THERE'S A NEW SHERIFF IN TOWN

This is some great shit.

There’s a Sheriff in Arizona by the name of Joe Arpaio who’s a real ball breaker. Just the kind of guy the law enforcement community needs. And thanks to his no-nonsense approach to corrections, he’s been re-elected over and over again by the justice-minded folks of the Grand Canyon State. You may have heard about him already. I only recently did, so I dug around a bit to verify he was the real deal. Oh - he's real alright. Check this out.

Sheriff Joe’s methods may sound a little unorthodox – but they’ve made him the most popular guy around. Well, except for at the Maricopa County Jail. That’s Joe's turf. And it’s there that Joe created something called “tent city” – an outdoor jail where inmates sleep on cots in tents, and wear PINK shorts and socks. He said inmates were stealing his prison-issued underwear, so he dyed them pink. It must really soften these folks up around the edges.

Sheriff Joe decided to feed his convicts bologna sandwiches to knock jail meals down to 40 cents a serving. An independent source actually estimates the meals cost just 20 cents. That saves the taxpayers in his state a lot of money. He also cut off all coffee because he says it has zero nutritional value. Joe is a certified dietician, too. Okay - maybe not...but it's still his fucking prison.

America's toughest sheriff also put an end to cigarettes and pornography. Because smoking stinks, and porn is a privilege. He also took away their weights. He must figure his inmates will be less of a menace to society if they’re not all built like linebackers when they get out. He cut off all but G-rated movies because everybody knows how movies can glorify violent behavior. So the only "Babe" HIS jailbirds get to feast their eyes on is the precocious pig.

That’ll do, Joe. That’ll do.

He then started chain gangs so inmates could provide free labor for county and city projects. After that he started up chain gangs for women (so he wouldn’t get sued for discrimination). He tried to take away cable TV, but a federal court later ordered there be cable TV access for all jails. So he hooked up the cable TV again, but only let in the Disney Channel and the Weather Channel. When asked why he allowed in The Weather Channel, he said it was so his inmates would “know how hot it’s gonna to be while they’re working on my chain gangs.”

When the inmates complained, Joe told them, “This isn't the Ritz-Carlton. If you don't like it, don't come back.”

But Joe didn’t stop there. He bought Newt Gingrich’s lecture series on videotape so he could pipe it into the jails. Unusually cruel if you ask me.

With temperatures climbing to 116 degrees, the AP recently reported that about 2,000 of his inmates living in “tent city” were given permission to strip down to their pink boxer shorts. Many were also draped in wet, pink towels as they perspired in the desert sun.

"It feels like we are in a furnace," said one inmate who'd been living in the tents for 1 1/2 years. "It's inhumane."

Joe Arpaio doesn't give a shit about comfort. He says that he told all of his inmates: "It's 120 degrees in Iraq and our soldiers are living in tents, too, and they have to wear full battle gear, but they didn't commit any crimes, so shut your damned mouths!"

You go, Joe.

Some people think if all prisons were like this one, there would be a lot less crime - or, at least a lot fewer repeat offenders. I don't know how true that is - but I do like Joe's approach. Jail is supposed to be punishment...not a place to relax, eat for free, watch television, and work out. Joe's inmates can't get too comfortable behind bars because Joe won't let them. And not because he doesn't care about people. He also created something called the School of Hard Knocks to help inmates get their high school diplomas. And his drug rehab program is a reported success. So Joe's doing something right - wouldn't you say?

You can read up on the mass e-mail that’s been going around here:

http://www.truthorfiction.com/rumors/m/miracopjail.htm

Or get more right from the horse’s mouth:

http://www.reelectjoe.com/

A TASTEFUL MURDER

Mass murderer and all-purpose freak, Dennis Rader, began serving a life sentence today for the “BTK” sex-murders that terrorized the heartland for 17 years. For his heinous crimes, Dennis the Menace was sentenced to 10 consecutive life terms…with no chance of parole for 175 years. I don’t know why they bother mentioning that he becomes eligible for parole in 175 years – he would have to live to be 235. I’m sure it’s just a formality, but it’s beside the point. Allow me to simplify his sentence by reporting that Denny’s last gasp will be behind bars. And that’s all you need to know about that.

So who WAS this horrible butcher?

A.) An ex-rodeo clown and grenade enthusiast
B.) A former marine and comic book aficionado
C.) A mysterious transient with an I.Q. of 157
D.) A former church congregation president and Boy Scout leader

Sorry - did I make it too obvious? What gave it away, the church president or the Boy Scout leader?

If you’re wondering about his nickname, BTK…well, he gave it to himself. It stands for “bind, torture and kill.” Please don't confuse this maniac with the “BK killer,” otherwise known as the Double Whopper with Cheese – a gluttonous fast food offering that packs a heart-stopping 1060 calories. The BK killer doesn’t torture – it just binds and kills. Slowly. Pleasantly. It's an execution in good taste, really. The BK Killer satisfies you for years before delivering its surprise death blow. Taking a bite out of crime has never been so delicious!

EMINEMPTY

Grammy-winning rapper Eminem canceled his European tour this week, citing exhaustion. He is reportedly to undergo treatment for a sleeping pill problem. Many critics suggest he is not taking enough of them.

THIS IS CORNY

Here's an aerial view of Pieter DeHond's cow pasture in Canandaigua, N.Y. The divorced father of two planted this wishful message out of corn back in May.

If any single ladies are interested in this pop agriculturalist, he's all ears.

No stalkers please.

FOR YOU!

You don't have to be a Philadelphia Eagles fan to appreciate this one. Another starving multi-million dollar athlete holds out for more money...

http://www.foryouto.com/pages/1/index.htm

SPAM HUMOR FOR YOU

According to a new sex study, the most common sexual position for married couples is a doggie style.

Specifically, the husband sits up and begs...while the wife rolls over and plays dead. 

STOP AND GO ME

I’ve been having one of those days.

One of those days you just don’t feel yourself. One of those days that makes you want to bury your head in the sand. I don’t quite understand it. I got plenty of sleep last night. I’m not hungover. I even shit twice today. On any other day I’d be celebrating the daily double with a ticker tape parade. Not today. Today I feel out of it for no good reason. I just woke up in a haze that’s followed me around like that dizzying brown dust cloud that shadows Pigpen in the Peanuts comic strip.

Maybe my circadian rhythms are off.
Maybe I need some chocolate.
Maybe I need some really good news.
Maybe I just need a hug.

Maybe it’s just my birthday.

Yes, another full run around the sun complete. The years certainly do fly by the older you get. When I was a kid, summer camp seemed like it lasted forever. Now it feels like summer’s coming to an end before it ever began. Life is getting faster, and I don’t know that I like that. I want everything to slow down so I can appreciate more. So I can take my time doing the things I enjoy. So I can catch my breath. So I can enjoy the wonderful company of the person I call me.

What’s the deal with time? And what's the big rush? Where’s everybody running to? Why is tomorrow so important when all we really ever have is right now?

There is nothing tangible in tomorrow. I can’t smell tomorrow. I can’t taste it. I can’t feel it. I can only imagine tomorrow.

Right now, on the other hand, I can smell, taste, and feel.
Right now is always and forever.
Right now everything is slowing down.
Right now I feel ageless.

Now THIS is a happy birthday.

Go me...

EITHER OAR

Attended my annual “rafting” trip in Wisconsin a couple of weekends ago. I attach quotation marks to “rafting” because it’s really more of a drinking trip, on which there is some rafting. It’s an adventure I embark upon once a year – a chance to see people I only see once a year, to test the stowage capacity of my liver, and to challenge a curious fear of running water. Yeah – it’s bad. You should see me in the shower. On second thought, better that you not.

Anyhow, this year’s trip was another screaming success. And I wasn’t the only one doing the screaming. A lot of people fell out of their inflatable two-man rafts on the ride down the Wolf River, which was as low and slow as I’ve seen it in over 15 years. Fortunately, no one was seriously injured. Except for Steve, who managed to twist his knee on the final descent – a harrowing drop over Big Smokey Falls. The jury is still out as to what was more responsible for his injury – the falls, or the alcohols. Plural intentional.

This year I rafted with my girlfriend, Geri. She’d done this kind of thing before…on the far faster and more incommodious Peshtigo River. So she was no rookie. Geri is also a firm believer that rowing should result in a forward movement. Or, at least that rowing should result in movement that is not a 360-degree spin. Unfortunately, in my experience, this isn’t always possible when traversing rocks and branches, other rafters, and a fickle current. Add a little booze to the mix and we started out about as compatible rafting as Mensa and NASCAR. By Wolf’s end, however, we were negotiating the rapids like seasoned veterans. And in spite of finishing off several gallons of mystery spirits during the journey, we both managed to remain in our raft the entire time. That may have been a first for me, actually.


Here is an action photo of me, taken by Geri. It's easy to see what she sees in me. Underneath that rented life jacket is a buff, traveled sportsman!














