Friday, April 28, 2006
HISTORICAL THEATRICS
Here’s another fine submission. Check out the history of the world according to Hollywood. This site collects and plots out movie events on a hypothetical timeline so you can see what happened when.
THAT'S HOW WE ROLL
The H-man turned 6 last weekend, and to celebrate Geri threw him a big family birthday bash at Timber Lanes bowling alley. Have you ever been to a bowling birthday party before? Bowling birthday parties are great because not only do kids love them, they give the adults something to do as well. Here’s how they work. For the first 20 minutes, all the kids scramble around the alley trying on different shoes and picking up different balls, getting completely worked up over the idea of throwing a ball for the purpose of knocking stuff down. Some of the adults, I should note, become uncharacteristically manic as well.
Once we’re all assembled on our designated lanes, the kids commence fidgeting and fussing impatiently with the shoes they picked out, arguing over who will go first with which ball, and start sliding around on the slick wooden floor like Tom Cruise in Risky Business. After order is restored, and bowling order established, the real fun begins.
The young ones mill around the ball return waiting for their turn, playing with the blower and seeing how close they get their hands to the machinery inside before coaxing a stern warning from the parent gallery.
“Get your hands out of there or we’re going home right now! You’re not LISTENING to me! I said get your hands out of there! How are you going to tie your shoes when you’ve only got one arm?” No one actually says this, of course. Not out loud, anyhow.
One after the next, each pint-sized bowler stumbles and sways up to the fault line hefting a pink 8-pound orb and, in one clunky motion, shot puts it from the shoulder out onto the lane with a THUD that forces everyone in the group to turn their head and cough nervously. It actually looks like a group hernia check is being performed.
The following 2 minutes are spent watching the ball carom off the bumpers from gutter to gutter, drifting like a drunk, neon tumbleweed into space toward the pins at the other end. The bowler, meanwhile, does a little dance, lies down on the floor, spins around a little bit, fidgets a little more with his/her shoes, dances again and completely misses the ball clearing a path through the center of the pins on the other end. Everyone claps excitedly at the outcome, regardless of how many pins remain standing, and the kid skips back to the ball return grinning like school just let out for the summer.
Fast forward ahead one half hour. All the kids have abandoned the bowling lanes and are now chasing one another around the ball rack in a sugar-stoked frenzy while the adults are all huddled closely around the scoring table, high-fiving one another and enjoying a few relaxing frames of pin smashing fun. The jukebox jams Deep Purple, the bartender uncaps another round of cold ones, and everybody slips comfortably into a state of extended glee. It’s as close to perfect as life gets.
That’s the magic of bowling. It’s a power to which my grandfather has been testifying for the last 70 years. Field of Dreams had us believe that baseball was the one constant that brought us all together, standing tall through good times and bad. But baseball has seen its share of ups and downs over the years, while bowling has rolled steadily along in the undercurrent of American culture. I'd say it's probably our nation's most unheralded pastime. Maybe it’s time we give bowling some of the credit it deserves.
Yeah - I come from a long line of bowlers. In Chi-town, that's how we roll. Where else can you celebrate the fine art of striking out?
Monday, April 24, 2006
GASTRONOMICAL
If you’re really into driving around looking for cheap gas, here’s a map of the U.S. with all of the average prices listed by county. Find out if you’re getting the shaft!
I've been looking for trends and I've noticed something rather disturbing. The blue states pay a lot more for gas than the red ones. They keep talking about how gas costs more in the heartland because it has to travel further inland, but that doesn't appear to be the case. In fact, by the look of this map, it appears the price of gas rises with the number of registered Democrats. Coincidence? States that voted for Bush skew far lower than those voting for Kerry/Gore. Further, guess where you'll find the cheapest gas in the country? Vice President Cheney’s home state of Wyoming, of course!
(To be fair, I feel obliged to consider the possibility that the price of gas may be higher in Democratic strongholds because local politicians are taxing the hell out of it!)
I personally think this is a big conspiracy masterminded by disgruntled American inventor Al Kamen, creator of the Segway, to drum up populist support for his (failed?) revolutionary urban transportation alternative.
I've been looking for trends and I've noticed something rather disturbing. The blue states pay a lot more for gas than the red ones. They keep talking about how gas costs more in the heartland because it has to travel further inland, but that doesn't appear to be the case. In fact, by the look of this map, it appears the price of gas rises with the number of registered Democrats. Coincidence? States that voted for Bush skew far lower than those voting for Kerry/Gore. Further, guess where you'll find the cheapest gas in the country? Vice President Cheney’s home state of Wyoming, of course!
(To be fair, I feel obliged to consider the possibility that the price of gas may be higher in Democratic strongholds because local politicians are taxing the hell out of it!)
I personally think this is a big conspiracy masterminded by disgruntled American inventor Al Kamen, creator of the Segway, to drum up populist support for his (failed?) revolutionary urban transportation alternative.
SEATTLE SCARINERS
Remember that trailer for The Shining that turned the horror classic into the feel-good picture of the year? Check out this trailer . It has the opposite effect, turning a Nora Ephron favorite into a summer scream.
Friday, April 21, 2006
ABSENT-HINDEDNESS
I took a dump at work earlier this morning and am pretty sure I forgot to flush. Do you ever get back to your desk and wonder that? It’s like wondering if you remembered to lock your door, or turn your oven off. Crap – did I flush? I don’t remember flushing. I don’t think I did.
Oh well. It’s far too late to go back now…
In other news, I just pulled out a nose hair that was completely white. It’s officially my first white hair. Can a nose hair qualify as your first white hair, or does it have to be found on your head somewhere? Really. I want to know.
Oh well. It’s far too late to go back now…
In other news, I just pulled out a nose hair that was completely white. It’s officially my first white hair. Can a nose hair qualify as your first white hair, or does it have to be found on your head somewhere? Really. I want to know.
AMERICAN MIDOL AND THE OPEC GAS ATTACK
Okay, so by now you’ve heard the rumors that gas is expected to climb to $24/gallon or something ridiculous like that. Or was it $4? I can’t remember. Either way, that’s more than I’m comfortable paying without cutting back in other areas like beer and pizza. Unfortunately, consumers at large remain largely powerless to do anything about it. And that’s despite all of these e-mails telling us to boycott certain gas stations or to prevent buying gas on certain days. All that’s managed to do so far is inconvenience me while the price of gas drives higher and higher.
One thing we CAN do is be smart consumers and buy gas where it is the cheapest.
Thanks to AG for the above link – it lists all of the prices at all of the gas stations in your ZIP code so you don’t have to drive around the neighborhood comparing them all (which would cost you about $7.34 to do on today’s prices).
Didn’t Exxon just post the biggest profits in the history of the world?
My guess is someone in the oil industry got word from Acting President Dick Cheney that plans to strike Iran are in the works. Funny how we invaded Iraq looking for nuclear weapons, and in the time we spent digging around in the sand over there (and finding nothing), the industrious Iranians next door managed to whip up some nuclear power of their own. Now we DO have a problem. What we feared would happen has happened: nukes in the Middle East.
“Yoo hoo! Mr. Bush man! Looking for THESE?!?!?!”
Hey – let’s cut the Iranians a break here. They say they need nuclear energy to create electricity. They must be having a hard time finding access to oil.
Bush's Axis of Evil has become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Iraq has become a terrorist breeding ground and military quagmire - a black hole that sucks away vital American resources hour after deadly hour. And while we've been busily trying to get Iraqis to get along with each other, North Korea and Iran have gone on to join the nuclear club. And just when you think things can't get any more fucked up you realize that Bush's contract doesn't expire for another 2 1/2 years. Is there any way we can offer him a buyout? Then we could throw some money at Parcells or Belichick and put a proven winner in charge.
When you're done checking out cheap gas stations near you, you've got to snap your fingers to this bad boy, created in the spirit and style of a Jib Jab Production.
Thanks Jay!
One thing we CAN do is be smart consumers and buy gas where it is the cheapest.
Thanks to AG for the above link – it lists all of the prices at all of the gas stations in your ZIP code so you don’t have to drive around the neighborhood comparing them all (which would cost you about $7.34 to do on today’s prices).
Didn’t Exxon just post the biggest profits in the history of the world?
My guess is someone in the oil industry got word from Acting President Dick Cheney that plans to strike Iran are in the works. Funny how we invaded Iraq looking for nuclear weapons, and in the time we spent digging around in the sand over there (and finding nothing), the industrious Iranians next door managed to whip up some nuclear power of their own. Now we DO have a problem. What we feared would happen has happened: nukes in the Middle East.
“Yoo hoo! Mr. Bush man! Looking for THESE?!?!?!”
Hey – let’s cut the Iranians a break here. They say they need nuclear energy to create electricity. They must be having a hard time finding access to oil.
Bush's Axis of Evil has become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Iraq has become a terrorist breeding ground and military quagmire - a black hole that sucks away vital American resources hour after deadly hour. And while we've been busily trying to get Iraqis to get along with each other, North Korea and Iran have gone on to join the nuclear club. And just when you think things can't get any more fucked up you realize that Bush's contract doesn't expire for another 2 1/2 years. Is there any way we can offer him a buyout? Then we could throw some money at Parcells or Belichick and put a proven winner in charge.
When you're done checking out cheap gas stations near you, you've got to snap your fingers to this bad boy, created in the spirit and style of a Jib Jab Production.
Thanks Jay!
A RARE AD WELL DONE
I know this one has been around awhile, but it never ceases to amaze me. I’m sure there’s computer-aided manipulation involved, but it’s so seamless I can’t figure out where! Amazing.
Actually, I looked it up. No computer graphics. This scene took 606 takes.
Click on the header for the Snopes article.
Actually, I looked it up. No computer graphics. This scene took 606 takes.
Click on the header for the Snopes article.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
PEDICURIOUS
I may be having the gayest week of my life.
It’s only Thursday and already I’ve enjoyed a pedicure, shoe shopping, lobster bisque, and an entire Broadway Musical. What the hell has gotten into me? I think it's healthy to be in touch with your feminine side, but I’ve been seemingly unable able to let mine go.
Last Saturday night was poker night: Nine guys playing cards and sucking down malt alcohol as if scientists had just announced it would reverse male pattern baldness. At 2:30am, I somehow managed to climb out of the hole I was in, rising from a depleted table $11 wealthier than when I sat down. It was a small, but exhilarating victory – like pulling up to a parking meter with time still left in it. Shortly after, I passed out in Steve's bright yellow baby room and my manhood has been rolling downhill ever since.
I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary on Easter Sunday, but on Monday the wheels came off. Geri and I met after work at a place called Spa Space, situated on the corner of Randolph and Canal, not far from the office. For Valentine’s Day, she’d given me a gift certificate good for a Wine & Roses Couples Pedicure, and we decided that with summer right around the corner it would be a good time to put it to use. I’d never had a pedicure before and wasn’t so sure about the idea. I’ve always been of the mind that no one really needs to see my feet, let alone touch them. Making the jump from Keds to flip-flops took me longer than most, so agreeing to a pedicure was a big step for me. And, I must say, the experience proved as enjoyable as it was foreign.
They had us both sit in big comfy leather recliners that vibrated and heated up at the touch of a button in a tiny, private suite in the back of the boutique. I remember thinking how a flat panel television running ESPN2 would have been a nice addition, but I made do with Wedding magazine. Then they had us submerge our dogs in mini Jacuzzis for a nice, relaxing soak. We were delivered glasses of red wine and served ice water garnished with cucumber slices. I’m not sure whether the cucumber was for decoration or not, but someone needs to tell them that it definitely changes the flavor of the water, and not for the better. That would have been the perfect opportunity for them to wheel in a build-your-own-nachos cart, but the hot jets in the bubbly foot bath sufficed. After several minutes, two women came into our private suite to perform the pedicures. At this point I was definitely pedicurious to find out what came next.
My pedicurist began by clipping my toenails, something I don’t do as often or as well on my own. I find if I leave them alone long enough they eventually take care of themselves one way or another. On this day they were given a precision clip job and had never been straighter. After a good trim, she proceeded to brush and scrub my feet and toes with several tools of varying abrasiveness from an Emory board to a Black & Decker power sander. I am probably kidding about the power sander – at least as far as you know. The filing process tickled and I had to concentrate very hard to avoid reflexively kicking her in the face. Then she lubed up my wheels with a sandy solution and gave me a penetrating foot rub, which sounds dirtier than it was. Following this treatment was another brief soak, after which she gave my nails a closer look – paying special attention to the one I’d smashed playing basketball months ago. Somehow, though the miracle of modern science, she was able to buff it back into something resembling a normal nail. There was no nail polish involved, but I was definitely colored impressed.
After having my lower digits detailed, I was oiled up again with another solution and rubbed down. Geri kept an eye on me throughout the procedure to gauge my comfort level, but it didn’t take long for the anxiety to subside in favor of repose. At one point she actually asked if I was snoring.
“Huh? What? No. I don’t think so. Was I? No. I couldn’t have been. Was I?”
I left Spa Space with a hoppin’ fresh set of steppers and a whole new understanding of the service. I finally realized why there are more mani-pedi boutiques in Chicago than Starbucks locations. Nail salons and spa care joints provide relaxing ways for girls to pamper themselves while in between haircuts. I must admit, it was an enjoyable experience that I would never have given myself – which made it a fantastic gift idea. I can’t say that I’d ever spend my own money on cosmetic foot care, but am glad for having had the opportunity to see what all the fuss is about.
On Tuesday, I rode the momentum of my toe-tally enlightening experience over to DSW to shop for shoes. I figured since my toes were (for once) presentable, it would be a good time to try on some summer sandals. At no time did it occur to me that my masculinity was being compromised. This consideration didn’t dawn on me until last night, about half way through Act II of the Broadway musical Spamalot, as I found myself whistling along to one of the show’s signature numbers. Yes...I’d completely let go of my manhood in favor of fancy footwear and over-produced showtunes. And I was enjoying every second of it!
And I'm also not embarrassed to endorse Spamalot. The genius of the show is that the producers took something for boys (Monty Python) and made it something for girls (a musical). The result was a hilarious spoof of musicals that had cross-gender appeal. Indeed, the audience was roaring from start to finish. It was a fabulous way to spend an evening! Did I just say fabulous? My T-levels must be dropping fast...
With football season still 4 months away, I’m worried I may need to undergo Male Replacement Therapy. If I start talking about getting highlights for my hair, please check me into an off-track betting parlor and put me on a pork drip. And even if you have to fight me for it, I authorize you to take away my purse, even if I insist on calling it a “man bag.”
And now if you’ll excuse me, it’s tea time.
It’s only Thursday and already I’ve enjoyed a pedicure, shoe shopping, lobster bisque, and an entire Broadway Musical. What the hell has gotten into me? I think it's healthy to be in touch with your feminine side, but I’ve been seemingly unable able to let mine go.
Last Saturday night was poker night: Nine guys playing cards and sucking down malt alcohol as if scientists had just announced it would reverse male pattern baldness. At 2:30am, I somehow managed to climb out of the hole I was in, rising from a depleted table $11 wealthier than when I sat down. It was a small, but exhilarating victory – like pulling up to a parking meter with time still left in it. Shortly after, I passed out in Steve's bright yellow baby room and my manhood has been rolling downhill ever since.
