck nugget.

IRAQ'S MOST WANTED...

...is dead.

According to reports, Al-Zarqawi bit the bullet in an air strike and is no longer the elusive mastermind of Al-Qaeda's Iraqi terror network. That is great news. It's always good to be able to put a strategic air strike to a name.

As proof, the U.S. military released video with F-16s dropping two 500-pound bombs
and a copy of Sarah Jessica Parker's last feature film "Failure to Launch" for a total of three bombs. It is believed Al-Zarqawi managed to elude the blast radius of the traditional munitions, but was sucked into the vortex that is Matthew McConaghey's shit-eating grin and perished instantly. Paramount Pictures has been unavailable for comment.

Upon confirmation of this notable success in the war on terror, President Bush's approval rating skyrocketed to 12. It is expected the president will leverage this small victory to garner support for a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage. A White House spokesperson told reporters this morning:

"Everyone was up in arms about illegal wiretaps and the government spying on the people - but look where it got us. Al-Zarqawi is dead. This is clear proof that the president's policies are moving the country in the right direction. If we can ban gay people from declaring their love for one another before the law, the president thinks we may have a shot at bin Laden."

HEXAKOSIOIHEXEKONTAHEXAPHOBIA

A friend wanted me to know that BetUS.com has set the odds of the apocalypse happening today (06/06/06) at 100,000-to-1.

A maximum $500 wager that the world survives could win you half a penny.

Is it just me or is this whole 6-6-6 thing a little out of hand? It's got nothing to do with the calendar or time or a day of the year. No place in the good book does it say June 6th of any year ending in "06" is going to be a bad day. Need a little background?

From the New Testament, Revelation 13:16-18:

"...it causes all, both small and great, both rich and poor, both free and slave, to be marked on the right hand or the forehead, so that no one can buy or sell who does not have the mark, that is, the name of the beast or the number of his name. This calls for wisdom: let him who hath understanding reckon the number of the beast, for it is a human number. Its number is six hundred and sixty-six."

Fear of the number 666, by the way, is the title of this post.

For reference, let's consider the date June 6, 1906 - which was also 06/06/06. Do you know what happened on this day? People died. A lot of people. And a lot of people were also born. In fact, that day was just like any other. In fact, the only thing of historical note that happened on that day as far as I could determine was the launch ot the Lusitania at the John Brown & Company shipyard in Glasgow, Scotland.

So there you have it. It's not the end of the world as we know it. It's fucking Tuesday and there's a pile of shit with your name on it - so get your nervous ass back to work!

ARE YOU GOING TO FINISH THAT?

There are so many things wrong with this picture I don't know where to begin. First off, there are still fries on the tray. How did he miss those when every grain of salt has been pounded out of the box in front of him? And how did that napkin around his neck escape the suction when they turned this fast food vacuum on?

Chuckles aside:

How can any loving parent feed a meal of fat, cholesterol, and grease to child so obscenely obese? Ten bucks says this kid didn't have a happy meal. I'm usually the last one to call for new legislation for anything, but man, there really ought to be a law. Or perhaps the industry could self-regulate and employ some standards. I'm thinking of those cut-out wooden signs at amusement parks that say "You must be at least this tall to ride this ride." Only, here it would be a big cut-out of Grimace or the Hamburglar letting you know that "You must be at least this thin to eat at this restaurant." For your own health and safety, of course.

ADAM AND THE BANANA OUTFIT

I went shopping recently – for clothes. Clothes shopping can be as traumatic for men as it is therapeutic for women. First of all, we don’t like it. Second of all, we don’t know what the hell we’re doing. And third, we don’t like it. I don’t know why exactly, but I suspect it has something to do with the fact that we don’t know what the hell we’re doing.