I remember thinking at one point how life isn’t a whole lot unlike that river. Sometimes it’s cruising along quickly…other times it’s dragging slowly. Sometimes you’re sailing along unimpeded…other times you’re snagged on the rocks and can’t push yourself free. Sometimes you’re fighting the current, struggling to stay afloat…other times you’re lazily drifting about without a care in the world. It was interesting to me – how that familiar river had suddenly become a metaphor for my life. With a little communication and lots of hard work, we navigated our way from launch to drop without a hitch. And that’s life. Sometimes I can’t help but appreciate the perspective afforded by a good metaphor, however overdone.

But let’s get back to the literal world where the Wolf River is just a body of dirty water that winds through a Menominee Indian Reservation. This year we had over 50 people in attendance. That’s a pretty average year. Back in the mid-90’s we actually broke 100 a few times. With everyone getting married and having children, fewer people find the time to make it up. Again, c’est la vie. As their children get older, I suspect former rafters will be back. I’ve already seen it start to happen. Sooner or later, everyone heeds the call of the Wolf. You can only refuse fun so many times before it finally gets pissed and drags you out of the house.

This year, as is customary, everyone took Friday off of work and drove north into east central Wisconsin. We all met in a huge field, pitched our tents, and commenced partying like Nick Nolte. We kicked it Civil War style all day and night, grilling out, playing games, singing songs, and goosing each other in the flickering firelight – all without the threat of a Confederate invasion. It was much better than the Civil War ever was. At least that’s what my past life regression advisor tells me.

Saturday morning we all woke up hung over and started drinking. It was quite a spectacle, actually. Dozens of self-medicated partygoers staggering around like zombies in the white light of morning, vainly trying to recount details from the night before while mindlessly filling up plastic jugs with liquor and ice for a day of unbridled debauchery. Now that’s dedication.

Once we were outfitted for a good float downstream, we piled into our vehicles for a 25-minute drive down to Big Smokey Falls. That’s where we got our first look at the final descent – and panicked imagining our rafts plummeting over its frothing precipice. 15 years of rafting over that falls and I still get a pit in my stomach when I see it – which is silly, actually. I got a dose of perspective this year from my friend’s 11-year-old son who was flipped out of his raft while going over the falls. On the ride back to camp he proudly declared, “Falling out is the best part!” It may be time to acknowledge the very likely possibility that I am a big pussy.

From Big Smokey Falls we boarded an old, beat-up school bus that drove us up river for the leisurely 8-hour float back down. I should note that it’s not all a “float” ride downstream. There are SOME rapids. And people do fall out from time to time. Curiously, it seems the more people have to drink, the more likely they are to fall out of the raft. I wonder if there is a correlation?

That evening, after everyone had successfully traversed the final falls, we all headed back to camp, showered up (this is 21st century camping, people), and fired up our grills for a final feast. I made chorizo tacos that had our campsite smelling like a greasy Mexican spoon. They were fantastic, I must say – just ask anyone who agrees with me.

As darkness fell, Geri and I passed out peacefully in our separate tents under a star-filled sky. Okay – that’s not entirely true. But the sky did have a lot of stars in it. A lot of people don’t care for camping because they find the sleeping arrangements uncomfortable. Not me. I love camping because the sleeping arrangements are uncomfortable. The fun part is making things as amenable as you can get them with what little you have. We had an air mattress, a couple of sleeping bags, a couple of dewy pillows, plenty of extra clothes, and each other to pass the hours of night in comfort. Who needs more than that? Actually, now that I think about it, a portable space heater would have come in handy. But besides the unanticipated temperature drop, I had little problem sleeping. Another one of the many benefits of tequila.

Still alive after 16 less-than-extreme naval expeditions – and already looking forward to next year!

MR. JONES AND ME

Geri and I were chatting last night and she used the word “Jonesing” to describe a powerful urge she was having (let's call the object of her urge "chocolate"). Anyhow, she then wondered aloud where this term originated. Surprisingly, her know-it-all boyfriend did not have an answer. So I told her I’d hunt one down, as I value knowing obscure things almost as much as I value sharing the obscure things I know.

We all know what “Jonesing” means, right? It’s popularly utilized in connection with drugs or other items to which people develop strong cravings and desires. It’s most often used as a verb – “to Jones.” Although, it would not be incorrect to say that Michael Jackson has been accused of acting upon an inappropriate Jonesing. Noun.

Our question was not what the word means, but rather, where in fuck did it come from? Who is this magnetic Jones character? And why do we invoke his/her name whenever we feel drawn to a particular sensation or experience? I’ve been Jonesing to play a little basketball. I’m Jonesing for a super fat Reuben sandwich with extra saurkraut. I’m Jonesing for just one drag off that cigarette. I’m Jonesing for a delicious slice of cherry pie. I’m Jonesing for that next season of Survivor. (Hell the fuck yeah)

Who’s this Jones cat?

I dug around a little online. What did I find? Very little, actually. Everywhere I looked I found definitions of the expression, but no explanations of WHY. Finally, I stumbled upon a website called www.word-detective.com. The author apparently hunts down the meanings and origins of figures of speech and other interesting words/phrases for curious and perplexed readers. From the site I was able to gather a bit of background.

The verb “jones” is of African-American origin, and was introduced as slang back in the 60’s. Originally, it was as a noun that meant “a drug addiction, especially to heroin.” Why Jones? It is believed this name may have caught on because the term “Mister Jones” was a common euphemism for the local heroin pusher. Again, why “Jones” was chosen as a euphemism for heroin pusher eludes immediate explanation. Maybe there was an actual guy named Jones who got a lot of people high back in the day. All I know is, I’ll never hear the Counting Crows song “Mr. Jones” the same again.

Anyhow, that’s where the term “Jonesing” comes from.

DROPPING A DEUCE

In case you've never read one, Roger Ebert's zero-star reviews are the best. You gotta love it when a movie is described as "aggressively bad." Just when you thought the Dukes of Hazzard was the worst movie of the week...

http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20050811/REVIEWS/50725001

THINK TANKERS

An F.B.I. terrorism task force in Los Angeles has warned that "Al Qaeda leaders plan to employ various types of fuel trucks as vehicle-borne improvised explosive devices in an effort to cause mass casualties in the U.S. prior to the 19th of September. Attacks are planned specifically for New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles. It is unclear whether the attacks will occur simultaneously or be spread out over a period of time, and the goal of the attack is to collapse the U.S. economy."

This warning was issued after an overseas source indicated that terrorists might seek to steal fuel tanker trucks to inflict "mass casualties" by staging an anniversary attack. Despite this threat, there are no immediate plans to raise the national threat level.

As someone who lives in Chicago and could do without a large-scale attack, I would like to encourage all truck drivers to use the Club when stopping at the Waffle House. And don't pick up hitchhikers. And lock your doors. And if someone DOES manage to spirit off in your rig with a hefty payload of flammable materials, don't call the union first. Report it to the authorities immediately.

That is all.

GONE FISSION

The U.N.’s nuclear watchdog agency adopted a resolution today calling on Iran to halt all nuclear fuel development. I think the official memo read something to the effect of: “Cut it out!”

The International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) was concerned Iran was revving up its nuclear facilities for some good-old fashioned weapon making, so it issued an edict of cease and desist. As you might imagine, the folks in Iran are not pleased.

Iran claims it has every right to pursue nuclear power, as atomic energy is a relatively clean and efficient way to generate electricity. Seems like a reasonable argument to me. Why should only a select few countries be permitted to reap the benefits of nuclear power? Unfortunately, the subject of uranium is bathed in gray.

At the heart of the issue is the popular backyard pastime of Uranium Enrichment. You may have tried it back when you were a kid, with mixed success. Today it seems like everybody’s getting into it. The North Koreans. the Iranians. Martha Stewart. Wait. I think Martha may actually be more into geraniums. I'll need to check my source on that to be sure. Anyhow, this is a delicate issue because uranium enrichment isn’t a game. It’s playing God with nature and can have potentially devastating consequences. Let’s discuss uranium for a moment, shall we? It'll be fun, I promise. And you'll learn something really cool!

It’s simple. Uranium is a very heavy, dense metal that’s found in most rocks. It pretty common, actually – as abundant as tin and tungsten in the earth’s surface. It is believed uranium was formed in a supernova billions of years ago, but it wasn't discovered until 1789 - by some unimaginative German who named it after the planet Uranus, which had been discovered 8 years earlier. It's powerful potential would not be fully realized or appreciated until the 20th century, after squads of meddlesome and enterprising physicists figured out how to tamper with the building blocks of matter. Now it's at the center of global politics as an element of concern.

Uranium's radioactive decay is what makes it so special. In fact, this decay is what provides the main source of heat inside our planet’s core. Of course, I could be making that up for all you know. But I’m not. Really. Go look it up. On the scale of naturally occurring elements, where Helium is the lightest, Uranium is the heaviest. And when the nucleus of a Uranium atom is split (this is called fission), energy is produced in the form of heat. A chain reaction of atoms splitting can create a whole lot of heat with very little uranium. This heat is then used to make steam, which generates electricity. It’s all very simple, really. I did it in my bathtub once with some Brillo pads and a home Fission kit.

Did you know that one nuclear reactor can provide enough electricity for a million people? In fact, the fission from a single atom of uranium produces 10 million times the energy produced by the combustion of an atom of carbon from coal. Yeah – uranium is an extremely powerful power source.