I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary on Easter Sunday, but on Monday the wheels came off. Geri and I met after work at a place called Spa Space, situated on the corner of Randolph and Canal, not far from the office. For Valentine’s Day, she’d given me a gift certificate good for a Wine & Roses Couples Pedicure, and we decided that with summer right around the corner it would be a good time to put it to use. I’d never had a pedicure before and wasn’t so sure about the idea. I’ve always been of the mind that no one really needs to see my feet, let alone touch them. Making the jump from Keds to flip-flops took me longer than most, so agreeing to a pedicure was a big step for me. And, I must say, the experience proved as enjoyable as it was foreign.
They had us both sit in big comfy leather recliners that vibrated and heated up at the touch of a button in a tiny, private suite in the back of the boutique. I remember thinking how a flat panel television running ESPN2 would have been a nice addition, but I made do with Wedding magazine. Then they had us submerge our dogs in mini Jacuzzis for a nice, relaxing soak. We were delivered glasses of red wine and served ice water garnished with cucumber slices. I’m not sure whether the cucumber was for decoration or not, but someone needs to tell them that it definitely changes the flavor of the water, and not for the better. That would have been the perfect opportunity for them to wheel in a build-your-own-nachos cart, but the hot jets in the bubbly foot bath sufficed. After several minutes, two women came into our private suite to perform the pedicures. At this point I was definitely pedicurious to find out what came next.
My pedicurist began by clipping my toenails, something I don’t do as often or as well on my own. I find if I leave them alone long enough they eventually take care of themselves one way or another. On this day they were given a precision clip job and had never been straighter. After a good trim, she proceeded to brush and scrub my feet and toes with several tools of varying abrasiveness from an Emory board to a Black & Decker power sander. I am probably kidding about the power sander – at least as far as you know. The filing process tickled and I had to concentrate very hard to avoid reflexively kicking her in the face. Then she lubed up my wheels with a sandy solution and gave me a penetrating foot rub, which sounds dirtier than it was. Following this treatment was another brief soak, after which she gave my nails a closer look – paying special attention to the one I’d smashed playing basketball months ago. Somehow, though the miracle of modern science, she was able to buff it back into something resembling a normal nail. There was no nail polish involved, but I was definitely colored impressed.
After having my lower digits detailed, I was oiled up again with another solution and rubbed down. Geri kept an eye on me throughout the procedure to gauge my comfort level, but it didn’t take long for the anxiety to subside in favor of repose. At one point she actually asked if I was snoring.
“Huh? What? No. I don’t think so. Was I? No. I couldn’t have been. Was I?”
I left Spa Space with a hoppin’ fresh set of steppers and a whole new understanding of the service. I finally realized why there are more mani-pedi boutiques in Chicago than Starbucks locations. Nail salons and spa care joints provide relaxing ways for girls to pamper themselves while in between haircuts. I must admit, it was an enjoyable experience that I would never have given myself – which made it a fantastic gift idea. I can’t say that I’d ever spend my own money on cosmetic foot care, but am glad for having had the opportunity to see what all the fuss is about.
On Tuesday, I rode the momentum of my toe-tally enlightening experience over to DSW to shop for shoes. I figured since my toes were (for once) presentable, it would be a good time to try on some summer sandals. At no time did it occur to me that my masculinity was being compromised. This consideration didn’t dawn on me until last night, about half way through Act II of the Broadway musical Spamalot, as I found myself whistling along to one of the show’s signature numbers. Yes...I’d completely let go of my manhood in favor of fancy footwear and over-produced showtunes. And I was enjoying every second of it!
And I'm also not embarrassed to endorse Spamalot. The genius of the show is that the producers took something for boys (Monty Python) and made it something for girls (a musical). The result was a hilarious spoof of musicals that had cross-gender appeal. Indeed, the audience was roaring from start to finish. It was a fabulous way to spend an evening! Did I just say fabulous? My T-levels must be dropping fast...
With football season still 4 months away, I’m worried I may need to undergo Male Replacement Therapy. If I start talking about getting highlights for my hair, please check me into an off-track betting parlor and put me on a pork drip. And even if you have to fight me for it, I authorize you to take away my purse, even if I insist on calling it a “man bag.”
And now if you’ll excuse me, it’s tea time.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
POINTS OF INTEREST
Sing that song, sister! His approval rating is so low they're now calling it his disapproval rating, which is around 61%. The next Rolling Stone magazine's feature article is an argument for the possibility that Dubya will wind up being considered our worst president ever. That's not an endorsement for America's better judgment considering "we" re-elected him. And, of course, you'll always have your hard core folks who insist he was what this country needed at the time. They'd likely also be for abolishing term limits since a change at the top would be, as it would have been in 2004, considered changing horses mid-stream. The bottom line is, in two years someone is going to inherit a fucking mess and I think it should be Ty from Extreme Home Makeover. That dude can turn an outhouse into a Port-O-Palace - imagine what he could do for the state of the nation. It's time for Extreme Makeover: Government Edition
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
SO SUDOKU ME
If you liked Babble, you’ll love Iron Sudoku. Actually, that’s not necessarily true. Babble was a word find game, Sudoku is a game of logic. But if you enjoy mental exercise, Iron Sudoku will give your cranial wheels a workout.
Don’t let the numbers fool you – Sudoku has nothing to do with math. They could fill the boxes with colors or shapes and the strategy would be the same. Numerals are used because they’re well-recognize symbols that people can immediately differentiate with ease. If you’ve never played before, simply use deductive logic and the process of elimination to start filling boxes with symbols until you have a finished puzzle that complies with the game's stated objective: Use each number just once per row, column, and box.
Don’t let the numbers fool you – Sudoku has nothing to do with math. They could fill the boxes with colors or shapes and the strategy would be the same. Numerals are used because they’re well-recognize symbols that people can immediately differentiate with ease. If you’ve never played before, simply use deductive logic and the process of elimination to start filling boxes with symbols until you have a finished puzzle that complies with the game's stated objective: Use each number just once per row, column, and box.
HEY, IF THE PIECES FIT...
I know it’s been awhile, so I wanted to remind you that there is LEGO porn available on the Internet, and you will find it here.
You’re welcome.
You’re welcome.
TO ERROR IS HUMOROUS
Here’s a classic for ya – Bill Buckner’s famous World Series miscue immortalized, RBI Baseball style.
This had to have taken some time.
Thanks to several folks for this gem.
This had to have taken some time.
Thanks to several folks for this gem.
MORE GORE IN STORE?
Al Gore has made a movie about global warming, heating up rumors that he may be planning to make another run for the White House. Apparently the movie has been quite popular at early screenings.
Now that we’ve seen the best the Republican Party had to offer, I think I’m finally ready for Al Gore. As long as he doesn’t say “I told you so.”
You can check out the trailer here.
Now that we’ve seen the best the Republican Party had to offer, I think I’m finally ready for Al Gore. As long as he doesn’t say “I told you so.”
You can check out the trailer here.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
FANTASY ISTHMUS
My uncle recently returned from a trip to Costa Rica with a tale for the ages and I am about to share it with you, without his expressed written permission. That’s the beautiful thing about blood – they can say they’ll “disown” you, but they can’t. Plus, he’d never disown his favorite nephew. Or would he?
Regardless - here is a story about family, the equatorial rain forest, and a potentially deadly dedication to fantasy sports.
***
My uncle, aunt, 7-year old cousin, and several friends recently scheduled an exciting 12-day adventure together in the Costa Rican rain forest. For those of you unfamiliar with Central American geography, the country of Costa Rica boasts one of the world’s densest biological wonders – a massive tropical garden home to countless species of flora and fauna – many of which are unique to the country. It is one of the few places on earth that remains largely untouched by man, which makes it a breathtaking place to visit, not to mention a terrifying place to get lost.
In planning their grand tropical excursion, the vacation was split into two parts – a traditional resort stay at a beachfront villa and a decidedly more rustic wildlife experience further inland. During the latter part of the adventure, the adventurous holiday-goers would be put up in quaint 2-story cabins on a remote plantation outside of a small Costa Rican town. It would be quiet there in the middle of nowhere, away from the hustle and bustle of more densely populated tourist traps, but they would have lights and running water…so it wasn’t going to be an episode of Survivor either.
***
Prior to departing, my uncle and I spoke on the telephone about his upcoming trip. He expressed concern that he would be unable to attend this year’s live fantasy baseball draft and wondered if he should back out of the league. In case your finger slipped off the pulse of all that is current in this world, let me make sure you are up to speed on the institution of “fantasy sports.” First of all, it has nothing to do with the “Gay Olympics.” I thought so, too, until I agreed to start playing them and realized I got to keep my pants on. That was no small relief. (Why I agreed to participate in fantasy sports when I thought they had something to do with the Gay Olympics is a topic for another day)
Fantasy sports enable sports enthusiasts and armchair managers to compete against one another in mock sports leagues that mimic real life games using real life players and statistics. This is how it works: Team managers join a league, draft a team of athletes who play for actual sports franchises, and then pit their team up against the other teams in the league. When real life players record real statistics in real games, so do your fantasy players. The best team usually wins, but sometimes I come in a close second. Fantasy sports have been around a long time. The first ones were actually calculated manually, but today’s leagues are completely automated and updated in real-time. Online portals like Yahoo! offer leagues for free, but there is often wagering involved to make the competitions, as they say, “more interesting.”
Most women, it has been widely observed, don’t understand fantasy sports. The intensely emotional appeal of cyber-competition is as foreign to most women as shoe shopping is to most men. But that’s okay – we don’t have to completely understand one another to co-exist. We just have to accept one another for who we are.
Back to our conversation. Needless to say, my uncle had a real issue on his hands. He is a fantasy sports addict, and was having a mild anxiety attack at the thought of missing out on draft day – the single most important two and half hours of any fantasy sports season. As any fantasy buff will tell you, the draft can make or break your entire season – which in the case of baseball, is a good 6 months long. So missing a fantasy baseball draft has the potential to ruin a man’s entire summer. This may or may not be hyperbole on my part.
Like a good league commissioner, I assured my uncle that the computer’s “autodraft” function would prove a serviceable surrogate in his absence, and that upon his return he would find his roster well rounded. He seemed okay with the thought after our conversation, but apparently my assurances were not able to quell his concerns.
My uncle surprised us all when, on the night of the draft, he proudly entered the online draft room from a cyber café in remote Costa Rica to handpick his fantasy team. This triumph of fantasy dedication would soon take him for a frightening ride. When we come back, find out what it’s like to get lost in a third world rain forest.
***
[Cue commercial: All around the world, Gotta spread the word. Tell ‘em what ya heard. There’s gonna be a brighter day. All around the world. Gotta spread the word. Tell ‘em what ya heard. You know it’s gonna be okay.]
***
Before the break, my uncle had just stepped into a cyber café in Costa Rica to attend a live, online fantasy baseball draft. With just a handful of dollars in his pocket, a walkie-talkie, and flashlight, he sat down and began choosing the players he would be following all summer long.
To access the Internet from his station, he was charged an ongoing fee, which he happily paid – peeling off bill after bill, round after round. As round ten got underway, he was approached by an employee who politely informed him that the café would soon be “cerrado.” Not even halfway through the draft, he was told to leave.
Satisfied he’d made good progress, he made his way out into the street to find a cab. His wife and son had left earlier with a pizza and were already back at their cabin somewhere out in the rural reaches of the lush countryside. As he went to hail a cab, he made a startling realization. He didn’t have the slip of paper on which he’d written the name of the place he was staying. Without it, he wouldn't be able to tell the cab driver where he was going!
He struggled to remember what had happened to that piece of paper. He remembered handing it to a taxi service administrator earlier in the day without asking for it back. Like most of the town’s buildings around him, that office was now closed. So he tried to remember the name of the private estate upon which the cabins were located, but drew a blank. No name. No number. Nothing. Just a vague idea of the direction and a pair of feet to start the long walk back.
It was now much darker than it had been when he first sat down in the cyber café and made Johan Santana his first round draft pick, but as the shops and restaurants closed down around him, he knew he’d have to just start walking. He imagined it would be a good 15 or 20-minute trip on foot based on his recollection of the ride into own. He noticed a familiar-looking dirt road and, with just a walkie-talkie and flashlight in his possession, he ambled out of civilization into a world of darkness.
Although the sun had already set, it remained very warm out, and he felt the added weight of an oppressive humidity that clung to his skin like an invisible wet suit. Stepping deeper into the dank gloom of the cloud forest, he began to question his surroundings. He strained to catch the sight of something familiar, but nothing stood out. He couldn’t place his location on the road, and became disoriented. Was this even the right road? Before he knew it, he was officially scared...and on the verge of becoming lost.
Every once in a while a car or truck sputtered in the distance, bouncing on the rough stones as it approached. He’d quickly scramble off to the side of the road, unsure what might become of him should he encounter a carload of marauding third-world bandits. As his surroundings became hopelessly unfamiliar, he stumbled onto a fork in the road, where he decided instead of wandering any further it would be best to return to town. So he followed the beam of his flashlight back up the same rocky path back until the familiar lights of town were in sight. From this perspective he recognized his error – he’d left on the wrong road! So he hastily started walking down another dirt path, back into the foreboding darkness on the other side of town. All the while he was desperately trying to communicate back to the cabins via his walk-talkie, but the connection afforded him little more than a word or two:
“Hello? It’s me. I’m lost. Can’t…”
Ultimately, the walkie-talkie crackled and died. It was his last link to those waiting back at the cabin for him, who were all beginning to wonder the hell was taking so long. His weary legs carried him deeper and deeper into the jungle in search of a landmark – something, anything that would indicate was heading in the right direction. He walked and walked and walked. Deeper and deeper into darkness.
And then, surrounded by massive tropical hardwoods and more than a billion unseen beings, his flashlight flickered twice and went out.
He was now lost and alone in the middle of the rain forest with no sense of direction and nothing to light the way. Every step became a terrifying question mark. He bent over, picking up rocks and gravel, tossing them ahead as he walked, hoping their sound would frighten off any snakes, scorpions, or potentially venomous spiders that might be lurking ahead. Fear began tightening its grip as he imagined having to spend the entire night in this dangerous, unforgiving place.
But, somewhere in the distance, he caught the sight of a faint light. It was not a familiar light, but it was a light nonetheless, and a beacon of civilization in an ocean of wild blackness. He followed the light as far as the gravelly road beneath his tired feet would take him, then realized he would have to abandon his path if he wanted to keep the light in sight. Reluctantly, he trudged off road into a field, making his way carefully toward the light. Treading a tropical sea, he marched determined to other side where he emerged a mess, and soaking with sweat. There he stumbled thankfully onto a road which he followed to the light. It was a small restaurant closing down for the night.
Startled by his distraught, dishelved appearance, the people inside were unsure how to receive their late night guest. He struggled to articulate his predicament, but the language barrier made his plight more frustrating. No one spoke English here – and he did not speak Spanish. Spying a map on the wall, he emphatically pointed to the place he needed to go. But it was the equivalent of pointing to a map of Manhattan and saying you needed to find a hotel – a hotel you didn’t know the name of.
Gathering he was lost, they called him a cab, but the language barrier remained a major challenge. Without the name or the address of the place he needed to go, and no one around him who could speak English, his hopes of finding his way back appeared slimmer and slimmer. And to make matters worse, he’d spent all of his money using the Internet at the cyber café and only had a few dollars left. This was fast becoming the most expensive fantasy draft of his life.