I have a hard enough time understanding the menu at Starbucks – dressing myself presents an even more confusing set of options. Not only do things need to fit, but they need to “go.” Matching. So many colors. So many styles. So many sizes. So many stores! It’s so much easier to have someone tell me what to wear than to trust the random combination of garments I select won’t make me look like Mrs. Roper on Three’s Company. That only happened once, by the way, and the paisley table cloth I was wearing didn't last the night.

Anyhow, I knew I needed some new clothes and wanted to prove to Geri that I could do it on my own. So I headed over to Banana Republic, a fashionable clothing retailer with a reasonable return policy and a staff of overeager beavers. Don’t read too much into that expression unless you really want to.

Shopping alone, I knew there were only two ways the mission would be a success. I could buy whatever the mannequins were wearing, as they’re always decked out in the latest and greatest stuff. But that would be costly, I knew, as those trendy mannequins tend to have expensive taste. My other option was to find the gayest employee in the store, whose name happened to be Adam, and have him walk me through some options. Two hours later I left with several matching “outfits” and still had money left in the bank for a Starbucks on the ride over to Geri's place for final approval.

Upon showing my spread of new threads to Geri, she said, “They all look nice – I like them. Did your sister go with you?”

They looked too good. She was onto me.

I wanted to tell her how I’d picked them all out myself. How I’d spent hours and hours mixing and matching tops and bottoms until I’d found the perfect fit. How I’d examined patterns and colors and fabrics and textures. And how insulted I was that she would assume I’d had any help at all.

Instead, I told her the truth.

“No…my sister did NOT help. But close. A girl named Adam did.”

“Good!” she exclaimed. “I like it all…everything looks very nice.”

“Yeah, I knew I could do it.” I said.



This story really has no point. But if you're looking for one, then here it is: There’s really no shame in asking for help.

SHOPPING BROCCOLI

Did you know that Broccoli has C coli in it? Yeah. I don't even know what C coli is but it sounds harmful. Kind of like E coli, but earlier. I wonder if I can get sick from eating Bro C coli. Geri, my resident dietitian, is out of town for the weekend, so I'm struggling. To eat or not to eat.

GONE FISHIN' (OR JUST PLAIN GONE?)

Just had another brilliant idea, which I suppose is redundant in my case.

Tuna sausage. Yeah, baby! Bring me a bluefin bratwurst. Chicken of the Sea packed like pepperoni in a sheer casing so we can enjoy it on a bun, or sliced and ground up like the crumbled sweet sausage on a gourmet pizza. That's what I'm talking about. I'm through talking turkey sausage - I want something a little easier on the arteries - something with a little Fatty O for the effort. Some walleye weiners or a salamahi stick. Salmon sausage patties. Crumbled catfish.

Let's face it - the only thing that prevents sausage from being the most perfect food on the planet (besides cheese, of course), is the fact that those in the dietary know have little praise for its nutritional virtues.

So I'm saying, if we packed sausage with pike in stead of pork, maybe we could kill two birds with one stone instead of one stone with two birds. I don't know what that means, either, but I really really really wanted to see what it looked like in print.

So there you go. You want to eat healthier? Sprinkle some Bass Bits on your salad instead of bacon.

Who wants to help me write a business plan? Is American Inventor still on?

WHEN THE BELLY GROWLS

So – you dug on my recommendation to try a Quizno’s toasted Prime Rib sub? I TOLD you that shit was good. Well, I also recommend the Double Stack Pastrami sub. It’s every bit as dee-lish. I recommend it on wheat with a little lettuce on top. And to go with it? Check this out.

Sweet Hawaiian Style Onion Krunchers are the shizznit, yo.

Da-amn, they’re good. You know what they taste like? Funyuns. I remember eating Funyuns as a kid – that zesty onion crunch in every crispy ring. Well, Krunchers has brought back the same great flavor in this new spin-off of their popular line of kettle-cooked potato chips. It’s in a mauve bag, and I highly recommend you grab one today.








(Did I just use the word "mauve" in a sentence?)

PENDULONIUM!