Most people don’t realize how important nuclear energy has become. Ten years ago, the U.S. had 109 licensed power reactors that generated about 20% of our country’s electricity. With supplies of natural resources increasingly in question, many believe nuclear energy represents the most reliable future source of energy. It’s also better for the environment. In 2003, 83% of all U.S. greenhouse gas emissions resulted from the combustion of fossil fuels like coal, petroleum and natural gas. Emission-free, nuclear-generated electricity, on the other hand, spares the release of nearly 700 million metric tons of carbon dioxide EACH YEAR.

The benefits of nuclear power are not a secret. Plenty of other countries use nuclear power to generate much higher percentages of their nation’s electricity than the US. In France, 78% of their electricity is nuclear. In Sweden, 50%. All in all, over 16% of the world’s electricity is a product of uranium.

So why can’t Iran enrich uranium to provide electricity? Is it because highly enriched uranium can also be used to make powerful weapons? Not exactly. It’s because nobody trusts they won’t do it.

Some people, like me, can’t help but wonder why they’d need nuclear power when they’re sitting on top of one of the world’s largest oil reserves. They’ve got secure access to more natural resources than they could possibly ever use – and they’re building a nuclear reactor to generate electricity? You don't need an abacus to know something doesn't add up.

Magnanimously, the UN didn’t demand Iran quit uranium cold turkey. Instead, they’ve been given until September to lay off the atomic shit. So Iran is on the uranium patch.

My guess is that they’re not going to comply. And then sanctions will be imposed, after which the Iranian people will grow resentful of the “oppressive” world community. The threat of force will follow, and they’ll thumb their noses with nationalist pride at the Security Council…just as Saddam Insane had done. As tensions rise, Iran will declare all atomic operations suspended, and lodge a series of formal objections before the General Assembly. Inspection teams will be deployed to determine if they’re secretly producing weapons-grade fuel, but evidence will be harder to find than a good review of the Dukes of Hazzard movie. Hans Blix will write a book. Richard Butler will write a book. Jimmy Carter will pray for peace. George Bush will declare Iran a grave and gathering "NUKULAR" threat that must be confronted before it is too late. Michael Moore will stop eating to start his next big project: an answer to Morgan Spurlock’s “Supersize Me” in which he eats nothing but salads and fish for 30 days, losing half his weight including the massive the chip on his shoulder.

And you and I will continue to pay $2.76 per gallon for gas because big business refuses to explore alternative sources of energy. Like uranium.

WANT A WEEKLY REMINDER?

As most of you know, I used to dump all of my thoughts into an e-mail and jettison them to hundreds and hundreds of people around the world every week. Since finding this format, however, I’ve only used my weekly e-mail blast to remind people to check in every so often. Many of you are already on the reminder list (because you appreciate the weekly nudge). But some of you may have stumbled upon this site by pure accident (fate), or because someone you love wanted to share something they love. So if you are not on the list and would like a weekly reminder to check back, you can subscribe here:

http://lists.topica.com/lists/AYNtK/

When I went to Topica to sign up for my list, I discovered I was a “Topica Pick.” Apparently, AYNtK has been designated a good read by the editors at Topica.com. According to their site, the little bug they placed next to AYNtK “indicates that a list has won Topica's pick for valuable content. Topica Picks are the most intriguing, amusing, useful and informative lists in their category.”

Well, I’ll be dipped in shit.

START ME UP

Broadcast network ABC signed the Rolling Stones to a season-long contract promoting Monday Night Football. The network plans to feature music and video footage of the legendary rock band in its promotional campaigns and highlight reels. So let me get this straight, the new season of American football is going to be ushered in by a group of old British guys? Okay then...just making sure.

STROKE IT

"That kid's got a break like a thunderclap."

- The Color of Money


http://axifer.com/portfolio/billiards.html

THE IMPOSSIBLE DREAM

TALKING PICTURES

It’s not often, but every once in awhile I find a product or service I don’t mind crowing about. Blockbuster.com is one such service. Since I've never been accused of keeping things short, here's my long-winded explanation of why.

I fought the monthly online rental service for some time before finally signing up. I tend to be a late adopter when there’s a monthly fee involved. I guess I figure if I’m going to put you on my payroll, you’ve got to prove yourself first. The only thing Blockbuster had ever proven to me was that they could cleverly rename a late fee a "restocking fee" and then announce to the world that late fees were no more. Anyone hungry for a scam sandwich?

But beyond that, I wasn't sure if monthly was going to make sense given my rental habits. I felt I was better off renting DVDs when I felt like it, instead of paying up front and hoping I’d get my money’s worth over the course of a month. But the kid behind the counter at Blockbuster was kind enough (if slightly smug) to point out that I had rented 7 movies in a single month. I got his subtle point almost immediately: my rental strategy was not a cost-effective one.

At $4.26 per rental (yes, that’s what Blockbuster now charges me to RENT a movie), I’d spent $30 in rentals – when I could have rented the same number (or more) for half of that through Blockbuster.com.

I signed up the very next day. Since then, I must admit I have found the service a convenient one. For $14.99, I get unlimited rentals delivered to my house, complete with postage-paid return envelopes. I can be in possession of three DVDs at a time and hold them for as long as I want without penalty (I’m sure there’s something in the fine print for people who insist on testing this policy). There are no restocking fees – I just watch them at my leisure and when I am done, I drop them in the post and wait for my next feature to arrive. I’ve filled my online queue with movies I want to see and log in weekly to peruse new releases. And instead of having to trek outside on a whim, my girlfriend and I always have three DVDs atop her television – movies we’ve selected either together or individually – to watch whenever we want. It’s easy, convenient, and cost-effective.

Now, there is another service like this one that you may have heard about called Netflix. It was started well before blockbuster.com and operates in much the same fashion: a monthly fee for unlimited rentals. A friend of mine tells me they have a broader selection of movies, but I’m not qualified to speak to that. I can only submit that with my Blockbuster.com membership I get two free in-store rentals every month. That way if I don’t feel like waiting for a movie to show up, or get the spontaneous urge to see something “right fucking now,” I can hoof it over to my local brick-and-mortar outlet and pick it up for nothing. Netflix, having no freestanding stores, can’t offer that. Just this week I had the sudden inclination to introuduce a 5-year-old to the magic of Spielberg's E.T. So I printed off a coupon, headed over to Blockbuster, and walked out with a DVD. Convenient and cost-effective.

They do have different plans for different people. If you only want to rent a single movie at a time, they'll start you off at just $9.99. I prefer having a choice, and a lineup of options atop the tube...so I'm on board for the "3-at-a-time" program. If you're a movie renter, I recommend checking it out!

The End

THE GREAT UNKNOWN

There are just some things in life we're not meant to understand. I really believe that. Like sinus medication. How can it be the remedy for both a runny and a stuffy nose? I just don't get it. Whether you're all clogged up or flowing like a mountain stream, the same little pill is supposed to stabilize things in snot central. The whole idea confuses me. I'm better off not thinking about it. Better I ponder something I may one day have the answer for - like how people are able to tolerate (if not enjoy) the smell of their own gas, but hack and gasp with disgust at the slightest hint of someone else's. Mysteries. Life is full of mysteries...

WHO'S THE MAN?

I mean, really. Honestly. Who is THE MAN?



http://www.crapville.com/media_videos12/utheman.wmv

(or click the header)


Now you know.

LIAR, LIAR

Stats on fire!

MY MIND'S "I"

Your brain has a very important job. It creates order where there is chaos. I imagine in my brain there is a little version of me, almost as charming and handsome, sitting behind a very large desk in a corner office, making important life decisions while efficiently filing away the details of every exchange and interaction for future reference. To protect his identity, I'm just going to call him Little Me.

Little Me works very hard in the office of my mind, for very little thanks, and even less pay. But he gets a lot of sleep and free beer – so he’s good.

In addition to being a terrible thing to waste, the mind also happens to be a terribly busy place to work. Little Me sits in a big leather chair with a big red stamp pad, sifting through countless requests day after day…granting those most necessary, delaying those that can wait, sending on to committee those that require further consideration, and rejecting the rest in the blink of an eye. Little Me pushes a lot of paper in a day, but is not just a paper pusher. Little Me is the VP of Operations for Life Management Systems – he's the man behind the man.

Running the body’s business is a demanding job. The office of the mind receives endless requests from all over – the bladder office, the belly plant, and the bowel mine…just to name a few. And then there are all kinds of requests from other bodies to consider. I can only be in one place at one time, and someone has to make that very important call. Where to go, who to see, what to say, how to get there – it’s all got to go through Little Me.

Little Me is the primary contact on such important life decisions as: Do I buy this CD even though I’ve only heard one song? Do I eat this day-old sushi? Should I work out or take a nap? Is it too late to call? Am I done wiping? Where did I leave my keys? What’s that smell, is it me, and should I be concerned? How much more back hair is going to warrant a wax? How much should I tip?