Desperate, but determined, he somehow convinced the taxi driver to take him for a ride. He hoped to recognize something familiar along the way…something that would jog is memory and point them in the right direction. But it was now after 11pm and night’s veil had fully cloaked every corner of Costa Rica. The driver drove up and down narrow dirt roads until they had no other alternative but to return to town.
My uncle climbed out of the cab and ran into the only place that still appeared to be open.
“Does anyone here speak English?” he announced. One of the locals stood up and said he could speak some. My uncle quickly explained that he was lost and didn’t know where he was staying. He described the plantation with the cabins and asked if any of it sounded familiar.
“Ah, Senor – that is like EVERY place around here.”
The locals then began naming some popular places to stay in an effort to assist this wayward traveler...until my uncle recognized one.
“Villa Campanos! That’s it. That’s the one!”
He asked the man who spoke a little English to call the Villa Campanos, wake the landowner, and ask for directions. He then had the same man give these directions to the cab driver (en Espanol) to ensure he would be able to get there. My uncle and the driver hurriedly sped off into the teeming darkness yet again, this time with directions.
When my uncle finally made it back to the cabin, my aunt was frantically assembling a search party. Needless to say, she was more than a little upset with him.
After hearing the details of his third world adventure, I had to ask my uncle a question that had been burning inside this entire time.
“I have to know one thing, though. After all of this - after all the anxiety and fear and frustation - what do you think of your fantasy team?”
“I like it,” he said. “I think I drafted a strong team – I’m stoked.”
“Cool,” I said. “Sounds to me like it all worked out.”
************
Despite the horror of losing his way in one of the most dangerous places on earth, my uncle strongly recommends Costa Rica, and said the day he went zip-lining above the canopy was a day he will never forget. He also recommends fantasy baseball - and at the time of this post is in third place.
Regardless - here is a story about family, the equatorial rain forest, and a potentially deadly dedication to fantasy sports.
***
My uncle, aunt, 7-year old cousin, and several friends recently scheduled an exciting 12-day adventure together in the Costa Rican rain forest. For those of you unfamiliar with Central American geography, the country of Costa Rica boasts one of the world’s densest biological wonders – a massive tropical garden home to countless species of flora and fauna – many of which are unique to the country. It is one of the few places on earth that remains largely untouched by man, which makes it a breathtaking place to visit, not to mention a terrifying place to get lost.
In planning their grand tropical excursion, the vacation was split into two parts – a traditional resort stay at a beachfront villa and a decidedly more rustic wildlife experience further inland. During the latter part of the adventure, the adventurous holiday-goers would be put up in quaint 2-story cabins on a remote plantation outside of a small Costa Rican town. It would be quiet there in the middle of nowhere, away from the hustle and bustle of more densely populated tourist traps, but they would have lights and running water…so it wasn’t going to be an episode of Survivor either.
***
Prior to departing, my uncle and I spoke on the telephone about his upcoming trip. He expressed concern that he would be unable to attend this year’s live fantasy baseball draft and wondered if he should back out of the league. In case your finger slipped off the pulse of all that is current in this world, let me make sure you are up to speed on the institution of “fantasy sports.” First of all, it has nothing to do with the “Gay Olympics.” I thought so, too, until I agreed to start playing them and realized I got to keep my pants on. That was no small relief. (Why I agreed to participate in fantasy sports when I thought they had something to do with the Gay Olympics is a topic for another day)
Fantasy sports enable sports enthusiasts and armchair managers to compete against one another in mock sports leagues that mimic real life games using real life players and statistics. This is how it works: Team managers join a league, draft a team of athletes who play for actual sports franchises, and then pit their team up against the other teams in the league. When real life players record real statistics in real games, so do your fantasy players. The best team usually wins, but sometimes I come in a close second. Fantasy sports have been around a long time. The first ones were actually calculated manually, but today’s leagues are completely automated and updated in real-time. Online portals like Yahoo! offer leagues for free, but there is often wagering involved to make the competitions, as they say, “more interesting.”
Most women, it has been widely observed, don’t understand fantasy sports. The intensely emotional appeal of cyber-competition is as foreign to most women as shoe shopping is to most men. But that’s okay – we don’t have to completely understand one another to co-exist. We just have to accept one another for who we are.
Back to our conversation. Needless to say, my uncle had a real issue on his hands. He is a fantasy sports addict, and was having a mild anxiety attack at the thought of missing out on draft day – the single most important two and half hours of any fantasy sports season. As any fantasy buff will tell you, the draft can make or break your entire season – which in the case of baseball, is a good 6 months long. So missing a fantasy baseball draft has the potential to ruin a man’s entire summer. This may or may not be hyperbole on my part.
Like a good league commissioner, I assured my uncle that the computer’s “autodraft” function would prove a serviceable surrogate in his absence, and that upon his return he would find his roster well rounded. He seemed okay with the thought after our conversation, but apparently my assurances were not able to quell his concerns.
My uncle surprised us all when, on the night of the draft, he proudly entered the online draft room from a cyber café in remote Costa Rica to handpick his fantasy team. This triumph of fantasy dedication would soon take him for a frightening ride. When we come back, find out what it’s like to get lost in a third world rain forest.
***
[Cue commercial: All around the world, Gotta spread the word. Tell ‘em what ya heard. There’s gonna be a brighter day. All around the world. Gotta spread the word. Tell ‘em what ya heard. You know it’s gonna be okay.]
***
Before the break, my uncle had just stepped into a cyber café in Costa Rica to attend a live, online fantasy baseball draft. With just a handful of dollars in his pocket, a walkie-talkie, and flashlight, he sat down and began choosing the players he would be following all summer long. To access the Internet from his station, he was charged an ongoing fee, which he happily paid – peeling off bill after bill, round after round. As round ten got underway, he was approached by an employee who politely informed him that the café would soon be “cerrado.” Not even halfway through the draft, he was told to leave.
Satisfied he’d made good progress, he made his way out into the street to find a cab. His wife and son had left earlier with a pizza and were already back at their cabin somewhere out in the rural reaches of the lush countryside. As he went to hail a cab, he made a startling realization. He didn’t have the slip of paper on which he’d written the name of the place he was staying. Without it, he wouldn't be able to tell the cab driver where he was going!
He struggled to remember what had happened to that piece of paper. He remembered handing it to a taxi service administrator earlier in the day without asking for it back. Like most of the town’s buildings around him, that office was now closed. So he tried to remember the name of the private estate upon which the cabins were located, but drew a blank. No name. No number. Nothing. Just a vague idea of the direction and a pair of feet to start the long walk back.
It was now much darker than it had been when he first sat down in the cyber café and made Johan Santana his first round draft pick, but as the shops and restaurants closed down around him, he knew he’d have to just start walking. He imagined it would be a good 15 or 20-minute trip on foot based on his recollection of the ride into own. He noticed a familiar-looking dirt road and, with just a walkie-talkie and flashlight in his possession, he ambled out of civilization into a world of darkness.
Although the sun had already set, it remained very warm out, and he felt the added weight of an oppressive humidity that clung to his skin like an invisible wet suit. Stepping deeper into the dank gloom of the cloud forest, he began to question his surroundings. He strained to catch the sight of something familiar, but nothing stood out. He couldn’t place his location on the road, and became disoriented. Was this even the right road? Before he knew it, he was officially scared...and on the verge of becoming lost.
Every once in a while a car or truck sputtered in the distance, bouncing on the rough stones as it approached. He’d quickly scramble off to the side of the road, unsure what might become of him should he encounter a carload of marauding third-world bandits. As his surroundings became hopelessly unfamiliar, he stumbled onto a fork in the road, where he decided instead of wandering any further it would be best to return to town. So he followed the beam of his flashlight back up the same rocky path back until the familiar lights of town were in sight. From this perspective he recognized his error – he’d left on the wrong road! So he hastily started walking down another dirt path, back into the foreboding darkness on the other side of town. All the while he was desperately trying to communicate back to the cabins via his walk-talkie, but the connection afforded him little more than a word or two:
“Hello? It’s me. I’m lost. Can’t…”
Ultimately, the walkie-talkie crackled and died. It was his last link to those waiting back at the cabin for him, who were all beginning to wonder the hell was taking so long. His weary legs carried him deeper and deeper into the jungle in search of a landmark – something, anything that would indicate was heading in the right direction. He walked and walked and walked. Deeper and deeper into darkness.
And then, surrounded by massive tropical hardwoods and more than a billion unseen beings, his flashlight flickered twice and went out.
He was now lost and alone in the middle of the rain forest with no sense of direction and nothing to light the way. Every step became a terrifying question mark. He bent over, picking up rocks and gravel, tossing them ahead as he walked, hoping their sound would frighten off any snakes, scorpions, or potentially venomous spiders that might be lurking ahead. Fear began tightening its grip as he imagined having to spend the entire night in this dangerous, unforgiving place.
But, somewhere in the distance, he caught the sight of a faint light. It was not a familiar light, but it was a light nonetheless, and a beacon of civilization in an ocean of wild blackness. He followed the light as far as the gravelly road beneath his tired feet would take him, then realized he would have to abandon his path if he wanted to keep the light in sight. Reluctantly, he trudged off road into a field, making his way carefully toward the light. Treading a tropical sea, he marched determined to other side where he emerged a mess, and soaking with sweat. There he stumbled thankfully onto a road which he followed to the light. It was a small restaurant closing down for the night.
Startled by his distraught, dishelved appearance, the people inside were unsure how to receive their late night guest. He struggled to articulate his predicament, but the language barrier made his plight more frustrating. No one spoke English here – and he did not speak Spanish. Spying a map on the wall, he emphatically pointed to the place he needed to go. But it was the equivalent of pointing to a map of Manhattan and saying you needed to find a hotel – a hotel you didn’t know the name of.
Gathering he was lost, they called him a cab, but the language barrier remained a major challenge. Without the name or the address of the place he needed to go, and no one around him who could speak English, his hopes of finding his way back appeared slimmer and slimmer. And to make matters worse, he’d spent all of his money using the Internet at the cyber café and only had a few dollars left. This was fast becoming the most expensive fantasy draft of his life.
Desperate, but determined, he somehow convinced the taxi driver to take him for a ride. He hoped to recognize something familiar along the way…something that would jog is memory and point them in the right direction. But it was now after 11pm and night’s veil had fully cloaked every corner of Costa Rica. The driver drove up and down narrow dirt roads until they had no other alternative but to return to town.
My uncle climbed out of the cab and ran into the only place that still appeared to be open.
“Does anyone here speak English?” he announced. One of the locals stood up and said he could speak some. My uncle quickly explained that he was lost and didn’t know where he was staying. He described the plantation with the cabins and asked if any of it sounded familiar.
“Ah, Senor – that is like EVERY place around here.”
The locals then began naming some popular places to stay in an effort to assist this wayward traveler...until my uncle recognized one.
“Villa Campanos! That’s it. That’s the one!”
He asked the man who spoke a little English to call the Villa Campanos, wake the landowner, and ask for directions. He then had the same man give these directions to the cab driver (en Espanol) to ensure he would be able to get there. My uncle and the driver hurriedly sped off into the teeming darkness yet again, this time with directions.
When my uncle finally made it back to the cabin, my aunt was frantically assembling a search party. Needless to say, she was more than a little upset with him.
After hearing the details of his third world adventure, I had to ask my uncle a question that had been burning inside this entire time.
“I have to know one thing, though. After all of this - after all the anxiety and fear and frustation - what do you think of your fantasy team?”
“I like it,” he said. “I think I drafted a strong team – I’m stoked.”
“Cool,” I said. “Sounds to me like it all worked out.”
************
Despite the horror of losing his way in one of the most dangerous places on earth, my uncle strongly recommends Costa Rica, and said the day he went zip-lining above the canopy was a day he will never forget. He also recommends fantasy baseball - and at the time of this post is in third place.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
BLISSPHEMY
I ate a bowl of chili yesterday and it finally caught up with me.
I had the most amazing gas today. AMAZING. The kind that's extremely voluminous, which feels great to pass, but - and here's the amazing part - doesn't have a hint of odor to it. Not a trace. I noticed it in the car on the way to work this morning and couldn't believe my nose. I emitted no fewer than 4 major blasts and not a single one smelled. That was the green light I needed.
I started quietly letting go monster farts at the office. In the conference room during status. By the water cooler. In the elevator. I even had a client meeting downtown during which I let float several massive ass balloons. Then in the cab on the way back, I slowly liberated a number of streaming mini bursts - immensely enjoying each one as it snuck out the back door.
Yeah, I've been farting all day long and loving every second of it. And because odor-free gas is so rare for me, I've been taking full advantage - openly farting everywhere, in mid-sentence, and while standing next to people who are seated. It's been great.
And then around 1pm the sinus pill kicked in and my nose cleared up.
Let's just say ignorance is ass.
I had the most amazing gas today. AMAZING. The kind that's extremely voluminous, which feels great to pass, but - and here's the amazing part - doesn't have a hint of odor to it. Not a trace. I noticed it in the car on the way to work this morning and couldn't believe my nose. I emitted no fewer than 4 major blasts and not a single one smelled. That was the green light I needed.
I started quietly letting go monster farts at the office. In the conference room during status. By the water cooler. In the elevator. I even had a client meeting downtown during which I let float several massive ass balloons. Then in the cab on the way back, I slowly liberated a number of streaming mini bursts - immensely enjoying each one as it snuck out the back door.
Yeah, I've been farting all day long and loving every second of it. And because odor-free gas is so rare for me, I've been taking full advantage - openly farting everywhere, in mid-sentence, and while standing next to people who are seated. It's been great.
And then around 1pm the sinus pill kicked in and my nose cleared up.
Let's just say ignorance is ass.
HELPFUL TIPS FROM YOUR FAVORITE MONKEY
If you haven't filed your taxes yet, you may want to start thinking about it.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
EXPERTS: GAS TO TOP $3
This was one of the headlines on MSNBC last I checked.
How the fuck is this news when gas is already over $3 at the BP down the block? Who are these "experts"?
"According to people with both eyes and windows, the price of gas is expected to climb above $3 per gallon. To support this forecast is the fact that gas right now is above $3 a gallon."
I would complain about the price of gas but that I love gas. It helps my car go roar.
How about some real news, like the story of 4 women who beat to death a guy outside a bingo parlor...where he'd just won $1000. Luck is fickle, folks. Ride it out while you've got it.
How the fuck is this news when gas is already over $3 at the BP down the block? Who are these "experts"?
"According to people with both eyes and windows, the price of gas is expected to climb above $3 per gallon. To support this forecast is the fact that gas right now is above $3 a gallon."
I would complain about the price of gas but that I love gas. It helps my car go roar.
How about some real news, like the story of 4 women who beat to death a guy outside a bingo parlor...where he'd just won $1000. Luck is fickle, folks. Ride it out while you've got it.
MORE REVIEWS YOU CAN USE
Check this, beotch. Here’s another exciting review for your files. This time our critic gives the latest Grand Theft Auto a spin and you’ll never guess what he has to say about that!
[Warning: Graphic Content - pixilated nipple]
You know you're curious. Go ahead and click.
[Warning: Graphic Content - pixilated nipple]
You know you're curious. Go ahead and click.
GET A ZESTIMATE HERE
Here’s a site I love.
This real estate website has married actual sales figures with satellite imagery to produce property value snapshots of pretty much everywhere. You type in the address and it will give you all of the public sale information available, including similar data for everything in the neighborhood. I saw the sale record of my own property, including how its value compared to the value of other property in my zip code over a 1-, 5-, and 10-year period. Way cool.