Check this shit out. If you enjoyed the Kitten Cannon, swing over and check out this bad boy. It’s a little more complicated than point and shoot, but after a few practice clicks you’ll get the hang of it. Hours of mindless fun. See if you can beat 488, Sally!

I’m sure you can if you give it more than 10 minutes. Actually, I’m not so sure you’ll be able to handle it for more than 10 minutes. It’s INTENSE.

Okay, that was a lie. But it’s still a fun time waster. So quit wasting time here and click on the damn link!

[There is a little music in the background, so if you're at work you may want to turn the speakers up so everyone can hear how much fun you're having.]

FIFTEEN DOLLARS OF FAME

So, I asked for some stupid people tricks and received this fine submission. It's a firsthand account of blood plasma donation, which despite its well-intended purpose is still a business. As your broke ass probably already knows, there are clinics all across the country where you can earn a few bucks helping supply blood banks with your vital life juice. One reader's experience was not worth the meager compensation. I would recommend switching to sperm donation except that A.) thanks to the internet, every year I get more and more anonymous father's day cards and B.) the reader is not equipped with the factory-installed equipment for such an undertaking.

Anyhow, here is her account for your files.


************THE PEOPLE WRITE*************


Terry,

I did one of the dumbest things ever yesterday. It, at first, doesn't sound stupid but you can make your own opinion. This is also on my blog.

(I was inspired by you, btw)

Ever heard of Biolife Plasma Services? They buy your plasma. They have a cheery little jingle on the radio ad about how you are a lifesaver and all that.

One of my former co-workers donates regularly and reports that it is easy money. She goes two-three times a week. I *thought* she said she made $45 a pop.

Bored, unemployed, and soon to be broke, I figured "What the hell. I'll give it a try." Easy money baby!

You know how you judge an apartment complex by the kinds of cars you see in the parking spaces? This should have been my first clue.

The second clue was the fact that the two "gentlemen" waiting looked like meth-heads and made me wonder how they got past the "illicit substances" questions.

Third clue is the person that checked me in was a puppy. He was 20, at most, and I feel that was being generous.
So, they took a bunch of information and someone else gave me a "physical" which meant listening to my heart, flashing a light in my eyes and mouth and testing my reflexes. This was clue number 4.

Then it was my turn. You sit in these recliner like things and there are pinball looking machines next to each chair.
First, they have you sign another form. Then they give you the money in this furtive little flourish. A whopping $15. Okay, at this point, I am ready to bail. I have already wasted $15 worth of time. But I am kinda committed at this point.

They hook me up, but not without issues. Let me preface this with the fact that I have freakishly low blood pressure, usually 112/65, which they assured me would not be an issue.

After fiddling with the darning needle in my arm, and not before I told the guy to stop fiddling with said needle, they started the machine. They remind you to repeatedly squeeze your hand when the machine beeps. Well, it is always freaking beeping...and so are the twelve others that are in the same room. So, I should have Popeye forearm muscles in my left arm.

On the time ticks, I am sitting, squeezing, and trying to read, one handed. There is sign that says that wireless internet is available. It took me a minute to realize that a laptop usually takes two hands, thus wireless internet is just a clever distraction technique. Nice try though.

They advised me that they take your blood, then inject saline so that you don't pass out & dehydrate, then inject your plasma-less blood back into you. The saline, they said, will make you cold. As time passes, the guy asks me if I taste metal. What? Apparently, when the saline is injected a person usually tastes metal. Reminiscence of having braces, lucky me. One more reason for me NOT to do this ever again.

Oh, and your lips tingle. Tingle, hypothermia tingle. "But it's common." GREAT.

So, nearly an hour has passed, I am supposed to be done soon and I am getting fidgety. I have already decided that this is SO NOT FOR ME, especially for 15 f&#$ing dollars!

I happen to begin feeling a little, shall I say, disconnected. I looked down at my arm and I noticed blood begin to seep. Now, I am not a doctor, don't even play one on TV, but I know that's not supposed to happen. I tried to get the "nurses" attention and finally did right before I had the "Go toward the light" feeling.