On Little Me’s desk sits a massive stack of papers. Every new task is a memo sheet. Every new need is a purchase order. Every new introduction is a resume. Little Me efficiently files all of these papers without my even thinking about it. Sometimes the papers get mixed up – like when I mistake someone’s name. Sometimes they get lost – like when I forget a dentist appointment. And sometimes Little Me ends up with so many pieces of paper on his desk he gets overwhelmed and walks out on me. That’s usually when I proclaim something like “I’m losing my mind!” I’m not actually losing my mind – I’ve just lost control of it temporarily. When Little Me comes back after his ten minute smoke break, everything will be cool again. I just need to get by while Little Me is out of the office.

As you can see, Little Me has a big job. He calls the shots…even if the rest of me doesn’t always comply. Consider the situation in my pants. Every morning I wake up with a mature sequoia sprouting from my loins. Little Me has made it clear that he’s got nothing to do with that bodily function. That whole department, I’ve been told, has got a mind of its own.

I recently sent a memo to Little Me to let him know he’s doing a fantastic job. I also suggested a policy of using paper clips instead of staples. For as long as I can remember, Little Me has been using staples to keep things together. When he needs to place a face with a name, he staples them together. When he needs to file a restaurant, an address, a memory, and a newspaper review together, he staples them. Stapling effectively ensures that all of those pieces of information stay together for quick retrieval. But it’s hard to update your files when everything is stapled together. Paper clips, on the other hand, ensure pieces of information stay together with less permanence. That way you can add new information, and swap out the old for the new. It’s simply a better way of doing things.

I’ve already noticed my paper clip policy has been streamlining operations. Here’s an example. My belly used to send endless requests for food. Little Me would pull the file to review the list of approved vendors: tacos, pizza, potato chips, cheese sticks, nachos, bratwurst, patty melt, gyros, biscuits and gravy, and so on. A purchase order would then be completed, a transaction made, and the belly would receive a shipment of approved food. Everything in the Approved Foods file was stapled together, so Little Me was able to reference his options quickly.

What Little Me didn’t realize was how a single staple made him reluctant to update his file. Adding new vendors would have created mayhem in the Approved Foods file because all of the loose sheets would have defeated the purpose of stapling. It would have meant more work to sift through all of those papers, or to remove staples and re-staple the entire stack every time a new option was added. Since switching to paperclips, Little Me has been adding all sorts of healthier alternatives to the Approved Foods file: Boca Burgers, grapefruit, salad, fish, Sun Chips, etc. And not only is the Belly pleased, but so are the bowels, the heart, and the brain.

There are a lot of files in the office of the mind. And a lot of them contain a lot of papers – things I tell myself I need to “keep in mind.” Instead of stapling everything for order’s sake and becoming a rigid thinker, I’m now using binder clips to keep everything together. With binder clips, I’m free to experience new things. I can see other points of view. I can appreciate things I never noticed before. I can approach problems from a new angle. Staples had created bureaucracy – requests of the mind were processed reflexively for order and speed. Paper clips have opened up the mind to new possibilities.

Sometimes people will see me doing something out of the ordinary, like drinking tequila with a straw, and ask me, “Are you out of your mind?” I really don’t have an answer for them other than to say, “My VP of Operations for Life Management has ditched staples in favor of paper clips to afford me new experiences like this one.” That usually answers their question.

A lot of people like to think they know what’s best for me. And they’re not shy about letting me know. “Your socks don’t match – I hope you don’t mind me saying so.” Do I mind? I run that request by Little Me who is in charge of the mind. But Little Me is too preoccupied with finding a restroom (the result of an earlier decision to eat day-old sushi) to mind and has issued this memo: Mind your own fucking business. So I reply kindly, “No, I don’t mind at all. Thanks for letting me know.”

Do you have any idea who’s staffing the office of your mind right now? Little You? Little You is clearly taking a break if you are reading this. He or she has decided it’s time for a little light entertainment and is out back smoking dope with the cafeteria bus boys. Don’t be alarmed – Little You will be back shortly and you’ll be able to resume normal operations.

And that brings me, at long last, to my whole point. Every once in a while you need to give Little You an evaluation. I’m not talking about staples versus paper clips here. I’m talking about a performance review. Does Little You keep you fed, clothed, and rested? Are you otherwise generally satisfied and content? Has Little You been steering you in a positive direction? Are you happy? If so, then give your VP of Operations a raise. Keep Little You happy so you don’t end up losing your mind.

On the other hand, however, if you think Little You has been falling asleep on the job, making poor decisions, and taking you down a path toward ruin, then it may be time to consider bringing in a fresh perspective. Remember – you can ALWAYS change your mind.

Not me. I know he’s not perfect, but Little Me gets the job done. And he’s cheap. So I just signed him to a long-term contract. Hey - it's hard to find good help these days.

So I guess you could say I’ve made up my mind for good.

MEATY CONFESSION

I never thought it would happen to me. But it did. My friends, I’ve been living a lie for nearly a year now and can’t bear to keep this secret any longer.

I’ve felt ashamed to admit what I am about to reveal. Honestly, there have been days I couldn’t even bear to look at myself in the mirror. Disappointment only begins to describe how I feel right now. Disgusted is more like it. But I can no longer go on living this charade…pretending I am something I am not day after day. I hope you will still find it in your heart to love me for me, and to forgive me for misleading you for so long. Trust me – no one feels worse about this than I do. If anything, I need your support now more than ever.

It took a lot of time and some intensive counseling, but I’m finally starting to forgive myself. And it would mean the world if you would forgive me, too. So here it is. I admit it. I like Boca Burgers. Yes, you heard right. I actually enjoy the way they taste. I really like them…and worse, I’ve been eating them for months without telling anyone. MONTHS. I haven’t been able to look at beef and pork the same this whole time. I’m sorry, but it’s true.

What?

What are Boca Burgers? You seriously did NOT just ask me that. You’re only asking to cover the fact that you’re already more than familiar with them, right? Come on. Boca Burgers?

We’ve ALL tried them before, if only to sate that rumbling curiosity deep inside our bellies: Will this healthy, meatless soy patty really taste like a “burger”? The answer, for those of you truly unfamiliar with the concept of a “Boca Burger,” is that they taste, surprisingly, close enough.

No, they don’t sizzle and bleed red all over the frying pan. And they don’t fatten up in the middle when they cook. They don’t spout tasty grease that runs down your chin and they don’t flood the neighborhood with the sweet smell of sirloin sweat dripping onto ashen charcoal briquettes when you fire them up on the grill.

But they DO resemble the consistency and flavor well enough that you can make a meal out of them. Yes, even when you’re sober. And because they’re made of soy, they’re actually GOOD for you. Maybe I’m just rationalizing here, but I think you’d enjoy them. Have you tried them lately? They’re not what they once were. They’re good now. Really. What's more, a Boca Burger has fewer calories, far less fat, more fiber, and nearly as much protein as a beef burger. And they're cholesterol free (depending on the flavor you choose).

Anyhow – I’m truly sorry for having kept this from you all for so long. I’m just glad to finally get it out. No more secrets. Life is so much easier this way. Oh wait. Okay – one more secret. I shower in a swimsuit because I don’t like the way I look naked. But that's it. No more secrets.

[Click on the header for more info]

GET THE PICTURE?

I was reading an article about Producer David E. Kelley, the man behind such television hits as L.A. Law, The Practice, Ally McBeal, and most recently, Boston Legal. He said that when he worked on L.A. Law, there were 48 minutes of show and just 12 minutes of commercials. Today there are a little more than 41 minutes of show and nearly 19 minutes of commercials! I bet you didn’t even notice how much more of your time and attention has been turned over to the ware-hawking pimps of corporate America. I must admit, I didn’t notice. I imagine they did it slowly over the years – like that guy at your party who imperceptibly inches up the volume on your stereo so slowly you don’t even notice it’s even getting louder until the neighbors start banging broom handles against the wall.

Kelley went on to say the decrease in show time makes it tougher to tell character-driven and emotional stories. No wonder TV sucks! Fantasy Island and ChiPs had 15% more time to tell their stories. Today, hour-long television dramas follow a five-act structure that typically allows for eight minutes of storytelling between commercial breaks. So a show today might look something like this: 2-8-4-8-4-8-4-8-4-8-2. And because these structures have become standard, you can’t even channel surf anymore. Every station takes a commercial break at the same time! It’s a conspiracy, and I don’t like it. Especially considering I pay a shitload of money to my cable company every month.

I thought the whole point to PAYING for cable was so the content was paid for by ME and not advertisers. I understand why NBC has commercials – it’s a “free” station that can be accessed by anyone with a pair of knitting needles and some tin foil. They NEED corporate-sponsored programming to stay in business. But you can’t get ESPN unless you PAY for it through your cable company. So if you’re paying for it, why are there still commercials? I smell a segment for the evening news: “The Fleecing of America – how cable companies are double-dipping their way to huge profits.”

Where is all of my cable money going if not into the programming? It’s not going into the service, that’s for certain. My cable cuts out once a month because of something called “solar flares.” It usually happens without warning, and in the bottom of the ninth inning. And the last time my cable MODEM went down, they told me it would be almost two weeks before someone could come out and check the line. Try going without your Internet connection for two days, let alone two weeks. No can do. I think I’d do better without running water for two days than access to the web.