There's even an estimate calculator that will help you determine the market value of your home including any relevant upgrades.
Thinking about selling? See what all of your neighbors' properties are worth. Thinking about buying? See what that neighborhood’s market value is before you counter. Just curious to know what someone paid for that piece of crap house across the street? Check it out here.
Public records at your fingertips, people. It doesn't get any better than this.
This real estate website has married actual sales figures with satellite imagery to produce property value snapshots of pretty much everywhere. You type in the address and it will give you all of the public sale information available, including similar data for everything in the neighborhood. I saw the sale record of my own property, including how its value compared to the value of other property in my zip code over a 1-, 5-, and 10-year period. Way cool.
There's even an estimate calculator that will help you determine the market value of your home including any relevant upgrades.
Thinking about selling? See what all of your neighbors' properties are worth. Thinking about buying? See what that neighborhood’s market value is before you counter. Just curious to know what someone paid for that piece of crap house across the street? Check it out here.
Public records at your fingertips, people. It doesn't get any better than this.
PONDERFUL
Is it possible to get dandruff in your arm hair?
I sure hope so, because that would be an explanation I could handle.
I sure hope so, because that would be an explanation I could handle.
MORE THAN JUST FUR COATS...
Here’s another fine lead I received this morning. It’s called High Maintenance Bitch and it’s an absolute scream.
BREAKING NEWS: THE RICH ARE GETTING RICHER!
Hillary Clinton made a startling comment today, previewing a speech she is expected to give tomorrow at the Chicago Economic Club. According to the Senator and former First Lady, “the rich are getting richer.”
This announcement was met with an audible gasp as members of the press hurried to get the news to print. One woman reportedly fainted. Clinton did not expand much upon her observation, but a number of key economists agree that people with a lot of money are getting more of it, and the infection of Capitalization may be spreading.
According to researchers, once a person has contracted a lot of money, they don’t need to work anymore to "earn" a living because their money actually does all of the work FOR them. And the more money a person has, the harder that money works to make even MORE money. It’s a vicious cycle that perpetuates itself in creating uncontrolled asset mayhem.
Fortunately, most Americans don’t have to worry about their money multiplying like Gremlins in a tsunami. Institutions called mortgage lenders are hard at work, protecting Americans from the scourge of savings by approving people for loans that effectively prevent us from doing anything with our money other than paying our mortgages and eating processed cheese food products. And as a safety net, a secondary financial adjunct called the credit card industry is there to provide additional support by propogating the illusion that we are financially healthy in affording us access to cutting-edge consumer electronics, designer clothing, and expensive cuisine.
So while the rich keep getting richer, we the masses can sleep comfortably in our well-stocked, yet humble abodes – secure in the knowledge that we are safely insulated from affluence by lines of debt so inflated we will never have to worry about accidentally becoming rich. Or worse – richer!
This announcement was met with an audible gasp as members of the press hurried to get the news to print. One woman reportedly fainted. Clinton did not expand much upon her observation, but a number of key economists agree that people with a lot of money are getting more of it, and the infection of Capitalization may be spreading.
According to researchers, once a person has contracted a lot of money, they don’t need to work anymore to "earn" a living because their money actually does all of the work FOR them. And the more money a person has, the harder that money works to make even MORE money. It’s a vicious cycle that perpetuates itself in creating uncontrolled asset mayhem.
Fortunately, most Americans don’t have to worry about their money multiplying like Gremlins in a tsunami. Institutions called mortgage lenders are hard at work, protecting Americans from the scourge of savings by approving people for loans that effectively prevent us from doing anything with our money other than paying our mortgages and eating processed cheese food products. And as a safety net, a secondary financial adjunct called the credit card industry is there to provide additional support by propogating the illusion that we are financially healthy in affording us access to cutting-edge consumer electronics, designer clothing, and expensive cuisine.
So while the rich keep getting richer, we the masses can sleep comfortably in our well-stocked, yet humble abodes – secure in the knowledge that we are safely insulated from affluence by lines of debt so inflated we will never have to worry about accidentally becoming rich. Or worse – richer!
Monday, April 10, 2006
A STEAMING PILE OF SITH
Thanks to Bobby Earl for sharing this gem. You don’t have to go very far these days to find someone willing to badmouth the Star Wars prequels. This guy has turned criticism into fine art with what may be, in my opinion, quite possibly the best movie review ever written. Here's but a taste:
"Even worse are the idiots who scarf down [the movie’s] sub-childish morsels of comedic relief, playing into Lucas' shallow theatrics so easily that you could sell these people hookers in a vagina storm."
I just got a great idea for a band name and I don't think I have to tell you what it is. Check out the whole review and enjoy!
[FYI - there are some spoilers for those who haven't seen it yet, but I imagine if you haven't seen it by now, you probably don't give a sith.]
"Even worse are the idiots who scarf down [the movie’s] sub-childish morsels of comedic relief, playing into Lucas' shallow theatrics so easily that you could sell these people hookers in a vagina storm."
I just got a great idea for a band name and I don't think I have to tell you what it is. Check out the whole review and enjoy!
[FYI - there are some spoilers for those who haven't seen it yet, but I imagine if you haven't seen it by now, you probably don't give a sith.]
WANT FREE STUFF? JUST ASK!
Here’s another one of those goofy ideas gone terribly right.
Some lunatic decided to put a roll of stamps to (good?) use by sending letters to companies asking for free stuff. Believe it or not, some of the companies actually sent him shit. The link below documents his story and accounts for all of the free stuff he got. He claims his $39 in stamps turned out to be worth a lot more than $39.
You be the judge !
(Thanks K&RJ)
Some lunatic decided to put a roll of stamps to (good?) use by sending letters to companies asking for free stuff. Believe it or not, some of the companies actually sent him shit. The link below documents his story and accounts for all of the free stuff he got. He claims his $39 in stamps turned out to be worth a lot more than $39.
You be the judge !
(Thanks K&RJ)
FURRY METAL DANCE MACHINE
Here’s another link to keep you occupied for hours. Or minutes. It’s a dancing pipe cleaner, and you tell him what to do! Just wave your cursor over the thumbnails and he'll bust a move. Hint: Having rhythm helps.
Thanks to Steve for this one.
(I personally just like having the Kenny Loggins tune jamming in the background here at work. Makes people think I'm about to break into dance at any moment, which I've been known to do upon occasion)
Thanks to Steve for this one.
(I personally just like having the Kenny Loggins tune jamming in the background here at work. Makes people think I'm about to break into dance at any moment, which I've been known to do upon occasion)
Friday, April 07, 2006
DUMMY BOOKS FOR DUMMIES
Gotta love this link. Here are some titles I’ve been working on.
You can make your own book cover here.
THE COLLAPSE OF EASTERN CIVILIZATION
Did you know there's a Starbucks on the Great Wall of China? No joke. Word is they actually plan to open five more.
Looks like American Coffee Flu has made its way East. Anthropologists are uncertain whether it spread via trade winds from west to east around the globe, or whether it was carried west across the Pacific on a trans-oceanic flight from Seattle to Beijing. No matter - now that it's there, the pandemic is predicted to wreak widespread havoc on the Orient. No one is safe from the clutches of morning coffee.
Looks like American Coffee Flu has made its way East. Anthropologists are uncertain whether it spread via trade winds from west to east around the globe, or whether it was carried west across the Pacific on a trans-oceanic flight from Seattle to Beijing. No matter - now that it's there, the pandemic is predicted to wreak widespread havoc on the Orient. No one is safe from the clutches of morning coffee.
867-5309
I got it off the wall.
"The number you have dialed: Eight. Six. Seven. Five. Three. Zero. Nine. is being checked for trouble."
Just in case you were curious.
"The number you have dialed: Eight. Six. Seven. Five. Three. Zero. Nine. is being checked for trouble."
Just in case you were curious.
FROM: ME?
I checked my e-mail this morning and saw something remarkable: an e-mail from myself! Curiously, I'd been filed in the Bulk folder.
This wasn't the first time I've ever received an e-mail from myself - only the first time I'd ever seen one that I didn't send to myself. Unsolicited e-mail from yourself is a scary thing. I thought it might be the beginning of a modern-day tech-savvy thriller flick called "When a Stranger E-mails."
I was curious as to what I could possibly be sending me, so I opened it and read the e-mail word for word. It turns out I was offering myself something called v_1_a_g_r_a, and promising longer, firmer erections. I was shocked. I had no idea I had become a boner salesman in my sleep, but apparently I've been hocking pharmaceutical lumber online without even knowing it.
And if you've got an e-mail address, chances are you're selling something, too. That's how these SPAM machines work - they crawl websites looking for e-mail addresses, and then use them to send out millions of junk e-mails. And most people never find out they'vee been pimping dildoes or inviting strangers to view their webcam until they get an evil reply from an angry recipient. I sent myself a reply politely declining interest in longer, firmer erections, saying they cause me much embarrassment in the shower at the gym.
This wasn't the first time I've ever received an e-mail from myself - only the first time I'd ever seen one that I didn't send to myself. Unsolicited e-mail from yourself is a scary thing. I thought it might be the beginning of a modern-day tech-savvy thriller flick called "When a Stranger E-mails."
I was curious as to what I could possibly be sending me, so I opened it and read the e-mail word for word. It turns out I was offering myself something called v_1_a_g_r_a, and promising longer, firmer erections. I was shocked. I had no idea I had become a boner salesman in my sleep, but apparently I've been hocking pharmaceutical lumber online without even knowing it.
And if you've got an e-mail address, chances are you're selling something, too. That's how these SPAM machines work - they crawl websites looking for e-mail addresses, and then use them to send out millions of junk e-mails. And most people never find out they'vee been pimping dildoes or inviting strangers to view their webcam until they get an evil reply from an angry recipient. I sent myself a reply politely declining interest in longer, firmer erections, saying they cause me much embarrassment in the shower at the gym.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
APRIL FOOLS NEEDS NEW RULES
April Fool’s Day came and went and I didn’t play a single prank on a single person. I usually send out at least one e-mail to my closest friends announcing something shocking. Not this year. This year was prank-free.
Is it just me or is April Fool’s Day losing steam? I personally think people have become so jaded and joke-savvy, it’s nearly impossible to fool anyone anymore. We wake up expecting pranks, so the element of surprise is gone. Maybe we ought to change things up a little bit and start playing April Fool’s Day jokes on every OTHER day of the year. Make April 1st the only prank-free day – a day off from a busy year full of clever ruses and mean-spirited shenanigans.
April Fools needs new rules. Right now we’re just too savvy for our own good. Think about all of the BAD shit that actually happened on April 1st. All the car accidents across the country. All the people given bad medical news. All the people who broke up with people. Life doesn’t stop on April 1st so we can all play jokes on each other – real shit happened to real people. Now imagine these folks trying to share their bad news with anyone on that day. Pretty much any story - particularly good, tragically bad, or exceedingly ugly, is going to be suspicious on April 1st.
“You’re kidding right? April Fool’s? Ha – you got me!”
“No, Brian – my dad really has cancer. You’re such an asshole sometimes.”
This conversation, and conversations like it, went on all over the place last weekend. People trying to talk about serious shit had to break the Fool barrier – a society obsessed with pulling pranks, if only for a day.
“You really expect me to believe that you ran over Roscoe P. Coltrane with the Land Rover? I’m not buying that for one second. Here Roscoe! Come Roscoe! Where are ya boy?!”
“No – I REALLY did. It was horrible! There was a single yelp and then nothing.”
“Right. Whatever. Come on – where is my furry little sheriff?”
Or, maybe, somewhere, it worked to someone’s unexpected advantage.
“Jeff – someone called here earlier saying she was your girlfriend.”
“Oh, honey. Please. I can explain.”
“No need. I understand completely.”
“You do? You understand?”
“Yes, Jeff. I get it. April Fool’s Day. Your ‘girlfriend’ calls. Ha ha.”
“Right. April Fool’s Day! Pretty good one, huh? Bet that had you going.”
“Please, Jeff. If you’re going to play an April Fool’s joke on someone, at least make it believable. Like any girl would have anything to do with your fat, balding ass. I played right along with her.”
“You did? What did you say?”
“I told her I was your wife and that it was good to finally know where your herpes came from. She must have been speechless because she hung up right away. Who was she anyhow? Didn’t sound like your secretary.”
I think next year I’m going to pull out the jokes a day or two early to reinstate the element of surprise. I'm breaking out new rules for April Fools!
Is it just me or is April Fool’s Day losing steam? I personally think people have become so jaded and joke-savvy, it’s nearly impossible to fool anyone anymore. We wake up expecting pranks, so the element of surprise is gone. Maybe we ought to change things up a little bit and start playing April Fool’s Day jokes on every OTHER day of the year. Make April 1st the only prank-free day – a day off from a busy year full of clever ruses and mean-spirited shenanigans.
April Fools needs new rules. Right now we’re just too savvy for our own good. Think about all of the BAD shit that actually happened on April 1st. All the car accidents across the country. All the people given bad medical news. All the people who broke up with people. Life doesn’t stop on April 1st so we can all play jokes on each other – real shit happened to real people. Now imagine these folks trying to share their bad news with anyone on that day. Pretty much any story - particularly good, tragically bad, or exceedingly ugly, is going to be suspicious on April 1st.
“You’re kidding right? April Fool’s? Ha – you got me!”
“No, Brian – my dad really has cancer. You’re such an asshole sometimes.”
This conversation, and conversations like it, went on all over the place last weekend. People trying to talk about serious shit had to break the Fool barrier – a society obsessed with pulling pranks, if only for a day.
“You really expect me to believe that you ran over Roscoe P. Coltrane with the Land Rover? I’m not buying that for one second. Here Roscoe! Come Roscoe! Where are ya boy?!”
“No – I REALLY did. It was horrible! There was a single yelp and then nothing.”
“Right. Whatever. Come on – where is my furry little sheriff?”
Or, maybe, somewhere, it worked to someone’s unexpected advantage.
“Jeff – someone called here earlier saying she was your girlfriend.”
“Oh, honey. Please. I can explain.”
“No need. I understand completely.”
“You do? You understand?”
“Yes, Jeff. I get it. April Fool’s Day. Your ‘girlfriend’ calls. Ha ha.”
“Right. April Fool’s Day! Pretty good one, huh? Bet that had you going.”
“Please, Jeff. If you’re going to play an April Fool’s joke on someone, at least make it believable. Like any girl would have anything to do with your fat, balding ass. I played right along with her.”
“You did? What did you say?”
“I told her I was your wife and that it was good to finally know where your herpes came from. She must have been speechless because she hung up right away. Who was she anyhow? Didn’t sound like your secretary.”
I think next year I’m going to pull out the jokes a day or two early to reinstate the element of surprise. I'm breaking out new rules for April Fools!
PEOPLE
I was just thinking about all of the crap I have to deal with at work and I came to the realization that I'd get a lot more done if it weren't for other people. Really. People get in my way. People make issues out of things that shouldn't be issues just to have something to say. People slow down the process. People call meetings to talk about doing stuff instead of actually doing stuff. People who aren't in charge make decisions that end up getting overturned by people who ARE in charge. People are a liability to progress. People impede workflow. People sit on things until the day after they need them and then make it someone else's problem.
Can I get a witness?
Can I get a witness?
MARCH SADNESS
I guess technically it's no longer considered "March Madness" once you hit April.