They pulled out the needle and put a cold compress on my arm...but not before disagreeing on whether or not to poke my OTHER arm and inject me with more saline. Now, I am nearly unconscious at this point but I could feel my backbone stiffen. They sure as HELL wasn't going to poke me again!

A cup of water and two ice packs and TLC from a cutie named TJ was the final solution. (Other than the whole vampire thing, I'm crushing a little on TJ.)
Forty-five minutes later, my blood pressure is - no word of a lie - 88/59. Much to my surprise, they let me go home...driving myself, by the way. (because I'm sure the officer will understand)

Needless to say, I felt like poo the rest of the day and frankly, don't feel all that special today. Oh, and I am sporting a nice junkie bruise on my arm.

FOR 15 F#$%ING DOLLARS!

This is definitely in the Top 10 of the Dumbest Things I have EVER Done. Ever.

ARMED AND DANGEROUS

You've undoubtedly seen this photo of the three-armed baby born in China. Doctors have been steeped in debate over whether or not they should remove the infant boy's third arm so he might live a "normal" life. That had some friends of mine thinking - maybe he'd prefer a life less normal. Maybe a third arm wouldn't be such a bad thing.

Let's consider some of the many great things this gifted child might go on to become:







- A bad ass drummer, and three times better than that dude in Def Leppard

- A proud lifetime sponsor for Speedstick

- A very dangerous professional boxer

- An expert juggler

- The most gifted pianist the world has ever known

- A one-man baseball pitching staff - starter, middleman, and reliever. When one arm gets tired, go on to the next one.

- An extremely effective massage therapist

- A super handy handyman


And these occupational considerations don't take into account the many other ways a person might benefit from an extra arm:


Safer driver: Enjoying a hot Starbucks beverage with both hands on the wheel.

Better lover: Whoa! Where'd that extra hand come from. Do that again!

Heavy lifter: Imagine the groceries this guy could lug up two flights of stairs with an extra limb!

Party favor: Don't look now, but that guy over in the corner is triple fisting it.

Sports and music fan: Can actually clap and hold a beer at the same time.

Healthier: How nice to have a designated hand for coughing, sneezing, and wiping only.



And do you know how dangerous this guy would be in a snowball fight?

This third arm "defect" could be an evolutionary gift, the next step in natural selection's plan. Unless, of course, it has no motor function. Then it probably ought to go the way of the tail.

ROYAL BLOOD SPILLS THE BEANS

Apparently the Prince of Monaco gets around. Prince Albert II has formally acknowledged he is the father of a SECOND illegitimate child, a 14-year-old girl living in California. More shocking to me was the fact that this man is the Prince of Monaco. I've always called him Uncle Frank. In addition to his apparent popularity with the ladies, he's also an accomplished dentist and a terror on the bocce court.

Sounds like I need to send another "Welcome to the Family" card off to my new distant cousin in California. Hallmark doesn't make those, by the way. I have to order them special online.

FROM THE ALBUM

Figured you guys might want to see a couple pics of Geri and I, but since I couldn't find any I pulled a couple images from the web that are pretty close.




Geri would be the one on the left.






I am the dashing gent jamming on a six string. I don't play guitar as often as I used to, but I can still rock the block, y'all.






The photo of Geri is from a couple weeks ago. Her new condo unit is a duplex with a runway in it, which is a lot of fun for parties. Sometimes I dress up and pretend I'm Constantine from last year's American Idol. We make our friends vote for us with text messages. Then we all play Scattergories together and laugh until dawn.




I am really too busy to making posts like this.

I AM STILL HERE

I have just been very busy. Enormously busy. Lots going on at work. Lots going on at home. Lots going on everywhere.