If a portion of my cable contribution each month is fed back to the cable networks, to subsidize the revenue they glean from advertisers, then shouldn't I expect an improvement in the quality of the programming? More money means more to watch, right? I feel someone should be paying ME to watch half the crap on television these days, starting with anything original on USA.

Remember ONTV? It was a pay service that required a descrambler device. There were no commercials with ONTV. Television was free and paid for by sponsors, while ONTV was commercial-free because programming was paid for by you. Not these days. These days we all pay to sit through commercials. What's the deal with that?

Back in college, the roommates and I pooled our cash and bucked up for cable. It provided better reception and a wider selection of channels for a nominal fee of somewhere in the neighborhood of $10 a month. Of course, taxes and fees brought the bill closer to $18, but that’s life in the nickel-and-dime age. Even then, I remember most of the cable channels had commercials, but I didn’t mind so much because I was only shelling out $10 a month. And that was worth it to be able to get re-runs of Cheers at three different times every single day of the week.

Today, the cost of cable is nearly five times what it was just a short time ago – and what do we get for it? Five times more channels, most of them offering crap programming than you will never watch, and all of them with commercial advertisements. If you want to watch movies without interruptions, you have to order the “pay” channels. But technically, and presuming you're not stealing cable from your neighbor, aren't ALL cable channels pay channels? So HBO and Showtime are really “pay MORE” channels.

I recently programmed my television to skip the channels I don’t watch because I was sick of wading through cartoons and gardening expos and home shop-a-thons. I now have my list narrowed down to around 20 channels. I figure if I can’t find something to watch on 20 channels, I've got a problem access to 200 more channels isn’t going to solve.

Today there’s the Dish network, and TiVo, and pay-per-view movies. It’s all too much to consider! Do I get a dish? Do I have the right exposure to even own one? What if I move? How much is it really (after the attractive promotional offer ends)? Will I get local channels? How much more of my free time do I need to hand over to my television for TiVo to make sense? How can I justify increasing the size of my already inflated cable bill by buying movies on-demand? Aren’t I better off joining Netflix or something? Isn’t there more to life than what’s on TV?

But now I’m guilty of digression…

All I really wanted to say is that I don't like the idea of paying to watch commercials.

PYONGYANG BANG

North Korea announced this week that it was in favor of a nuclear-free Korean peninsula.

The surprising declaration, made by North Korea’s envoy to international disarmament talks, initially eased tensions in the region…until an interpreter explained that by “free,” they meant “available at no cost.”

Did you know that one of out every three North Koreans is chronically malnourished? True stat. In fact, recent U.N. reports say people over there are foraging for acorns, grass, and seaweed just to get something in their bellies. It's not pretty. And here I complain when there's nothing good on television. Worse is the fact that North Korean dictator Kim Jong Ment Lee-IL has been threatening the development of nuclear weapons that would discourage the United States from invading, even while the U.S. says it has no interest in invading that oil-barren wasteland. They've been playing a diplomatic game of cat and mouse for some time. Will it end with a bang...or a whimper?

PROMISES SOMETHING FOR EVERYONE

Do you ever spontaneously burst into singing the theme song from the Love Boat? ...exciting and new...come aboard...we're expecting you! I mean, like on an empty elevator - or in your car during an annoying commercial you've heard 20 times already. Or maybe as you're stepping into the shower it strikes you like a crowbar on the back of the head. ...set a course for adventure... Do you ever let rip into that old TV classic while you're vacuuming or scrubbing the dishes? ...soon we'll be making another run... It's just so damn catchy you can't help but belt out the lyrics loud and proud every time, just like it's the first and only time. *sigh*

So - do you? Yeah. Neither do I.

THE FINAL STAGE

Lance Armstrong concluded one of the greatest sports careers of all time in Paris on Sunday with an unprecedented 7th Tour de France victory. But according to France’s AFP wire, many suspicions remain regarding the possible use of banned substances in his rise to Cycling’s pinnacle. As a result, French officials have declined repeated international requests to consider renaming the event Tour de Lance. (Looks like I've wasted a lot of stamps!)

What has made Armstrong’s domination even more remarkable, in case you’ve been living in a cave for the past decade, is the fact that his string of unlikely victories began just 18 months after he recovered from testicular cancer. That’s what makes his entire story so nuts, if you’ll forgive the pun.

Despite the skepticism of some, however, Armstrong has never tested positive for illegal substances. Yet, rather than admit he might actually be a skilled and proficient athlete, many people prefer clinging to the belief his return was aided by a foreign substance of some kind. I hate to dismiss these suspicions out of hand, so I have been allowing for the possibility that Lance may have plagued by a rare, performance-enhancing cancer that, in addition to destroying healthy cells and disrupting the normal function of organs throughout the body, works to improve the muscular and respiratory facilities that are key to cycling. (I Googled it yesterday and I think it's called Cycloma)

Anyhow, I’m sure Lance would like nothing other than to prove he’s been clean all these years, if for no other reason than to force his detractors to eat crow – and I don't mean Sheryl.

IT'S JUST A GAME, FOCKER!

JIHADONNA

I was just doing a little math in my head and think I may be onto something.

American pop-tart Madonna reported in the August edition of Vogue magazine that she’s in love with English life and intends to stay there. According to the Material Girl:

“The last thing I thought I would do is marry some laddish, shooting, pub going nature lover – and the last thing he thought he was going to do was marry some cheeky girl from the Midwest who doesn’t take no for an answer. But now I love England and want to be here and not in America. I see England as my home.”

Soon after the widespread publication of this declaration, a series of poweful explosives rocked London’s transit system, killing 56 people. Now - it may only be a coincidence - but I suspect SOMEONE doesn't want her over there! A proud nationalist, perhaps, declaring Jihadonna?

Just a thought.

Oh look...it's time for my medication.

CONNECT FIVE

Here's a fun one for you. Very addictive. The computer lets you move first every time - which you'd think would be an advantage. But your advantage is quickly eclipsed by the computer's advantage: the fact that the computer is a computer and you are a simple-minded, carbon-based sentient being.

That said, it IS possible to win. I've only managed it twice in nearly 20 times for a conversion of just over 10%. I'm sure there's a pattern...I'm just too lazy to figure it out. Enjoy!

Click header to play.

IN HEAT

My girlfriend, Geri, was recently named to her company’s Circle Of Excellence. I was excited to learn that, as a Circle of Excellence winner, she had been awarded an all-expenses paid trip for two to sunny Palm Springs, California. I was even MORE excited when I won the coin toss and got to go with. That was a joke. She actually asked me to go, and I’m pretty sure she asked me first.

Anyhow, I know you people are curious, so here is my account of our sunny little adventure.

For the geographically unacquainted, Palm Springs is in the middle of a desert, two hours due east of a tiny town called Los Angeles. Apparently, beneath the dry desert surface, there are a bunch of underground springs that, once tapped, allowed for the rampant spread of golf courses. Left unchecked, the golf course population exploded. Today it is estimated there are more golf courses in Palm Springs than people. Really. (No, not really. This story is going to take a really long time if you insist on questioning every little detail.)

The first thing you notice when you step off the plane in Palm Springs is the temperature. It can get hotter than Rangers pitcher Kenny Rogers in the video camera section at Circuit City. It’s really not a mystery – the land may be irrigated, but it’s still a fucking desert. I should also explain that the term "dry heat" means nothing when the temperature is 106 degrees. Dry heat is no less hot than dry ice is cold.

So we stepped off the plane into the wide-open arms of hell and made our way toward the terminal. A ring of dirt-brown hills surrounded us, rippling seductively behind an invisible wall of heat. They reminded me of those mounds of clay on the set of an old Tonka truck commercial. Crossing the black tarmac I felt like I was passing over a bed of hot coals. I noted there were palms, but no springs. Palm trees are nice to look at, but taking cover in the shade of one is like using a Post-It note as an umbrella. And I would know because I've tried both.

Geri and I hustled inside the terminal where we inhaled the air conditioning like someone had been holding our heads underwater. We then agreed on a strategy.

1.) Upgrade car rental to convertible
2.) Stop somewhere to stock up on booze
3.) Power nap

Motoring toward our lodgings from the airport, a 35-minute drive in blinding sunlight with the top of our rented Sebring down, we noticed that ours was the only convertible to be found. This was not a dubious observation. It turns out there's a good reason people don't drive around in convertibles in Palm Springs, to which my burnt scalp would later testify. Not only is it painfully hot, it’s dangerously sunny. We cranked up the air conditioner so we wouldn’t pass out from heat exhaustion and carried on – two idiot tourists frying fast and furious under a scalding desert sun.

It was around noon when we pulled into the La Quinta parking lot. This is not the same La Quinta Inn at which you may have crashed with the kids for a night on your last interstate vacation. This was a luxurious multi-acre spa and resort; home to somewhere between 42 and 88 private pools (each piece of marketing literature we scanned bragged of a different figure). It also had a fitness center, health spa, golf course, tennis courts (hard, grass, and clay), several restaurants and a plaza full of shopping boutiques for those interested in a little retail therapy.

Rooms were clumped in clusters called casitas that were built around a shared center wall, with individual units that jutted from the center in different directions, allowing for private entrances and patios. Once inside our unit, we immediately mixed a few drinks, turned the air up, and unpacked. Honestly - that's all we did.