Maybe that explains why ratings fizzled Monday night for the NCAA College Basketball Championship between Florida and UCLA. Or maybe it was because all of the favorites, both sentimental (George Mason) and statistical (UConn, Duke, etc.) were eliminated. Let's face it - for all of its hype, the tournament is really only interesting as long as you're invested emotionally or financially. Once your school is done, it's all about your pool picks. And once those are gone, it's all about next year.
So it really doesn't surprise me that the game didn't pull a bigger audience. I WAS surprised to learn, however, that it was the first time that the annual event didn't win its time slot. Frighteningly, more people watched Deal or No Deal Monday night on NBC than the NCAA Championship game. I am now officially worried about about the state of our nation's mental health.
Have you seen that show? It's like a game show without a game. You don't have to be smart, clever, intuitive, quick-witted, or anything. You don't have to be good at spelling, deductive logic, or trivia. You don't really have to be anything other than breathing and mildly lucid.
It's a "game" show that features a series of contestants making uneducated guesses. Sometimes they're right and sometimes they're wrong. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day (which, I feel obliged to point out, is more than can be said for Sean Hannity).
Basically, Deal or No Deal goes like this.
A or B?
A!
Sorry, it was B.
A or B?
B!
Sorry, it was A.
A or B?
A!
Yes, it was! A or B?
B!
Yes, it was again - boy you're good at this. A or B?
A!
Sorry, it was B again.
It's like the kind of game desperate parents make up to amuse an anxious 3 year old child in the waiting room at the doctor's office. And now it's pulling more viewers than the college basketball championship game. Apparently our lowest common denominator is lower than I thought.
More money for education - stat!
Maybe that explains why ratings fizzled Monday night for the NCAA College Basketball Championship between Florida and UCLA. Or maybe it was because all of the favorites, both sentimental (George Mason) and statistical (UConn, Duke, etc.) were eliminated. Let's face it - for all of its hype, the tournament is really only interesting as long as you're invested emotionally or financially. Once your school is done, it's all about your pool picks. And once those are gone, it's all about next year.
So it really doesn't surprise me that the game didn't pull a bigger audience. I WAS surprised to learn, however, that it was the first time that the annual event didn't win its time slot. Frighteningly, more people watched Deal or No Deal Monday night on NBC than the NCAA Championship game. I am now officially worried about about the state of our nation's mental health.
Have you seen that show? It's like a game show without a game. You don't have to be smart, clever, intuitive, quick-witted, or anything. You don't have to be good at spelling, deductive logic, or trivia. You don't really have to be anything other than breathing and mildly lucid.
It's a "game" show that features a series of contestants making uneducated guesses. Sometimes they're right and sometimes they're wrong. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day (which, I feel obliged to point out, is more than can be said for Sean Hannity).
Basically, Deal or No Deal goes like this.
A or B?
A!
Sorry, it was B.
A or B?
B!
Sorry, it was A.
A or B?
A!
Yes, it was! A or B?
B!
Yes, it was again - boy you're good at this. A or B?
A!
Sorry, it was B again.
It's like the kind of game desperate parents make up to amuse an anxious 3 year old child in the waiting room at the doctor's office. And now it's pulling more viewers than the college basketball championship game. Apparently our lowest common denominator is lower than I thought.
More money for education - stat!
Monday, April 03, 2006
A PRIME NUMBER
Wow.
I just had a rockin' sandwich for lunch. Did I just get through telling you people it's all the same? Never mind all that. The new prime rib sub at Quizno's rocks balls. If you are a carnivore, you have to get your mitts on one of these bad boys. It's incredibly tender and super delicious - and a little spicy for those of you who dig on that slight burning sensation. They brag about a double portion of beef and to make sure it's a double portion, they actually weigh it on a little scale beforehand to make sure! The beef itself is thinly shaved, and there aren't any of those unchewable strings of gristle you find in other roast beef sandwiches. This thing was like sucking down a stick of butter from start to finish. I recommend it "with everything on wheat."
Fanfuckingtastic.
I just had a rockin' sandwich for lunch. Did I just get through telling you people it's all the same? Never mind all that. The new prime rib sub at Quizno's rocks balls. If you are a carnivore, you have to get your mitts on one of these bad boys. It's incredibly tender and super delicious - and a little spicy for those of you who dig on that slight burning sensation. They brag about a double portion of beef and to make sure it's a double portion, they actually weigh it on a little scale beforehand to make sure! The beef itself is thinly shaved, and there aren't any of those unchewable strings of gristle you find in other roast beef sandwiches. This thing was like sucking down a stick of butter from start to finish. I recommend it "with everything on wheat."
Fanfuckingtastic.
Friday, March 31, 2006
JUST LIKE HEAVEN
Today I was enjoying a deliciously crisp tuna melt sandwich from the diner around the corner when I started thinking about God.
"What if…" I thought.
I imagined dying and suddenly finding myself in a long line of people waiting for admission to heaven. There was no temperature, or stress, or time there. Just a line of people, all pleasantly surprised to discover that there was, in fact, a heaven, and all thankful that, at least for now, it appeared we were all getting in.
Suddenly, one of heaven’s helpers approached me with a clipboard, like the order takers at Portillo’s who come out to your car when the line for the drive thru gets too long. He was short and a little heavy, wore glasses, and was dressed in a full-length white cloak.
“Terry, right? Welcome to heaven. Would you be so kind as to remove your shoes before passing St. Peter. Thanks so much. Here’s your ID card. It has a string so you can hang it around you neck if you’d like. That's what I do," he said, tapping an ID card hanging in the middle of his chest. "There’s a steaming pot of baby back ribs boiling right now – they should be basted with barbecue sauce and sizzling on the grill the moment you step through those pearly gates. There are also people you haven't seen in awhile. Any questions?”
“Um, no…I don’t think so. You DID say this was heaven, right?”
“Of course! You seem a little surprised. I suppose everybody is at first. Except Michael Landon. He seemed right at home right away. Anyhow, you’re in luck. God himself is greeting new arrivals today, and he’s answering questions!”
“Answering questions?” I asked.
“Yeah – every now and again God likes to mingle with the fine people he invites to heaven. That’s why the line is so long today. Yesterday this time there was no wait at all. Had a party of eight check in all together. Tragic how they got here, but they're sure glad to be here now!”
“Can I just…I’m not…I'm sorry, this is all so strange. My conversations with God have always been one-way and you're telling me he's in there answering questions. What kinds of questions?”
“I'm sorry...I forget sometimes. You just died - you have no idea what's going on, do you? Everyone in line gets one question. Any question at all. It looks to me like you’ve got about ten more minutes before you’re up, so make it a good one!”
“Right. That’s, um, truly, remarkably fascinating. The last thing I remember was driving behind a garbage truck in the rain and now I’m getting answers from God.”
“Just one, my friend. Only one answer to one question. Can you imagine the line if you could ask as many questions as you wanted? It’d be like Space Mountain up here.”
“Right. Of course. It’s just that...I have no idea what I should ask him.”
“People ask questions because they want answers. If you already have all of the answers, you don't need to ask him anything.”
“Did you get to ask him a question?” I asked delicately.
“I did. I asked God if this was really heaven. Can you believe that?" He laughed. "What a waste. And since I’ve already told you that it is, you don’t have to ask him that.”
“Well, I thank you for that. Looks like the line is moving again.”
“It is – good luck, Terry. Don’t forget to remove your shoes before entering. We had new carpet put in last weekend.”
“Oh, right. I won’t. Thanks for your help.”
I was suddenly consumed by this amazing once-in-a-lifetime – once-in-an-eternity, rather – opportunity. I was going to be able to ask the Creator anything I wanted. But I only had 10 minutes to figure out what I wanted to know! My head filled with dozens of perfect questions. How would I be able to ask him only one? I needed more time!
And it was about here in my daydream that I finished eating my crispy, delicious tuna melt sandwich. I wiped my mouth, rubbed my greasy hands on my pants, and shifted my focus back to work.
But the question has been nagging me all afternoon: What WOULD I ask? Do you guys get internet service up here? What do you have against the Cubs anyway? Why do people still use chopsticks when the fork is far more efficient? Who shot John F. Kennedy? Can I drink without getting a hangover now? Who really won the 2000 election? What was the nicest thing anyone ever did for me that I didn't know about? Do we really have choices, or is the concept of free will an illusion created by our minds after the fact to make us feel like we are in control of our behavior when we're actually more predictable than ground squirrels? Can I watch a video of my life somewhere? Where did I lose my keys that one time? Did I get ripped off when I bought my car? Do you ever shave your beard or do you always wear it like that? Donde esta el bano?
What would YOU ask? You've got ten minutes to figure it out.
"What if…" I thought.
I imagined dying and suddenly finding myself in a long line of people waiting for admission to heaven. There was no temperature, or stress, or time there. Just a line of people, all pleasantly surprised to discover that there was, in fact, a heaven, and all thankful that, at least for now, it appeared we were all getting in.
Suddenly, one of heaven’s helpers approached me with a clipboard, like the order takers at Portillo’s who come out to your car when the line for the drive thru gets too long. He was short and a little heavy, wore glasses, and was dressed in a full-length white cloak.
“Terry, right? Welcome to heaven. Would you be so kind as to remove your shoes before passing St. Peter. Thanks so much. Here’s your ID card. It has a string so you can hang it around you neck if you’d like. That's what I do," he said, tapping an ID card hanging in the middle of his chest. "There’s a steaming pot of baby back ribs boiling right now – they should be basted with barbecue sauce and sizzling on the grill the moment you step through those pearly gates. There are also people you haven't seen in awhile. Any questions?”
“Um, no…I don’t think so. You DID say this was heaven, right?”
“Of course! You seem a little surprised. I suppose everybody is at first. Except Michael Landon. He seemed right at home right away. Anyhow, you’re in luck. God himself is greeting new arrivals today, and he’s answering questions!”
“Answering questions?” I asked.
“Yeah – every now and again God likes to mingle with the fine people he invites to heaven. That’s why the line is so long today. Yesterday this time there was no wait at all. Had a party of eight check in all together. Tragic how they got here, but they're sure glad to be here now!”
“Can I just…I’m not…I'm sorry, this is all so strange. My conversations with God have always been one-way and you're telling me he's in there answering questions. What kinds of questions?”
“I'm sorry...I forget sometimes. You just died - you have no idea what's going on, do you? Everyone in line gets one question. Any question at all. It looks to me like you’ve got about ten more minutes before you’re up, so make it a good one!”
“Right. That’s, um, truly, remarkably fascinating. The last thing I remember was driving behind a garbage truck in the rain and now I’m getting answers from God.”
“Just one, my friend. Only one answer to one question. Can you imagine the line if you could ask as many questions as you wanted? It’d be like Space Mountain up here.”
“Right. Of course. It’s just that...I have no idea what I should ask him.”
“People ask questions because they want answers. If you already have all of the answers, you don't need to ask him anything.”
“Did you get to ask him a question?” I asked delicately.
“I did. I asked God if this was really heaven. Can you believe that?" He laughed. "What a waste. And since I’ve already told you that it is, you don’t have to ask him that.”
“Well, I thank you for that. Looks like the line is moving again.”
“It is – good luck, Terry. Don’t forget to remove your shoes before entering. We had new carpet put in last weekend.”
“Oh, right. I won’t. Thanks for your help.”
I was suddenly consumed by this amazing once-in-a-lifetime – once-in-an-eternity, rather – opportunity. I was going to be able to ask the Creator anything I wanted. But I only had 10 minutes to figure out what I wanted to know! My head filled with dozens of perfect questions. How would I be able to ask him only one? I needed more time!
And it was about here in my daydream that I finished eating my crispy, delicious tuna melt sandwich. I wiped my mouth, rubbed my greasy hands on my pants, and shifted my focus back to work.
But the question has been nagging me all afternoon: What WOULD I ask? Do you guys get internet service up here? What do you have against the Cubs anyway? Why do people still use chopsticks when the fork is far more efficient? Who shot John F. Kennedy? Can I drink without getting a hangover now? Who really won the 2000 election? What was the nicest thing anyone ever did for me that I didn't know about? Do we really have choices, or is the concept of free will an illusion created by our minds after the fact to make us feel like we are in control of our behavior when we're actually more predictable than ground squirrels? Can I watch a video of my life somewhere? Where did I lose my keys that one time? Did I get ripped off when I bought my car? Do you ever shave your beard or do you always wear it like that? Donde esta el bano?
What would YOU ask? You've got ten minutes to figure it out.
IT'S ALL THE SAME
It’s all the same.
I worked with a guy once who said this every time someone asked him where he wanted to eat for lunch.
“I don’t care – you pick. It’s all the same.”
Yeah, there are plenty of different options to choose from, but when you get right down to it, lunch is about finding a place you can fill up for under six bucks. That’s it. And if you have tacos today, you’ll have a tuna melt tomorrow. And if you have a sub sandwich today, you’ll grab a couple hot dogs tomorrow. Fast food sandwiches and corner bakery salads. They don’t all taste the same, but they’re not really all that different either. Sure, Arby’s Roast Beef is a different experience than a Quizno’s Steakhouse Dip, but it’s really all about getting a little food in your belly so you don’t pass out on the job. Again.
So, yeah - lunch - it’s all the same.
Life is a lot like lunch. There are a lot of different things going on out in the world – and we all make decisions from day to day – but year after year, the foundation of our existence doesn’t change a whole lot. Take a look at what you did this year, and last year, and the year before that, and a pattern emerges.
It's all the same.
All of us, like it or not, are on this dizzying loop called a calendar year. When we were born, we were dropped by the hand of God right into the middle of this spinning blue wheel - living, breathing roulette balls - articles of faith, hope, and mixed fortune. Roulette balls hit a lot of different numbers and colors as they spin around that wheel, but the numbers are always 1-36, the colors are always red, black, and green, and the ball itself always comes to grinding halt – just as we all will someday.
Our big blue wheel was spinning for some time before we were dropped in, but we've been here long enough to get a good feel for the lay of the land.
For modern Americans, life looks a lot like this:
Happy New Year, the Superbowl, Groundhog Day, Valentine’s Day, Presidents Day, St. Patrick’s Day, March Madness, Spring training, April Fools Day, tax time, tornadoes, spring cleaning, Easter, graduation, Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, Father’s Day, Independence Day, summer vacations, heat waves, droughts, wildfires, hurricanes, back to school shopping, Labor Day, tornadoes, World Series, Columbus Day, Halloween, election day, Veterans Day, Thanksgiving, holiday shopping, Christmas, blizzards, ice storms, New Years resolutions, the Superbowl, Groundhog Day, Valentine’s Day, Presidents Day, St. Patrick’s Day, March Madness, Spring training, April Fools Day, tax time, tornadoes, spring cleaning, Easter, graduation, Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, Father’s Day, Independence Day, summer vacations, heat waves, droughts, wildfires, hurricanes, back to school shopping, Labor Day, tornadoes, World Series, Columbus Day, Halloween, election day, Veterans Day, Thanksgiving, holiday shopping, Christmas, blizzards, ice storms, New Years resolutions, the Superbowl, Groundhog Day, Valentine’s Day, Presidents Day, St. Patrick’s Day, March Madness, Spring training, April Fools Day, tax time, tornadoes, spring cleaning, Easter, graduation, Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, Father’s Day, Independence Day, summer vacations, heat waves, droughts, wildfires, hurricanes, back to school shopping, Labor Day, tornadoes, World Series, Columbus Day, Halloween, election day, Veterans Day, Thanksgiving, holiday shopping, Christmas, blizzards, ice storms, ad infinitum/nauseum...