Anyhow, I haven't forgot about you. In fact, I think about you often. I will have something mindblowing for you to read soon. I just haven't figured out what exactly. But it's coming. I can feel it deep in my duodenum. Moves kind of like a golf ball when I shift my weight. Was that out loud? Disregard that.

Okay - it's back to work I go. Do something stupid and tell me about it...or send me a fun link I can post. That way I won't feel like such a bad blogger.

NOTES ON LIFE FROM THE BARNYARD

I've had a super busy week at work, which is pretty rare for me. As a result, I haven't had the opportunity to do a whole lot with AYNtK. I'm sure you'll forgive me, though. You really have no choice, the fact being you can't quit me. I'm your brokeback blogger and we have something both forbidden and special.

Anyhow, I'm leaving work early today to visit Wrigley Field for a few hours. I'm told there's going to be a baseball game there, but the way the Cubs have looked so far this year, it figures to be batting practice for the Atlanta Braves. I shouldn't say that with Carlos Zambrano scheduled to take the mound, but it's hard to get excited about a team so deeply steeped in futility. Sad, really, considering how a couple of years ago they were on the brink of the World Series. Just another familiar page in the book of "How to Lose With and Without Grace." Mark, that is.

I really don't have a whole lot else to tell you this week. Nothing I feel comfortable sharing here, anyhow. No underwear stories. No bathroom jokes. No masturbatory feats of wonder. So in the absence of substance, I will share with you an e-mail I received from Dr. Barnyard Friend, long time buddy and professional manscaper. I enjoyed his summary of the state of the union, particularly since he hails from a Republican stronghold...

****** Dr. Barnyard Friend writes:

It does seem to be a low point in American history. Right now Americans seem to lack optimism. The nightly news is all bad, all the time, and I don't watch. In the late 90's, as much as certain segments of the population hated Clinton, people seemed to be much happier and have a more optimistic outlook on life. Maybe its because we're at war, but I think it's more than that. It just seems like everybody is pissed in general. To make it worse no one has come forth with a compelling plan to end our involvement in Iraq and make it all better in general.

On a more personal side, the policies of this admin have impacted my livelihood directly. The NIH, which funds most of the academic research, enjoyed annual increases in its budget n the 90's. Big increases. The last few years, these increases have tailed off and this year plateaued. B/C most grants are 3-5 years in duration and have an annual 3% hike built in, this year has been killer. Ongoing grants are not getting their full budgets renewed and people paid throught those grants have been down-sized. Fewer grants have been funded. Those that get funded have their budgets slashed. The NIH used to fund around 25% of the proposals it rec'd. Now its like 10%.

I realize that sacrifices have to be made to make sure that the war can be fought. But this is the pipeline that will come up with drugs to save lives and improve our quality of life.

Scientists will become more efficient, find other sources of funds, and the strong will survive. But when its your job on the line, it is hard to see it that way.

Have a good Friday.

**********


Thanks, Barnyard. Keep up the fight. I want some of those drugs you are making. Not today, silly. But maybe next weekend.

LIVIN' LA VIDA POKA

The good news is, he's fucking guilty as charged. The bad news is that he's going to become an even less productive member of society, wasting away the final days of his life and costing us even MORE money than he already has. Bastard. Shouldn't he be sentenced to mowing lawns or something (with a push-blade mower) for the rest of his life?

There's a pretty big list of people who'd be happy to let him.

PLEASE ENTER YOUR PASSWORD, THEN PRESS POUND

Don't you hate people who call but don't leave a message? Go ahead and let me know why you're calling. It's okay. Really.

But the problem for me may be the phone itself. I don't like phones. I never really have. It's in my genetic code. Don't ask my doctor about that, though - he would deny it. But I know. I am just not a phone person. A lot of people are phone people. Other people are e-mail people. Some people are Instant Message people. Some people are Text Message people. And a few people still prefer doing things the old-fashioned way, sending letters via the pony express. Not a lot of people - but some. I don't know how many. Four maybe. Enough questions already!