Later that evening, Geri’s company sponsored an outdoor reception where we nibbled on cilantro and lime basted shrimp served in martini glasses, and sipped sparkling white wine while mingling with fellow award winners from around the country. I realized that few people knew one another, and it was by virtue of this fact that it dawned on me: I too was in the Circle of Excellence. My true identity as a fantasy sports aficionado, Internet jester, and advertising underachiever was stashed in a dirty hamper hundreds of miles away. Out here I was a celebrated success…and an achiever!

At least I was for the first ten minutes. Introductions out-ed me as Geri’s guest, which led to an entirely different brand of mistaken identity. Because Geri is a beautiful, leggy blonde knockout, and a good 4+ inches taller than me in heels, it was assumed I was her harmless travel companion, Francois – a.k.a. “Geri’s little gay friend.” And the shirt I wore the following night did not help clear things up. That’s all I’m going to say about that.

Geri and I tied on a good buzz that first night and headed back to our air-conditioned cave for a long night’s nap. We kicked off day two by playing a little tennis, and by "little" I mean what we played only remotely resembled the actual game as it was meant to be played. Geri told me she had been quite the competitor back in the day, and I’m no stranger to the sport – so we managed a number of impressive volleys that morning. I should qualify that statement. The volleys impressed US. I don’t think Bjorn Borg would have been impressed. Although we gave each other a good workout, our most formidable opponent that morning was the sun. There was a reason (we discovered after about 10 minutes of chasing down errant swings in the crockpot of the west) that all of the other courts were all vacant. Tennis was not in season in Palm Springs. We ended up calling our match a draw and found lunch.

That night we partook in a lively event called “Casino Night.” It was a company-sponsored mingler designed to get people interacting with one another. Geri and I tied our buzzes to the craps table and tested some betting strategies we’d learned at a craps seminar just a month prior (yes, really). I started out hot, rolling nearly a dozen times without “crapping out.” When I finally did, the company’s CEO, decked out in Tommy Bahama at the far end of the table, grabbed an armful of winnings, pointed at me and announced as he walked away, “I'm not coming back until THAT guy shoots again!” If only I’d been as fortunate. As the night went on, I showcased an unremarkable talent for making everyone else money but me.

On day three, Geri and I hit the spa for some relaxation therapy. She enjoyed a facial while I enjoyed a half-hour massage by Jared Leto, after which I took Geri back to our room in an effort to salvage what was left of my manhood. That evening we attended the awards banquet at which it was announced Geri was the number one Senior Account Executive in her entire company. Her name was met with much applause...and a standing ovation from one particularly dashing gentleman front and center. (Yes, me!) After dodging kisses from two guys named Barry and Barry, she returned to our table with a trophy to mark her achievement. Her little gay friend could not have been more proud.

On day four we enjoyed a big breakfast, took a long dip in the pool, then drove high into the mountains with our rent-a-vertible. It was a relaxing cruise to 5000 feet from which we could see Palm Springs in all of its expansive, sweltering glory. It was during our ascent that I learned of Geri’s distaste for mountain driving. She became so anxious during the cliff-side ascent we had to pull over and switch drivers. Being deathly afraid of heights myself, I had little problem empathizing. But we’re both obstinate wonders, and nothing would stop us from rising to the top!

We pressed on – if slowly. So slowly, in fact, a train of cars lined up behind us as far as the rear view mirror would permit. As leader of the procession, courtesy became a concern. But Geri was quick to remind me that my allegiance was to the woman in the passenger seat with her hands over her eyes – not the string of impatient strangers behind us. At one point she even shouted, “I don't care about all the cars behind us, will you slow down already!” I looked down at the speedometer and noted that we were tearing up the narrow hillside at a scorching 28 MPH.

We eventually settled in, and as our confidence grew we picked up our speed a little until reaching the top. From there we drove on to explore a tiny mountain town nestled in the middle of no where – a quaint little tourist trap called Idyllwild that, despite having nothing to see, nothing to do, and nothing to buy, was jammed with eager vacationers. It was there we enjoyed our finest lunch of the trip before coasting back down the mountain in complete terror.

Our flight was to leave at 7am the following morning, so Geri and I decided to head out for an early dinner and a couple of farewell margaritas. As fortune would have it, we ran into a few of her friends who were also heading off to dinner and were invited to join them. A couple of margaritas quickly turned into five and before we knew it, it was after 11 and we were lit up like the stars... swirling like sparkler fire in the desert sky. It was a fantastic finale to our stay.

After retiring for the evening (and the week), Geri and her “little gay friend” held a private celebration to commemorate the California adventure, the details of which I will spare you other than to say it was a good thing our room had two beds.

We flew back to Chicago the next morning…exhausted, sunburned, and hung over – the three hallmarks of a successful voyage anywhere...

MICHAEL AND THE CHILDREN FACTORY

It’s official – Johnny Depp says he didn't base his Willy Wonka character on Michael Jackson. Further, he’s actually surprised that many people report a resemblance!

“A few people have mentioned it, and it kind of took me by surprise,” said Gilbert Grape. “I really didn't expect that. Michael Jackson was not a sort of ingredient or inspiration for the character at all.”

Closer to the truth is the likelihood that Michael Jackson has based HIS character on Willy Wonka. I’ll let you people be the judge.

DIRTY BIRDS

It was reported last week that approximately 80% of the penguin population at the San Francisco Zoo was infected with chlamydia. Eventually, more than a dozen of them died.

I think it’s time to admit that my drinking problem is worse than I thought.

Click on the header to enjoy a little Penguin action of your own. (I think you'll remember this one. Good times!)

THE NEWSEUM

News from around the world - at a glance. Check it out.

Way cool.

Click the header, or visit http://www.newseum.org/todaysfrontpages/flash/

WORDS OF WISDOM

"24 hours in a day, 24 beers in a case. Coincidence? I think not."

~ Stephen Wright

SUPREME COURTSHIP

President Bush is expected to announce his pick for a spot on the Supreme Court tonight at 9pm EST. Insiders are saying he has settled on U.S. Circuit Judge John Roberts Jr. According to various sources close to the president, Judge Roberts was selected after it was explained to him that his first pick, Judge Reinhold, was an actor named Judge and not legally qualified. Additionally, it has been reported that the President originally planned to make his much-anticipated announcement in Spanish, until a White House speechwriter proofed a rough draft of the speech and informed G-Dub it was not called the “Taco Supreme Court.”

It is expected Bush will now deliver the announcement in his native language, Englibberish – a complex fusion of American English and Seussian gibberish. Stay tuned…details to come.

ALL'S WELL...

I know you have been curious, so let me reassure you that, at long last, the final remnants of my Summerfest binge have been permanently expunged from my system. It required a Herculean strain, and proved nearly as difficult to produce as WMD in Iraq. But in the end, everything worked out – so to speak. Thanks for your concern.

THE MAN IN THE MIRROR

On the heels of his liberating exoneration from child molestation charges, Michael Jackson has undergone what his publicist claims is “one final round of elective cosmetic alterations.”

“Michael has never felt comfortable in his own skin,” said long-time fan Carlita Williams. “If changing his appearance makes him feel better about himself, then I’m all for it.”

Following a week of intensive surgical procedures, the king of pop is said to be recovering well. He even made it out for a brief appearance to greet well-wishers at his new estate yesterday, and was captured in this photo posing with an eager fan.

WHAT DO YOU THINK?

Just curious.

Which one moves the fastest?
	Lance in France
	Smokin' Potter
	Jude Law on his nanny
	Kirstie Alley at a BBQ
Free polls from Pollhost.com

THE PEOPLE WRITE

I love it when the people write!

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"Hi Terry. My boss HATES combined made up words. For example:

racino = racetrack and casino
shoppertainment = shopping mall with entertainment options
webinar = online seminar
jazztini = we dont even know what that is

I was wondering if you could post this on your blog to drum up more of these combo words out there. I'd like to use them more to secure my place in the unemployement line.

Holly ~ your loyal fan for many years. Keep em coming."

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Holly – I put some of my best people on it and we have a short list of real winners. Use at your own risk:


Chesticles – a.k.a “man-boobs”

Constirrhea – Sever constipation which, when finally unblocked, unleashes a storm of diarrhea

Lentertainment – The mindless things you do to pass time when you’ve given up beer for Lent.

Genitalevision – Late-night, soft-core porn, a.k.a. Skin-e-max

Popcornholing – What happens on your first night in prison

Vagitative state – That dazed, post-coital feeling of bliss

Cinemasochism – sitting through a painfully bad movie, like Be Cool

Feculling the herd – The routine firing of employees with shit for brains

Fart Deco – Those skid marks in your underpants

Coup d’etwat – A sexual encounter with someone “way out of your league”

Snorgasm – a.k.a. The nocturnal emission

Cuervocalization – Asinine comment made at the height of good tequila buzz

Manscaping - to neatly trim the Chestlands or Back Forest for appearance

FlashBlack – Any reference to Michael Jackson prior to his “Bad” album

And then here are some tamer ones (but good ones) I found in a SPAM e-mail that purported to contain winners from The Washington Post's Mensa Invitational. Readers were supposedly asked to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Who knows how true any of that is - but these are worth reading.

1. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.

2. Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole.

3. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

4. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

5. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating.

6. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.

7. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

8. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.

9. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

10. Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.

11. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

12. Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.

13. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

14. Glibido: All talk and no action.

15 Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.

16. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.

17. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out

18. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating

Anyone like to add anything? Click on the comment link below and let us know!

EXTRA CREDIT

I do a lot of work for credit card companies and think you should be aware of some of the ways they are raping your wallet. Oh, yes they are.

Let me start you off with a little statistic. Okay – a big statistic. The credit card industry collected $43 billion in just fees last year alone. Yes, 43 BILLION dollars in one year in fees. Fees, people. Fees. Check your statement EVERY time because there are plenty of ways they’ll get you. Let’s examine a common one that a lot of people don’t think about: the balance transfer fee.

It must seem like every day that you’ll get an offer in the mail for a new credit card offering you an incredible rate on transferred balances. Sometimes they’ll offer you 0% for up to a whole year…or more! Of course, there’s typically a fee for this “service” hidden in the small print – and a lot of people are too lazy to do the math. Follow the footnotes to the bottom of the page, or to the reverse side for all the details. Do the math and you’ll likely discover that the savings you’d enjoy by transferring balances will be offset by the costs incurred in balance transfer fees.

So why do you keep getting these offers if they’re not that great? Because people keep responding to them. A smart shopper will wait for an offer that boasts of NO BALANCE TRANSFER FEES. Only then is it safe to move a balance from a higher rate card to a promotional 0% APR, provided the go-to rate is competitive.

What else? Well, chances are you’ve missed a payment date or two in your life. We all do it – set the bill on the counter…it gets buried by other bills, paper plates, newspapers, wads of cash we haven’t burned yet, etc. By the time you find the fucking thing, it’s due yesterday. So you write a check and hastily wish it off in the mail.

Big mistake. Better you call customer service and have them deduct a payment electronically. It can cost you up to $12 to have it done this way, but it’s better than the $29-$39 late fee you’re going to get hit with for missing the due date. Not only THAT, but a single missed payment date can trigger an interest rate hike. Suddenly, that innocent slip of the mind means you’ll be paying more in interest for as long as you carry a balance – a not-so-insignificant period of time also known as “forever.”


Speaking of missing payments and rate hikes, check out this popular credit card scam. It’s called the Universal Default Penalty. What it does is enable credit card companies to scour your credit report for missed payments of ANY KIND. Yes, my friend – if you’ve missed ANY payments, your credit card issuer has the authority to hike your interest rate – even if you have a perfect repayment history with them! The justification for this is that a missed payment of any kind means you are more of a credit risk. And here’s the part that’s shadier than Robert Novak. They’ll do it without warning, without notification, and without explanation. You’ll just open your bill one day, as I did last month, to discover your APR on purchases is now 14.9%. I know because this happened to me just last month. Here's a recap of the ensuing drama...

After uttering the phrase “What the Fuck?” several times with increasing disbelief and volume, I phoned MBNA America to inform them of my desire to “cancel my account right now.” I was transferred to a customer retention specialist who attempted to butter me up by using my first name several times in conversation. It did more to piss me off than anything else.

“Hello, Terry…how are you today? Terry, I see here that you’d like to leave us. We sure don’t like to hear that. Can I ask you, Terry, why you’d like to cancel your card?”

I wanted to throw a holy fit, but decided to keep it cool – after all, there was a possibility the call was being monitored for quality assurance purposes.

“Well you obviously already have my name, so I’m guessing you can see my APR, too, which I’m sure you’d agree isn’t even remotely competitive,” I remarked.

“Oh, let’s see here. Yes – I see you’ve got a 14.9% on purchases…”

“I do now.”

“What was that?” he asked quickly.

“I said I do NOW. I HAD a much lower rate, but today it’s 14.9% for some reason. I don’t know exactly why it’s 14.9%, but I do know that I don’t want this card any more for that reason. Please cancel my card now – I’m in a hurry.”

“Sure, Terry. But can I ask you quickly…what if I could lower your rate for you?”

“You’d have to lower it quite a bit,” I shot back knowingly. Threaten to cancel your card and they always lower your rate. That’s because credit card companies know it’s cheaper to keep an existing customer than it is to acquire a new one.

“Well, I could give you 0% for a year, then knock 3 points off the go-to rate?” he asked confidently.

“Interesting,” I noted…pretending to ponder his proposal. “So if I QUALIFY for a 0% APR for a full year, and an 11.9% go-to rate after that, why is my rate 14.9%? Help me understand because I’ve been a cardholder for 4 years and have never missed a payment.”

“Well, they have these computer models that calculate everything. All I know is I can get you 0% for a year today if you stay with us.”

Naturally, I accepted the offer. It’s hard to argue with the big zero. (Alan Colmes has been trying, with little success, for years.)


One more tip in shopping for a credit card that’s right for you – a fixed rate is usually better than a variable rate. Rarely will a credit card company LOWER your APR – but they’ll be more than happy to RAISE it if the Prime Rate goes up. The prime rate is the cost of money to banks. Variable rates are tethered to the Prime Rate. So if the Prime Rate goes up, so will your variable APR. A fixed rate is not tethered to the Prime Rate. So if you’ve got a 9.99% FIXED APR on balance transfers for life, you don’t have to worry about your company jacking the rate up to 13.99% when the Prime Rate jumps.

Finally, if you haven’t done so in awhile, I recommend calling up all of your credit card companies to cancel your cards. Tell them your APR is too high and you no longer want it. Don’t worry – they won’t actually cancel your card. They’ll offer you all sorts of incentive to remain a customer – lower rates for which you are already qualified, for will never receive unless you threaten to leave.

This is way more than you wantedto read about credit cards, so I'm going to stop.

PLAYING CATCH WITH BRAD

Brad Pitt checked into Cedars-Sinai Medical Center the other night complaining of flu-like symptoms. He is now reportedly at home recovering from viral meningitis, a relatively common, but serious infection of the fluid in the spinal cord and around the brain.

[NOTE: This is not to be confused with viral "womeningitis," which is the rapid spread of information about an amazing shoe sale.]

Viral meningitis can be transmitted by mosquitoes and there is no known treatment for it. Fortunately, the illness is typically mild and symptoms usually clear up in a week. According to his publicist, Brad is doing well. As for how he came down with the illness, Mr. Pitt was in Ethiopia last week with his “Mr. & Mrs. Smith” co-star Angelina Jolie to pick up her newly adopted baby girl. Many are speculating he contracted the sickness during his short stay in the underdeveloped African nation, as it is widely believed Jolie is a carrier of pretty much everything. In all fairness, I should note that a mosquito bite has not been entirely ruled out.

Seriously, though – when you consider all of the shit that’s floating around over there, from Ebola to Malaria to Marburg fever, Brad was fortunate to come away with just a mild case of meningitis. Especially when Jolie ended up contracting a small child. I hear a child outbreak can last 18 years…or more! The condition, which is not terminal, causes headaches, sleeplessness, fatigue, and anxiety. But afflicted friends tell me that these symptoms are made bearable by routine fits of raging euphoria that make a child outbreak one of the best diseases one could ever hope to catch.

AYNTK 4.1

Would anyone like to download a Beta version of the PC application I've been working on in my spare time?

I'm still working out a few remaining kinks, but the buzz to date is that it's the the single most useful computer program ever created. I don't know about THAT, but I do think it would be a useful add-on for the busy professional.






Here's a screenshot for your reference. Better get yours now. Once the Beta is complete, copies are expected to go for around $22,000 per unit!

THINGS I WONDER

Why in the world are those hairs draped down your forehead called “bangs”?

It turns out the term is short for the word “bangtail.” I don't suspect that cleared things up for you, so I will elaborate. A bangtail is a horse’s tail trimmed horizontally, so that the tail has a flat, even end. Now you know.

And for your safety, please note that if a female co-worker asks you what you think of her new bangs, you should NOT respond that they make her look like a horse’s ass, no matter how (literally) true that may be.

NOTES FROM SUMMERFEST

I went to Summerfest in Milwaukee last weekend and now you get to hear all about it. No, you don’t have a choice. I usually manage to make it up there once a year to overindulge in my two favorite food groups, fat and booze, and this year was no exception.

Summerfest, in case you are unaware, is billed as the World's Largest Music Festival. In addition to that, it may also be the world's largest disbursement of fried cheese products, the world's largest gathering of drunk white people, and the world's largest collection of people wearing clothes that are two sizes too small.

We arrived around 3pm. I was hungry, thirsty, and wearing a t-shirt almost two sizes too small - so I almost fit in. I kicked things off with a pair of deep fried Reuben Rolls and mustard sauce. They are quite possibly the most perfect food ever created. Yes, I am going to provide you with more detail - hold your horses! A Reuben Roll is an egg roll shell stuffed with all the ingredients of a Reuben deli sandwich: tender corned beef, melted Swiss cheese, sauerkraut, and thousand island dressing - deep fried to a crispy, golden brown. The finished product is a delicacy that’s second to none in my book. After hammering back a couple of those bad boys, I began the beer drinking process with a Leinenkugel’s Berryweiss. For dessert I finished off a few deep-fried broccoli and cheese nuggets.