Every so often we mix things up with a Leap Year, Olympic games, or the invasion of a country on false pretenses, but things are otherwise the same year after year. The same holidays. The same sporting events. The same seasonal rituals year after year after year. Add a few birthdays and weddings to the mix and you’ve got yourself plans for a lifetime.
This is what I want.
I want a randomized calendar of events that’s compiled by a computer and announced on January first (by Dick Clark). All annual holidays and events are to be assigned completely at random and can fall on any day of the year. Imagine the possibilities.
We could have Halloween the day before St. Patrick’s Day. Christmas in April. Thanksgiving turkey cooked on the grill. We could vote for a president on April Fools Day (appropriately?). Our taxes could be due on Labor Day. It might be a little weird to postpone the Superbowl until the following September, but at least the teams would be at full strength. Randomizing annual events every year would really mix things up – for the better!
And to really mix things up, I propose we add another week (5 work days) of holidays. They would fall on completely random days and each one would celebrate a different American person. Not famous Americans, just average everyday normal Americans like you and me. So October 7th, 2006 could be AYNtK day. And people would get off of work in honor of my naughty monkey. We need more time off in this country anyhow, and celebrating the lives of ordinary citizens at random points during the year would be a fun way to do it. No more Casmir Pulaski days. If I'm going to celebrate a person I've never heard of before, I want that person to be every bit as mediocre as I am. And the best part of all of this is that every year would be completely different.
So what do you say? Are you with me? Let's do it.
Otherwise life will continue to be like lunch – a six dollar sandwich, soda, and side.
I worked with a guy once who said this every time someone asked him where he wanted to eat for lunch.
“I don’t care – you pick. It’s all the same.”
Yeah, there are plenty of different options to choose from, but when you get right down to it, lunch is about finding a place you can fill up for under six bucks. That’s it. And if you have tacos today, you’ll have a tuna melt tomorrow. And if you have a sub sandwich today, you’ll grab a couple hot dogs tomorrow. Fast food sandwiches and corner bakery salads. They don’t all taste the same, but they’re not really all that different either. Sure, Arby’s Roast Beef is a different experience than a Quizno’s Steakhouse Dip, but it’s really all about getting a little food in your belly so you don’t pass out on the job. Again.
So, yeah - lunch - it’s all the same.
Life is a lot like lunch. There are a lot of different things going on out in the world – and we all make decisions from day to day – but year after year, the foundation of our existence doesn’t change a whole lot. Take a look at what you did this year, and last year, and the year before that, and a pattern emerges.
It's all the same.
All of us, like it or not, are on this dizzying loop called a calendar year. When we were born, we were dropped by the hand of God right into the middle of this spinning blue wheel - living, breathing roulette balls - articles of faith, hope, and mixed fortune. Roulette balls hit a lot of different numbers and colors as they spin around that wheel, but the numbers are always 1-36, the colors are always red, black, and green, and the ball itself always comes to grinding halt – just as we all will someday.
Our big blue wheel was spinning for some time before we were dropped in, but we've been here long enough to get a good feel for the lay of the land.
For modern Americans, life looks a lot like this:
Happy New Year, the Superbowl, Groundhog Day, Valentine’s Day, Presidents Day, St. Patrick’s Day, March Madness, Spring training, April Fools Day, tax time, tornadoes, spring cleaning, Easter, graduation, Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, Father’s Day, Independence Day, summer vacations, heat waves, droughts, wildfires, hurricanes, back to school shopping, Labor Day, tornadoes, World Series, Columbus Day, Halloween, election day, Veterans Day, Thanksgiving, holiday shopping, Christmas, blizzards, ice storms, New Years resolutions, the Superbowl, Groundhog Day, Valentine’s Day, Presidents Day, St. Patrick’s Day, March Madness, Spring training, April Fools Day, tax time, tornadoes, spring cleaning, Easter, graduation, Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, Father’s Day, Independence Day, summer vacations, heat waves, droughts, wildfires, hurricanes, back to school shopping, Labor Day, tornadoes, World Series, Columbus Day, Halloween, election day, Veterans Day, Thanksgiving, holiday shopping, Christmas, blizzards, ice storms, New Years resolutions, the Superbowl, Groundhog Day, Valentine’s Day, Presidents Day, St. Patrick’s Day, March Madness, Spring training, April Fools Day, tax time, tornadoes, spring cleaning, Easter, graduation, Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, Father’s Day, Independence Day, summer vacations, heat waves, droughts, wildfires, hurricanes, back to school shopping, Labor Day, tornadoes, World Series, Columbus Day, Halloween, election day, Veterans Day, Thanksgiving, holiday shopping, Christmas, blizzards, ice storms, ad infinitum/nauseum...
Every so often we mix things up with a Leap Year, Olympic games, or the invasion of a country on false pretenses, but things are otherwise the same year after year. The same holidays. The same sporting events. The same seasonal rituals year after year after year. Add a few birthdays and weddings to the mix and you’ve got yourself plans for a lifetime.
This is what I want.
I want a randomized calendar of events that’s compiled by a computer and announced on January first (by Dick Clark). All annual holidays and events are to be assigned completely at random and can fall on any day of the year. Imagine the possibilities.
We could have Halloween the day before St. Patrick’s Day. Christmas in April. Thanksgiving turkey cooked on the grill. We could vote for a president on April Fools Day (appropriately?). Our taxes could be due on Labor Day. It might be a little weird to postpone the Superbowl until the following September, but at least the teams would be at full strength. Randomizing annual events every year would really mix things up – for the better!
And to really mix things up, I propose we add another week (5 work days) of holidays. They would fall on completely random days and each one would celebrate a different American person. Not famous Americans, just average everyday normal Americans like you and me. So October 7th, 2006 could be AYNtK day. And people would get off of work in honor of my naughty monkey. We need more time off in this country anyhow, and celebrating the lives of ordinary citizens at random points during the year would be a fun way to do it. No more Casmir Pulaski days. If I'm going to celebrate a person I've never heard of before, I want that person to be every bit as mediocre as I am. And the best part of all of this is that every year would be completely different.
So what do you say? Are you with me? Let's do it.
Otherwise life will continue to be like lunch – a six dollar sandwich, soda, and side.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
ALL OF MY CLOSE FRIENDS ARE SUPER GAY
It doesn’t matter how old, rich, or famous we become, guys never seem to stop calling each other “gay.”
We just can’t do it.
The word has transcended the realm of schoolyard insults to become a term of endearment. This hilarious story is proof.
Thanks to SH for sharing…
We just can’t do it.
The word has transcended the realm of schoolyard insults to become a term of endearment. This hilarious story is proof.
Thanks to SH for sharing…
PASSIVE E-GRESSIVE
Is it just me, or does e-mail enable passive aggressive behavior in the workplace?
Don’t get me wrong – I LOVE e-mail. I actually PREFER e-mail to other forms of communication most of the time…for a lot of reasons. I’m just beginning to wonder if perhaps we’ve come to rely on it a little too much. Personally speaking, I KNOW I have.
The merits of electronic correspondence are many.
• E-mail gives me the ability to craft considerate, thoughtful messages with a level of clarity I can’t reliably produce in real-time conversation. I can actually THINK about what I want to say before I say it. I can be more wary of my tone, and read my communiqué before dispatching it to ensure it accomplishes precisely what I intend it to.
• I also think e-mail is a better way to communicate because it can mitigate a lot of the emotion associated with real-time discussions. I can keep my cool in formulating rational, respectful responses instead of relying on risky knee-jerk reactions to a harshly spoken word. I’m an emotional guy with strong opinions and, unfortunately, I’m not nearly as articulate without a keyboard as I am with one. As a result, I tend to avoid verbal confrontation. Not only does e-mail permit me a voice, it affords me a voice of reason.
• Another reason I prefer e-mail is its unobtrusive nature. E-mail gives me complete control over my time. Phone calls and face-to-face discussions are sophisticated dances requiring partners be conscientious of each other’s time and level of involvement. Entering and exiting conversations in today’s busy world can be awkward, and delicate conversations can be emotional minefields – a single verbal misstep and you won’t have a leg left to stand on! Let’s face it, sometimes we’re just not in the mood to talk – and when we are, sometimes the person we’d like to speak with isn’t in the mood to listen. E-mail bridges that divide by letting us carry on entire conversations when it’s most convenient for us to do so.
• Finally, I like that e-mail is verifiable. Unless recorded, spoken words are fast forgotten. Consider how often your recollection of a conversation doesn’t match the recollection of someone else who was engaged in that same conversation! It happens every single day. More often than not, we hear what we want to hear, and remember what we choose to remember – the good, bad, and exceedingly ugly. E-mail lets us bypass the proverbial “He said, she said” drama in favor of a single, indelible truth. If you wrote it, there’s a record of it. Argument settled.
Still, for all of these advantages, I’ve decided that e-mail is a productivity killer in the workplace, largely because it’s an easy way for people to avoid – ahem – WORKING. I’m not talking about the person who procrastinates by reading and sending personal e-mail all day long (to say nothing of the prolific blogger). That’s a time management issue. I’m talking about the person who consistently compromises workplace efficiency by e-mailing instead of picking up the phone and calling. You know who you are – and we are each other.
I admit it. I'm not much of a phone guy. But at work, schedules often demand immediate action. And e-mail does not serve this purpose. The whole idea behind e-mail is that it is NOT immediate! And yet day after day I hear people at the office waiting around for e-mails. When I ask for status updates on time-sensitive projects, I get the same (unacceptable) response: “I e-mailed earlier and am just waiting to hear back.” Meanwhile, valuable grains of sand are slipping away.
E-mail is easy. It’s a great way to communicate exactly what you want to say. It’s unobtrusive. It’s verifiable. But it’s SLOW. More and more I’ve found myself gently suggesting that people pick up the phone to get answers instead of sending an e-mail, and more and more I’m finding that people are resisting real-time contact. E-mail has made us lazy. Instead of engaging a live person to solicit an answer or commitment, we shoot off an e-mail and trust that the person on the other end is as engaged in the process as we are. This is seldom the case. How often do people sit at their computers anxiously awaiting the arrival of an e-mail so they can immediately respond, like eager high school kids flirting online at midnight? Working people have other things to do. The most egregious example of this kind of behavior, in my less than humble opinion, is the inter-workplace e-mail situation where people often sit within earshot of each other - yet send e-mails back and forth instead of settling important matters instantly, in the open. But, alas, we are who we are.
And that brings me back to my original thought. If I were the passive aggressive type, e-mail would be a tool of empowerment. It would enable me to logjam and bottleneck workflow at every impasse. If I didn’t like the way things were going, I could sit on important e-mails for days. I could drag productivity to a grinding halt by asking pointless, time-consuming questions that would take even longer to answer because all communications were being executed via e-mail. In this way, e-mail as a workplace communications tool is actually COUNTER-productive.
I see this kind of behavior all the time and I wonder why we let it happen. Perhaps we’re complicit because we appreciate the many advantages of sending an e-mail over making a call. Or, because we don’t want to put someone on the spot. Or, because we’re trying to be considerate of a person’s clear preference in communication. Or, maybe e-mail happens to be more convenient for us as well. Whatever the underlying justification for this inefficiency, it creates undue tension and probably ought to be addressed if we want to start getting things done for a change.
In fact, I’m going to fire off a quick e-mail about all of this right now…
Don’t get me wrong – I LOVE e-mail. I actually PREFER e-mail to other forms of communication most of the time…for a lot of reasons. I’m just beginning to wonder if perhaps we’ve come to rely on it a little too much. Personally speaking, I KNOW I have.
The merits of electronic correspondence are many.
• E-mail gives me the ability to craft considerate, thoughtful messages with a level of clarity I can’t reliably produce in real-time conversation. I can actually THINK about what I want to say before I say it. I can be more wary of my tone, and read my communiqué before dispatching it to ensure it accomplishes precisely what I intend it to.
• I also think e-mail is a better way to communicate because it can mitigate a lot of the emotion associated with real-time discussions. I can keep my cool in formulating rational, respectful responses instead of relying on risky knee-jerk reactions to a harshly spoken word. I’m an emotional guy with strong opinions and, unfortunately, I’m not nearly as articulate without a keyboard as I am with one. As a result, I tend to avoid verbal confrontation. Not only does e-mail permit me a voice, it affords me a voice of reason.
• Another reason I prefer e-mail is its unobtrusive nature. E-mail gives me complete control over my time. Phone calls and face-to-face discussions are sophisticated dances requiring partners be conscientious of each other’s time and level of involvement. Entering and exiting conversations in today’s busy world can be awkward, and delicate conversations can be emotional minefields – a single verbal misstep and you won’t have a leg left to stand on! Let’s face it, sometimes we’re just not in the mood to talk – and when we are, sometimes the person we’d like to speak with isn’t in the mood to listen. E-mail bridges that divide by letting us carry on entire conversations when it’s most convenient for us to do so.
• Finally, I like that e-mail is verifiable. Unless recorded, spoken words are fast forgotten. Consider how often your recollection of a conversation doesn’t match the recollection of someone else who was engaged in that same conversation! It happens every single day. More often than not, we hear what we want to hear, and remember what we choose to remember – the good, bad, and exceedingly ugly. E-mail lets us bypass the proverbial “He said, she said” drama in favor of a single, indelible truth. If you wrote it, there’s a record of it. Argument settled.
Still, for all of these advantages, I’ve decided that e-mail is a productivity killer in the workplace, largely because it’s an easy way for people to avoid – ahem – WORKING. I’m not talking about the person who procrastinates by reading and sending personal e-mail all day long (to say nothing of the prolific blogger). That’s a time management issue. I’m talking about the person who consistently compromises workplace efficiency by e-mailing instead of picking up the phone and calling. You know who you are – and we are each other.
I admit it. I'm not much of a phone guy. But at work, schedules often demand immediate action. And e-mail does not serve this purpose. The whole idea behind e-mail is that it is NOT immediate! And yet day after day I hear people at the office waiting around for e-mails. When I ask for status updates on time-sensitive projects, I get the same (unacceptable) response: “I e-mailed earlier and am just waiting to hear back.” Meanwhile, valuable grains of sand are slipping away.
E-mail is easy. It’s a great way to communicate exactly what you want to say. It’s unobtrusive. It’s verifiable. But it’s SLOW. More and more I’ve found myself gently suggesting that people pick up the phone to get answers instead of sending an e-mail, and more and more I’m finding that people are resisting real-time contact. E-mail has made us lazy. Instead of engaging a live person to solicit an answer or commitment, we shoot off an e-mail and trust that the person on the other end is as engaged in the process as we are. This is seldom the case. How often do people sit at their computers anxiously awaiting the arrival of an e-mail so they can immediately respond, like eager high school kids flirting online at midnight? Working people have other things to do. The most egregious example of this kind of behavior, in my less than humble opinion, is the inter-workplace e-mail situation where people often sit within earshot of each other - yet send e-mails back and forth instead of settling important matters instantly, in the open. But, alas, we are who we are.
And that brings me back to my original thought. If I were the passive aggressive type, e-mail would be a tool of empowerment. It would enable me to logjam and bottleneck workflow at every impasse. If I didn’t like the way things were going, I could sit on important e-mails for days. I could drag productivity to a grinding halt by asking pointless, time-consuming questions that would take even longer to answer because all communications were being executed via e-mail. In this way, e-mail as a workplace communications tool is actually COUNTER-productive.