In my experience, and generally speaking, girls tend to be phone people and boys tend to be anything but phone people. I don't know exactly why this would be the case, but I don't know too many girls who would prefer an e-mail to a phone call. I do know a lot of guys who would rather have a 45 minute colonoscopy than a 45 minute conversation. This is not to say that all boys hate the phone, or that all girls love the phone. In fact, I know that Geri, for one, isn't a big fan of the phone - largely because she spends a good deal of her time on the phone for work. The last thing she wants some days is to sit on the phone after hours of sitting on the phone. And while I have a strong preference for e-mail, I do enjoy calls from close friends upon occasion.

I think if you polled communications preferences by gender you'd find a far higher percentage of women preferring the phone to e-mail, and more men preferring e-mail than women. But even while communucation preference may skew by gender, the important thing I like to keep in mind is that all people are different and if I need something from someone, it's to my advantage to communicate with them in the way they prefer. Likewise, if they want something from me, they know to e-mail...because I really only answer my phone for three people: Geri, my mom, and my sister.

Sadly, bridging the communications divide isn't always possible, especially when two hard-headed people refuse to compromise. For example, I have a friend who won't read or return e-mails. I don't know why he bothers having an account, but he has one. He fashions himself more of a phone guy - but he never answers his phone, either, and is averse to dialing out. So he's really more of a "leave me a message and maybe I'll show up" guy. To each their own, I suppose.

Unfortunately, there are people like me in the world who won't use the phone unless the building is burning down. And even then it's not until after the fire department doesn't respond to my e-mail. I can't help it...I'm a writer. I write all day long every day. It's my full time job. It's my hobby. It's my passion. I write, therefore I e-mail. Why would I call when I can express myself so much clearer in an e-mail?

Anyhow, I coordinate my social life via online communications. Cubs games, concerts, volleyball leagues, Whirlyball, poker games, camping trips - you name it. If I make plans to do something, it's via e-mail. But because my friend doesn't check his e-mail, he doesn't receive my invitations until it's too late. I haven't seen or heard from the guy for close to year now. We just don't keep in touch because I won't call and he won't write. I bet you have a few relationships like this.

Think about the people you know and how you are in contact with them.

People who e-mail you all the time, but never call.
People who call from time to time, but don't respond to e-mail.
People who don't answer their phone - it always goes to voicemail.
People who don't return e-mails, regardless of what you write.
People who love sending text messages instead of calling.
People who prefer chatting online to chatting on the phone.
People who reply to e-mails with two words: "Call me"
People who haven't heard from in years, but e-mail all the time.
People who only call you when they're drunk.
People who try to text message an entire phone conversation rather than call.
People who call but never leave a fucking message.
People who ignore text messages because they refuse to learn how to do it.

Some of these people are communicatively incompatible. And socially, all that means is some folks don't end up hanging out as often. But in the working world it means a problem with productivity.

I've seen people in the workplace trying to condition their clients and coworkers to communicate in the way they want to be communicated. People will respond to voice mails with e-mails, and to e-mails with voice mails. They'll ignore calls, waiting for an e-mail, and ignore e-mails hoping for a call. And this dance will go on for days, or weeks sometimes, until someone finally calls a meeting and everyone is forced to talk about shit out in the open. Why can't we all just agree to communicate the same way - with clicks and whistles.

Interesting how people are all so different, and how technology, for how convenient it has made communication, has also served to divide us. I know phone people are irritated by e-mail people like me, just like e-mail folks are frustrated by phone people. Why can't we all just get along? What a wonderful world it would be!

Personally, I'd almost always prefer to communicate face-to-face. But since this is so seldom possible, I'm forced to choose the technology I am most comfortable with. Before the Internet, the phone and post office were your only real options. Now there are so many other ways to stay in touch.

From now on I'm communicating with smoke signals only. If you want me for something, better start fanning those flames.

THINGS YOU DON'T HEAR EVERY DAY

"Whatever happened to Ricki Lake?"