About an hour later I started to get a little hungry, so I ordered up a chubby German bratwurst smothered in sauerkraut and drenched it in mustard. I pounded another beer to help it settle in my belly.

After picking through the wares in a tent-full of local artists and crap merchants, I decided it was time for a massive butter-bathed ear of sweet corn. I spiced it up with salt, garlic salt, and a dash of Cajun powder, then ravenously mowed it down (and washed it back with another beer). Did you know that beer goes with everything? It’s true. I know because I’ve tried it with everything. Pizza. Brats. Pop-Tarts. It’s all good. But I digress.

Our little posse next meandered from stage to stage to stage in seek of a music option more tolerable than the last. After about an hour of being band gypsies, we were ready for some more grub, so we headed over to Famous Dave’s trailer camp for a healthy helping of BBQ ribs and seasoned potato wedges. And beer.

As the sun began to set somewhere in the west, we wandered down to check out JoJo's martini lounge. It was there I finally decided it was time for a beer break. So I ordered up a chocolate martini instead...and it was sweet, pardon the pun. We endured roughly ten minutes of a curiously entertaining lesbian lounge act before escaping back into the festival grounds where I dialed up a cheeseburger from Major Goolsby’s and a side order of what had to have been two pounds of cheese fries in a grease-soaked cardboard box. It was all very, very good.

A couple of rounds of beers later I was more than ready for a good night’s sleep (or a stomach pump).

The next morning I woke up next to a letter of resignation signed by my liver.

YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE FROM CHICAGO...

...to be a Bulls fan.


Isn't it about time they stuck a sword in this ridiculous tradition?

Or at least changed the name from the "Running of the Bulls" to the "Running of the Criminally Stupid."

Running down a narrow street in front of a pack of charging bulls is about as smart (and almost as dangerous) as asking Karl Rove to keep a secret.

PRINTER'S RUE

The people write:

"One issue with the new format that I thought you could help with. With each new segment, I end up printing the entire blog rather than your most recent entry. Is there any way that you are aware of to only print the most recent. Your help is greatly appreciated."

Here's how it works. This main page includes all posts from the past 7 days. After 7 days, a post is defaulted to an archive file. These archives are listed on the left-hand side by date, so you can catch up on stuff you may have missed.

If you print THIS page (the main page), you will be printing every post from the past 7 days. That would be one full edition of AYNtK.

So the best thing to do would be to always print your copy on the same day of the week at the same time. That way you won't end up with overlapping content. For example, if you were a fan of the Friday 5pm mailing, then you could just print off your copy at 5pm every Friday and you would have all new posts for the week dating back to the previous Friday. Or, if you prefer, change the print date and you'll always have a fresh copy on the day you choose.

NOW, if you just want to print a couple of the more recent posts to take on the train after work, I would suggest clicking on the title of the post you want, which is listed at the left. That will take you to a page that contains ONLY that post. Print and go!

CLOSED POST

This used to be a post to a funny movie clip, but the link didn't work. So I closed the post.

Please move along. There's nothing to see here.

Move it.






NOW!

LIKE COCKWORK

Here’s a little news out of Tennessee (so you know it’s going to be good). Law enforcement agents recently raided an illegal cockfight operation, arresting 144 people in what one official on the scene said was likely the nation’s largest such gathering.

According to reports, it was a real law enforcement to-do. Several SWAT teams, police helicopters, and dozens of state troopers converged in the raid to contain participants at the sprawling Del Rio Cockfight Pit. They seized nearly $40,000 in cash and killed more than 300 roosters in mopping up. That's a waste of cock on par with Rock Hudson.

“Reputedly, this was the largest cockfight in the United States,” said District Attorney Al Schmutzer Jr. He clearly forgot the day Al Franken and Bill O’Reilly squabbled at a C-SPAN Book TV event a couple years ago. A bigger cockfight there has never been.

Anyhow, each of the 144 taken into custody was charged with being a spectator to cockfighting, a misdemeanor in Tennessee. If convicted, they face up to 11 months and 29 days in jail and a $2,500 fine. 11 months and 29 days? A FULL YEAR must have been deemed a little excessive. A year in prison just for being a spectator seems almost as cruel and unusual as watching birds peck one another to death for sport. Imagine having to explain to your new "bunkie" that you're serving time for watching cocks go at it. These people won't last a day behind bars.

John Goodwin of the Humane Society of the United States said this raid served notice to others conducting such illegal operations. “I wouldn't want to be a cockfighter in East Tennessee right now,” he said. I’d personally rather be a cockfighter in East Tennessee than North Hollywood. I won't even stand within a urinal’s width of one of those monsters.

David Webb, a gamecock owner from Rhea County, said he lost more than 20 chickens during the raid. “I've been around this stuff all my life. Everything I've ever known is a chicken fight,” he said. Now that's living.

We need to make sure this man and the woman who had www.goldenpalace.com tattooed to her forehead never get drunk together or we may end up with another Jessica Simpson on our hands.

FLIGHT PLANS

I don’t like heights – never really have. I don’t know why, but being up in the air freaks me out. I don't even like to jump. Okay, I may be exaggerating about that. Still, it probably won’t surprise you to learn that skydiving, along with line dancing, is one of the two things I won’t do. I'm just not into cheating gravity like that. Evolution didn't provide for it.

I will get on a plane, though. If I have to. It may take some coaxing, a little meditation, and half a Valium – but I can usually be herded onto an airbus without too much kicking and screaming. Usually.

See – the thing people don’t understand about the fear of flying is that it’s not actually a fear of flying. It’s a fear of crashing. Flying is great. Flying I enjoy. Flying is like an amusement park ride you can have a few drinks on. Crashing is the part that sucks. And you can give me all the statistics you want on how much safer it is to fly than to drive and I will remind you that there are far more people driving than flying. I will also point out that the majority of car accidents are not fatal. Not true for air disasters. You don’t hear about too many fender-benders in a 767. If your jet plane is totalled, chances are you will be, too. So I like to keep all of those fancy statistics in perspective. I’d rather be in a dozen car accidents over the course of my life and LIVE to pay higher insurance premiums than to be in just one plane crash. Even if it would mean a better value on the life insurance premiums I ought to be paying.

What exactly is it about flying that terrifies me so? It was on a recent trip to Palm Springs (the details of which I will share in due time) that I managed to pinpoint the primary source of my anxiety: turbulence. But not JUST turbulence. Turbulence without explanation. That stomach-dropping sense of uncertainty accompanied by an inability to focus on a pleasant outcome because no one will tell me what the fuck is going on.

I used to think it was a control issue – that I would feel better if I could be the one steering the plane. But that’s not necessarily true, especially considering I don’t know the first thing about flying a plane. What turns out to be true is that all I really need to shift from a frazzled Jim Ignatowski to a calm James Bond is a little information.

“This is your pilot speaking. Just wanted to let you know we’re experiencing some routine turbulence, so please remain in your seats with your belts on for the next 20 minutes or so until we can find some better air.”

And that’s it – then I’m good. That little bit of information is all I need to get my mind off of an inevitable crash landing and back on the disappointing in-flight movie. A few words to pacify me. A simple communication makes all the difference in the world. Sometimes you'll get a pilot kind enough to share what’s going on…other times they are not so thoughtful. And the less information I get, the worse I feel. My mind makes up these horrible excuses: "They're not explaining the turbulence because they CAN'T! We're disappearing in aviation's Bermuda triangle. How can my girlfriend read her magazine when we're knocking on heaven's door?"

But whether I get a word from the pilot or not, the turbulence always comes to a close and the plane always ends up on the ground in one piece. That's been my experience with planes, anyhow. So I really have no reason to realistically believe I'll be involved in a crash. The fear is completely irrational...and yet it exists. Funny to think how a few words can settle me faster than a tequila drip.

Here’s a link on turbulence, by the way, for those of you who share a fear of crashing. I am going to print it out and bring it with me next time I fly. It’s the information I need to relax and enjoy the view – even when the cabin is shaking like a wet dog.

http://www.usatoday.com/travel/columnist/getline/2005-06-20-ask-the-captain_x.htm

All this talk about anxiety and information made me think about life in general and how, when things get bad at work, or with a loved one, or with my health – all I really need to feel better most of the time is to hear the pilot let me know we’re just going through a little turbulence and everything is going to be fine.

When the agency isn’t as busy as I think it should be and there’s been a round of salary cuts, I need the pilot to let me know that we’re still on course for great things. When I do something stupid to invite the ire of my wonderful girlfriend, I just need the pilot to tell me that the whole plane isn’t going down. When I’m freaked about a new pain or sudden sickness, I just need the pilot to assure me that what I’m feeling is normal (for someone who eats the way I do). And when the pilot doesn't give me the reassurance I need, I've found myself relying on the co-pilot inside my head to let me know things are going to be fine. I just wish my co-pilot didn’t drink so damn much.

And for those of you reading this right now, this is your pilot speaking. We've got nothing but clear skies today, so kick back and enjoy the ride. Life is good.