I see this kind of behavior all the time and I wonder why we let it happen. Perhaps we’re complicit because we appreciate the many advantages of sending an e-mail over making a call. Or, because we don’t want to put someone on the spot. Or, because we’re trying to be considerate of a person’s clear preference in communication. Or, maybe e-mail happens to be more convenient for us as well. Whatever the underlying justification for this inefficiency, it creates undue tension and probably ought to be addressed if we want to start getting things done for a change.
In fact, I’m going to fire off a quick e-mail about all of this right now…
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
STAFF INFECTION
President Bush's Chief of Staff and Presidential Puppeteer, Andy Card, resigned this morning. Unbreak my heart!
Do you realize that if the President wasn't allowed to replace people who resign, there wouldn't be anybody left to tell him what to do? I am reminded of the popular saying: A cabinet position in the hands of any other administration is worth two in the Bush. People are diving off this sinking ship head first. You know things are bad when the Chief of Staff bails midway through the second term. Whatever's going around over there is contagious.
Does anyone else get the feeling that the only two people who haven't resigned yet are the ones who probably ought to?
Do you realize that if the President wasn't allowed to replace people who resign, there wouldn't be anybody left to tell him what to do? I am reminded of the popular saying: A cabinet position in the hands of any other administration is worth two in the Bush. People are diving off this sinking ship head first. You know things are bad when the Chief of Staff bails midway through the second term. Whatever's going around over there is contagious.
Does anyone else get the feeling that the only two people who haven't resigned yet are the ones who probably ought to?
Monday, March 27, 2006
YOU WANT SOME MARCH MADNESS?
I don’t know who this guy is, but his NCAA tournament picks are completely ridiculous.
At least they were before this past weekend.
Check this shit out real quick.
Sick.
(Better get your money on UCLA!)
At least they were before this past weekend.
Check this shit out real quick.
Sick.
(Better get your money on UCLA!)
Friday, March 24, 2006
IN A MORE PERFECT WORLD...
Life is far from perfect, as I'm sure you are aware. But that doesn’t prevent us from dreaming of all the different ways it could be closer to perfect. I’m in the process of compiling thoughts for a coffee table book I'm calling “In a More Perfect World,” and it's going to feature a bunch of silly statements about the world and how things could be so much better than they are.
Here are some initial thoughts:
In a more perfect world…
• Pork products would fight cancer. Of course, in a perfect world there wouldn’t likely be cancer to fight in the first place, but we could pretend while we’re eating greasy fried bacon strips out of potato chip bags.
• Postal employees would be psychic, so you wouldn’t have to spend any time addressing stuff. You could just send off a stack of blank envelopes and they’d all get to where they’re going.
• Cars would run on air, and car engines would actually purify the atmosphere as part of the combustion process – so cities would remain completely smog-free.
• Dog crap would melt into the ground the second it landed, to expedite the fertilization process and spare us the agony of having to deal with it at all.
• The advertised Lottery jackpot amount is the ACTUAL amount that you win.
• Envelope glue would be vitamin fortified.
• Nose hair would be considered “cool.”
• Health insurance, like most other forms of insurance, would be for super expensive, unexpected things – like accidents and emergencies – instead of everyday shit like exams, tests, and drugs. (There’s no co-pay arrangement with your auto insurance company when you change the oil in our car, and you don’t file a homeowner’s claim every time you have work done on our house!) If health insurance were actually treated like INSURANCE instead of a government subsidy program, it wouldn’t cost nearly as much to get coverage, and health practitioners, hospitals, and clinics would all be forced to adjust their prices to reflect what people can actually AFFORD out of pocket, instead of gouging a bloated health insurance industry already bursting at the seams.
• Cheetos would make you taller.
• There would be only one drug to cure everything, and it would grow naturally – like a weed. It would be called “weed.”
• Smoking cigarettes would be dirt-cheap and completely legal everywhere…and no one would do it.
• David Hasselhoff would be the Chancellor of Germany.
• The earth would come with a Thermostat and everyone would agree that it should be set at the same temperature.
• Paris Hilton would only be a hotel.
• People would get paid based on their disposition.
• Rebates would be taken off at the register.
• Islamist martyrs and suicide bombers would actually get their 70 virgins in heaven – and they’d all be big, strapping men, lined up and ready for their turn.
• Cauliflower would be considered junk food, while deep-fried apple fritters, glazed donuts, and bear claws would be loaded with anti-oxidents.
• Pajamas would be considered "business casual."
• Cabs would come with oxygen masks.
• Elevators would come equipped with an alert system capable of pinpointing the person who farted, and then broadcasting this information via a computerized voice: "The odor in this elevator was produced by the blonde woman in the purple suit coat carrying a black bag. This elevator will smell for approximately 9 more minutes."
If you've got any brilliant ideas on how the world would be a more perfect place, feel free to post them here!
Here are some initial thoughts:
In a more perfect world…
• Pork products would fight cancer. Of course, in a perfect world there wouldn’t likely be cancer to fight in the first place, but we could pretend while we’re eating greasy fried bacon strips out of potato chip bags.
• Postal employees would be psychic, so you wouldn’t have to spend any time addressing stuff. You could just send off a stack of blank envelopes and they’d all get to where they’re going.
• Cars would run on air, and car engines would actually purify the atmosphere as part of the combustion process – so cities would remain completely smog-free.
• Dog crap would melt into the ground the second it landed, to expedite the fertilization process and spare us the agony of having to deal with it at all.
• The advertised Lottery jackpot amount is the ACTUAL amount that you win.
• Envelope glue would be vitamin fortified.
• Nose hair would be considered “cool.”
• Health insurance, like most other forms of insurance, would be for super expensive, unexpected things – like accidents and emergencies – instead of everyday shit like exams, tests, and drugs. (There’s no co-pay arrangement with your auto insurance company when you change the oil in our car, and you don’t file a homeowner’s claim every time you have work done on our house!) If health insurance were actually treated like INSURANCE instead of a government subsidy program, it wouldn’t cost nearly as much to get coverage, and health practitioners, hospitals, and clinics would all be forced to adjust their prices to reflect what people can actually AFFORD out of pocket, instead of gouging a bloated health insurance industry already bursting at the seams.
• Cheetos would make you taller.
• There would be only one drug to cure everything, and it would grow naturally – like a weed. It would be called “weed.”
• Smoking cigarettes would be dirt-cheap and completely legal everywhere…and no one would do it.
• David Hasselhoff would be the Chancellor of Germany.
• The earth would come with a Thermostat and everyone would agree that it should be set at the same temperature.
• Paris Hilton would only be a hotel.
• People would get paid based on their disposition.
• Rebates would be taken off at the register.
• Islamist martyrs and suicide bombers would actually get their 70 virgins in heaven – and they’d all be big, strapping men, lined up and ready for their turn.
• Cauliflower would be considered junk food, while deep-fried apple fritters, glazed donuts, and bear claws would be loaded with anti-oxidents.
• Pajamas would be considered "business casual."
• Cabs would come with oxygen masks.
• Elevators would come equipped with an alert system capable of pinpointing the person who farted, and then broadcasting this information via a computerized voice: "The odor in this elevator was produced by the blonde woman in the purple suit coat carrying a black bag. This elevator will smell for approximately 9 more minutes."
If you've got any brilliant ideas on how the world would be a more perfect place, feel free to post them here!
A STREET SIGN NAMED UNDESIRABLE
I'm sure it's a lovely cul-de-sac, but this can't be good for property values.
THE IMPACT OF A SERIAL COMMA
Well, I’ve fought it as long as I could, but it looks like I’m going to end up on the losing end of this one.
My good buddy Bobby Earl and I have been lobbying hard to end the incorrect use of “impact” as a verb for years, yet people keep throwing it out there everywhere you turn.
Instead of “having an impact” on something, people tend to abbreviate by saying “impacting.” According to the American Heritage Book of Usage, 84% of the Usage Panel disapproves of using the word in this way. But the train has already left the station, so I doubt we’re going to be able to catch this one.
I’d better shift my focus back to fighting for the always-correct inclusion of a comma before the last item/word/phrase when items/words/phrases are listed in series. Lots of people like to skip that last comma before the word “and,” regarding it superfluous and unnecessary, but such an omission is not always correct, and often serves to confuse the reader.
This is a battle it appears I am winning, as evidenced by the countless links to handbooks and other online writing resources advocating the consistent use of a "Serial Comma" before the word “and.” I would include some of those links here, but you people should really be able to trust me by now. How long have we been dating?
But if you insist.
My good buddy Bobby Earl and I have been lobbying hard to end the incorrect use of “impact” as a verb for years, yet people keep throwing it out there everywhere you turn.
Instead of “having an impact” on something, people tend to abbreviate by saying “impacting.” According to the American Heritage Book of Usage, 84% of the Usage Panel disapproves of using the word in this way. But the train has already left the station, so I doubt we’re going to be able to catch this one.
I’d better shift my focus back to fighting for the always-correct inclusion of a comma before the last item/word/phrase when items/words/phrases are listed in series. Lots of people like to skip that last comma before the word “and,” regarding it superfluous and unnecessary, but such an omission is not always correct, and often serves to confuse the reader.
This is a battle it appears I am winning, as evidenced by the countless links to handbooks and other online writing resources advocating the consistent use of a "Serial Comma" before the word “and.” I would include some of those links here, but you people should really be able to trust me by now. How long have we been dating?
But if you insist.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
VIDEO DIARRHEA
This link ought to keep all of you conspiracy theorists going for awhile. It’s an interesting online documentary about 9/11 that summarizes, in hindsight, everything we now know about the event and the circumstances surrounding it.
Plenty of eyebrow-raising stuff if you’ve got the time to sit through it. A well-assembled video account – and disturbingly comprehensive in detailing our inability to provide adequate homeland security. I actually found it pretty absorbing. Kind of like a Bounty paper towel.
Plenty of eyebrow-raising stuff if you’ve got the time to sit through it. A well-assembled video account – and disturbingly comprehensive in detailing our inability to provide adequate homeland security. I actually found it pretty absorbing. Kind of like a Bounty paper towel.
ARE YOU LOOKING AT MY BUM?
Here’s a kickasstic website you MUST check out. There’s this dude who’s really talented with chalk. You won’t believe some of the sidewalk art he’s created. Scary cool.
And quit looking at my bum, you cheeky monkey!
And quit looking at my bum, you cheeky monkey!
IN HOT PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS
“Kids have it right,” I said to Geri one day while we were stuck in traffic on I-290 outside of Chicago. “In part because they have less to worry about…but also because they don’t take tomorrow for granted.”
I pointed into the backseat where the 5-year-old H-man was humming along cheerfully to something on Disney radio. “If I asked him right now what makes him happy, what would be his answer? I bet it’d be profoundly at the heart of what it means to be happy.”
***********
There are a lot of messages out there in the world.
How to improve yourself. How to lose weight. How to make more money. How to realize your true potential. How to find God. How to get the most out of your personal relationships. How to get rich quick. How to have the body you’ve always wanted. How to find true love. How to cheat at poker. How to score big in real estate. How to be a better parent.
What’s with all of these tips on life? Can’t we figure anything out on our own? What did people do in the tens of thousands of years before self-help? I wonder sometimes if all of these messages aren’t giving us inferiority complexes. I’m usually pretty content with myself, generally speaking. But I see all of these messages out there and I start wondering if I shouldn’t be a little more worried. All these people losing weight except me. All these people getting rich in real estate except me. All these people getting into heaven except me. Why do I even bother getting out of bed in the morning?
One thing is common to all of these messages – they all assume that I couldn’t possibly be happy with the way things are now. Not when so many other people out in the world are changing their lives for the better every day!
Marketers bombard us with messages promising us we’ll be loads happier if we do or change something about the way we are living our lives. Many religions give us the very same guarantee. And I think that’s true in a way. We CAN be happy if we do or change something. But if you ask me, all we really have to change is our mind. It's the best way to ward off the lifesucking preachers of discontent.
Here's a mantra for morning: I am happy now, dammit – with my beer belly. With my 220 cholesterol level. With off-white teeth. With the many psychological dysfunctions that make me who I am. I don't need anything other than what I have to be happy in this world. I am perfectly content with my life.
In our culture, happiness is always tomorrow – forever a day away. It’s even written in our nation’s Declaration of Independence that we have the right to “pursue” happiness. We don’t have the right to BE happy – just the right to die of exhaustion from chasing after it our entire lives.
I think about all of the people all over the globe who will live their whole lives in the same community, surrounded by the same people, eating the same staple diet, wearing the same clothes, and performing the same job year after year. Am I really any happier than they are?
I’ve been to more professional basketball games than they have, but am I happier?
I’ve been to more trendy (read: expensive) restaurants than they have, but am I happier?
I’ve got enough clothes in my closet to wear something different every day for three weeks, but am I happier?
Sure, I have the right to pursue happiness. But happiness isn’t something to be pursued – it’s something to be experienced right now. I think we spend too much time chasing future happiness and not enough BEING happy.
When does our pursuit of happiness end so we can finally be happy?
Consider children. Children don’t share in our quest for future happiness. In fact, children are quite the opposite. They live entirely in the now – the concept of delayed gratification doesn’t exist, and when we attempt to explain it, the idea isn’t well received. From a kid’s point of view, “Why would I wait until tomorrow to eat that brownie when I could eat it and enjoy it right now?” Waiting to be happy simply doesn’t make sense. That mindset makes it easier for children to experience happiness…while so many adults are bent on pursuing an uncertain future of it.
*****
“Kids have it right,” I said to Geri one day while we were stuck in traffic on I-290 outside of Chicago. “In part because they have less to worry about…but also because they don’t take tomorrow for granted.”
I pointed into the backseat where the 5-year-old H-man was humming along cheerfully to something on Disney radio. “If I asked him right now what makes him happy, what would be his answer? I bet it’d be profoundly at the heart of what it means to be happy.”
That made me curious, so I asked him.
“Hey – H. What makes you happy?”
He was taken a little off guard by the question and seemed unsure what I was asking him. So I repeated myself to be clear.
“Think about when you are feeling happy. What exactly is it that makes you happy?” I waited while he pondered happiness.
“Ummm, I don’t know,” he said, then cocked his head to the side and offered, “I guess I would say…morning?” He questioned his answer because he wasn’t sure if it was right or wrong. What he didn’t understand was that there is no right or wrong – there just is. And morning makes him happy. Could there be a more perfect answer to that question?
Morning. The miracle anti-depressant. The elusive secret to happiness. All of these ads, books, articles, and promises for a better life everywhere you turn…when healthy, well-adjusted kids the world over are getting high on a daily dose of morning. Sucks to grow up, doesn’t it?
Sure, life’s not Chuck E. Cheese’s everywhere you go - and there are a lot of kids who likely don’t share H’s enthusiasm for a brand new day. But his answer was still telling. Happiness isn’t tethered to something you do, it’s a byproduct of being. It’s about waking up every day and breathing. That’s as true today as it was when you and I were 5 years old. Happiness is recognizing that each new day is full of endless possibilities, and virtually anything can happen. At some point it seems we give up on today and start living for tomorrow. The tragedy, of course, is that tomorrow never comes. Tomorrow is always a day away.
Seems to me the best way to find happiness is to stop chasing after it. Let happiness chase you for awhile. You're a lot slower than happiness - you might actually get caught every once in a while.
I pointed into the backseat where the 5-year-old H-man was humming along cheerfully to something on Disney radio. “If I asked him right now what makes him happy, what would be his answer? I bet it’d be profoundly at the heart of what it means to be happy.”
***********
There are a lot of messages out there in the world.
How to improve yourself. How to lose weight. How to make more money. How to realize your true potential. How to find God. How to get the most out of your personal relationships. How to get rich quick. How to have the body you’ve always wanted. How to find true love. How to cheat at poker. How to score big in real estate. How to be a better parent.
What’s with all of these tips on life? Can’t we figure anything out on our own? What did people do in the tens of thousands of years before self-help? I wonder sometimes if all of these messages aren’t giving us inferiority complexes. I’m usually pretty content with myself, generally speaking. But I see all of these messages out there and I start wondering if I shouldn’t be a little more worried. All these people losing weight except me. All these people getting rich in real estate except me. All these people getting into heaven except me. Why do I even bother getting out of bed in the morning?
One thing is common to all of these messages – they all assume that I couldn’t possibly be happy with the way things are now. Not when so many other people out in the world are changing their lives for the better every day!
Marketers bombard us with messages promising us we’ll be loads happier if we do or change something about the way we are living our lives. Many religions give us the very same guarantee. And I think that’s true in a way. We CAN be happy if we do or change something. But if you ask me, all we really have to change is our mind. It's the best way to ward off the lifesucking preachers of discontent.
Here's a mantra for morning: I am happy now, dammit – with my beer belly. With my 220 cholesterol level. With off-white teeth. With the many psychological dysfunctions that make me who I am. I don't need anything other than what I have to be happy in this world. I am perfectly content with my life.
In our culture, happiness is always tomorrow – forever a day away. It’s even written in our nation’s Declaration of Independence that we have the right to “pursue” happiness. We don’t have the right to BE happy – just the right to die of exhaustion from chasing after it our entire lives.
I think about all of the people all over the globe who will live their whole lives in the same community, surrounded by the same people, eating the same staple diet, wearing the same clothes, and performing the same job year after year. Am I really any happier than they are?
I’ve been to more professional basketball games than they have, but am I happier?
I’ve been to more trendy (read: expensive) restaurants than they have, but am I happier?
I’ve got enough clothes in my closet to wear something different every day for three weeks, but am I happier?
Sure, I have the right to pursue happiness. But happiness isn’t something to be pursued – it’s something to be experienced right now. I think we spend too much time chasing future happiness and not enough BEING happy.
When does our pursuit of happiness end so we can finally be happy?
Consider children. Children don’t share in our quest for future happiness. In fact, children are quite the opposite. They live entirely in the now – the concept of delayed gratification doesn’t exist, and when we attempt to explain it, the idea isn’t well received. From a kid’s point of view, “Why would I wait until tomorrow to eat that brownie when I could eat it and enjoy it right now?” Waiting to be happy simply doesn’t make sense. That mindset makes it easier for children to experience happiness…while so many adults are bent on pursuing an uncertain future of it.
*****
“Kids have it right,” I said to Geri one day while we were stuck in traffic on I-290 outside of Chicago. “In part because they have less to worry about…but also because they don’t take tomorrow for granted.”
I pointed into the backseat where the 5-year-old H-man was humming along cheerfully to something on Disney radio. “If I asked him right now what makes him happy, what would be his answer? I bet it’d be profoundly at the heart of what it means to be happy.”
That made me curious, so I asked him.
“Hey – H. What makes you happy?”
He was taken a little off guard by the question and seemed unsure what I was asking him. So I repeated myself to be clear.
“Think about when you are feeling happy. What exactly is it that makes you happy?” I waited while he pondered happiness.
“Ummm, I don’t know,” he said, then cocked his head to the side and offered, “I guess I would say…morning?” He questioned his answer because he wasn’t sure if it was right or wrong. What he didn’t understand was that there is no right or wrong – there just is. And morning makes him happy. Could there be a more perfect answer to that question?
Morning. The miracle anti-depressant. The elusive secret to happiness. All of these ads, books, articles, and promises for a better life everywhere you turn…when healthy, well-adjusted kids the world over are getting high on a daily dose of morning. Sucks to grow up, doesn’t it?
Sure, life’s not Chuck E. Cheese’s everywhere you go - and there are a lot of kids who likely don’t share H’s enthusiasm for a brand new day. But his answer was still telling. Happiness isn’t tethered to something you do, it’s a byproduct of being. It’s about waking up every day and breathing. That’s as true today as it was when you and I were 5 years old. Happiness is recognizing that each new day is full of endless possibilities, and virtually anything can happen. At some point it seems we give up on today and start living for tomorrow. The tragedy, of course, is that tomorrow never comes. Tomorrow is always a day away.
Seems to me the best way to find happiness is to stop chasing after it. Let happiness chase you for awhile. You're a lot slower than happiness - you might actually get caught every once in a while.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
CRACK ADDICT
Don't you just hate it when you get a crack in the windshield?
Thanks to the hobbling Wetnap for sharing this bad boy. Or should I say bad girl?
(Somebody roll the windows up, please!)
ORDER FORM
I'm going to tell you a secret.
Cluttered desk = cluttered mind.
It's true. Ask Confucius.
How can you expect to maintain order in your life, when you can't maintain order on your desk?
Making space for order is easy once you learn to throw things away. Fold your clothes and put them in closets, drawers, and hampers. File your important papers in a cabinet and throw the unimportant ones away. Everything has a place. When you clean your room, you clean your mind. When you create order on a small scale, order is created in your mind - the grandest scale of all.
Look around you right now and throw five things away. Go ahead. You can do it. I know you can. I have complete confidence in you.
Cluttered desk = cluttered mind.
It's true. Ask Confucius.
How can you expect to maintain order in your life, when you can't maintain order on your desk?
Making space for order is easy once you learn to throw things away. Fold your clothes and put them in closets, drawers, and hampers. File your important papers in a cabinet and throw the unimportant ones away. Everything has a place. When you clean your room, you clean your mind. When you create order on a small scale, order is created in your mind - the grandest scale of all.
Look around you right now and throw five things away. Go ahead. You can do it. I know you can. I have complete confidence in you.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
FILM STUDY
Geri and I watched the movie "Walk the Line" last night and it was like deja vu all over again. I was certain I hadn't seen the film before, yet there was something about it I felt was all too familiar. And then it dawned on me.
"Walk the Line" is "Ray" with white people.
Emerging music icon comes of age. Trace his humble beginnings from childhood. Early religious influence and financial hardship. Watch the lead character pursue an unlikely career in music, rise to fame, commit adultery, abuse narcotics, and cheat death. I found the similarities between the two life stories (as told by Hollywood) quite striking - right down to the tragic loss of a brother during childhood. It was as if someone sat down with the "Ray" screenplay and edited it over a few beers. Replace onset of blindness with abusive, distant father. Replace needles with pills. Replace Foxx with Phoenix. It was essentially the same movie. That's not to say it wasn't interesting - it was just a little late.
Speaking of movies, here's one I've been meaning to recommend for some time now: "The Machinist," starring Christian Bale. We rented this one a while ago, around the same time we first saw "Crash," and both were quite moving - for different reasons. Crash succeeded thanks to its storytelling. Each character was a caricature of prejudice, and the story leveraged its frustratingly hyperbolic stereotypes to create intense, dramatic scenes that swelled with dynamic tension. I am not embarrassed to admit I liberated several tears during that one.
The Machinist, on the other hand, delivered a similarly powerful message without the constant stream of dramatic intensity. Where practically every scene in Crash delivers a jolt of some kind, The Machinist is slow and steady...until the end. I spent the entire movie wondering, "What the fuck?" It was creepy, confusing, and intentionally slow-going. But it'll keep you guessing from start to finish as you try to solve the mystery. A Kafka-esque fable for the ages, and very well done. And those aren't special effects, friends - Bale actually lost something like 70 pounds to play the role. The guy looks like a broomstick. The movie is worth renting for that reason alone, nevermind the important life lesson it shares.
Finally, while we're on movies, feel free to avoid Broken Flowers starring Bill Murray. It's a dreadfully slow movie with a curiously uninteresting plot and no resolution. I say the plot was "curiously" uninteresting because it was SO uninteresting you assume something good HAS to happen at some point. So you keep watching - curious - waiting and watching and waiting and hoping and waiting and wondering. And nothing happens. And then the credits roll and you look around the room for the Candid Camera folks because you think this HAS to be a joke.
Honestly, I think I would have had more fun clipping my toe nails. Or someone else's for that matter.
"Walk the Line" is "Ray" with white people.
Emerging music icon comes of age. Trace his humble beginnings from childhood. Early religious influence and financial hardship. Watch the lead character pursue an unlikely career in music, rise to fame, commit adultery, abuse narcotics, and cheat death. I found the similarities between the two life stories (as told by Hollywood) quite striking - right down to the tragic loss of a brother during childhood. It was as if someone sat down with the "Ray" screenplay and edited it over a few beers. Replace onset of blindness with abusive, distant father. Replace needles with pills. Replace Foxx with Phoenix. It was essentially the same movie. That's not to say it wasn't interesting - it was just a little late.
Speaking of movies, here's one I've been meaning to recommend for some time now: "The Machinist," starring Christian Bale. We rented this one a while ago, around the same time we first saw "Crash," and both were quite moving - for different reasons. Crash succeeded thanks to its storytelling. Each character was a caricature of prejudice, and the story leveraged its frustratingly hyperbolic stereotypes to create intense, dramatic scenes that swelled with dynamic tension. I am not embarrassed to admit I liberated several tears during that one.
The Machinist, on the other hand, delivered a similarly powerful message without the constant stream of dramatic intensity. Where practically every scene in Crash delivers a jolt of some kind, The Machinist is slow and steady...until the end. I spent the entire movie wondering, "What the fuck?" It was creepy, confusing, and intentionally slow-going. But it'll keep you guessing from start to finish as you try to solve the mystery. A Kafka-esque fable for the ages, and very well done. And those aren't special effects, friends - Bale actually lost something like 70 pounds to play the role. The guy looks like a broomstick. The movie is worth renting for that reason alone, nevermind the important life lesson it shares.
Finally, while we're on movies, feel free to avoid Broken Flowers starring Bill Murray. It's a dreadfully slow movie with a curiously uninteresting plot and no resolution. I say the plot was "curiously" uninteresting because it was SO uninteresting you assume something good HAS to happen at some point. So you keep watching - curious - waiting and watching and waiting and hoping and waiting and wondering. And nothing happens. And then the credits roll and you look around the room for the Candid Camera folks because you think this HAS to be a joke.
Honestly, I think I would have had more fun clipping my toe nails. Or someone else's for that matter.
SMITTEN CANNON
There’s a new Kitten Cannon champ in town. Eric H. just sent me a screen capture of his mind-blowing score of 6,010. Upon hearing that one, I resigned completely. I do not think I’ll be topping that any time soon.
On the flipside, here's an impressive score sent in by Sheila K., who'd like to know where we're going and why she’s in a handbasket.
I really haven’t the heart to tell her.
On the flipside, here's an impressive score sent in by Sheila K., who'd like to know where we're going and why she’s in a handbasket.
I really haven’t the heart to tell her.
Monday, March 20, 2006
GOOD THIN-KING
For years, people have asked me how I manage to stay so thin. The truth is, I don’t think I’m all that slender, but I guess compared to the national average I would be considered among the more svelte members of the American population.
I think what amazes most people with regard to my light-weight frame is how I eat, which my dietitian girlfriend would describe as “unwell,” to put it politely. I personally don’t think I eat all that unwell – again, comparably speaking. But then, I don't have a degree in nutrition.
What's my diet? I enjoy things like Cheetos and potato chips, lots of dairy, plenty of pork, and large helpings of homemade brownies. But I also eat a lot of sushi, salmon, spinach, and other vegetables (when forced to). To me, a balanced diet means eating what you want, but only half the time. The real skinny is exercise, and I have a very special exercise technique that enables me to stay active all day long regardless of where I am and what I'm doing. It's called THINking.
All my life, people have been telling me I think too much. About everything. I worry and I obsess and I fret and I imagine the worst. Blah blah blah. I’ll have you know that all that extra thinking requires a LOT of extra calories. Yeah – my secret to staying so fit is a long-term regimen of extreme mental fitness. The more I think about stuff, the world, my life, my personal relationships with friends and family, my job, my health, and so on, the more calories I burn.
I stay thin by THINking too much. I think in the shower, in the car, in the elevator, in the bathroom at work, in line at Subway, and pretty much everywhere I go. Always thinking. Constantly jogging around a pool of ideas in my mind. Tirelessly climbing stairmasters of thought, and lifting tons of imagination over and over again. It's quite a work out, but it gets results, as evidenced by my girlish figure.
So if you're looking to shed a few pounds or shave a few inches off your waistline, consider becoming a heavy thinker. It works for me.
I think what amazes most people with regard to my light-weight frame is how I eat, which my dietitian girlfriend would describe as “unwell,” to put it politely. I personally don’t think I eat all that unwell – again, comparably speaking. But then, I don't have a degree in nutrition.
What's my diet? I enjoy things like Cheetos and potato chips, lots of dairy, plenty of pork, and large helpings of homemade brownies. But I also eat a lot of sushi, salmon, spinach, and other vegetables (when forced to). To me, a balanced diet means eating what you want, but only half the time. The real skinny is exercise, and I have a very special exercise technique that enables me to stay active all day long regardless of where I am and what I'm doing. It's called THINking.
All my life, people have been telling me I think too much. About everything. I worry and I obsess and I fret and I imagine the worst. Blah blah blah. I’ll have you know that all that extra thinking requires a LOT of extra calories. Yeah – my secret to staying so fit is a long-term regimen of extreme mental fitness. The more I think about stuff, the world, my life, my personal relationships with friends and family, my job, my health, and so on, the more calories I burn.
I stay thin by THINking too much. I think in the shower, in the car, in the elevator, in the bathroom at work, in line at Subway, and pretty much everywhere I go. Always thinking. Constantly jogging around a pool of ideas in my mind. Tirelessly climbing stairmasters of thought, and lifting tons of imagination over and over again. It's quite a work out, but it gets results, as evidenced by my girlish figure.
So if you're looking to shed a few pounds or shave a few inches off your waistline, consider becoming a heavy thinker. It works for me.
Friday, March 17, 2006
DINGLE WARY
I just got through wrestling with the single most stubborn dingleberry I’ve ever encountered. I knew it was there because I could feel it pulling upon my right cheek ever so gently as I whistled frivolously upon the throne. I figured it would let go on its own at some point – but this was a determined little bas-turd.
Since, to my knowledge, there’s no folk literature on removing a stingy dingleberry, I found myself woefully unprepared for the encounter. I couldn't just get up, I thought. I need to do SOMETHING. I glanced about hopefully for a stray pair of scissors, but alas, in a workplace restroom my chances of cutting clean the opportunistic parasite were about as good as a 16-seed cutting down the nets with an NCAA Championship title. Next to zero.
So I executed plan B, raising myself off the pot and descending quickly in an effort to gain gravity’s assistance. As I came to a sudden halt upon the seat, I felt the dingle-menace clutch tighter. I knew there was only one way I was going to exorcise this das-turdly demon free of my ass. I needed to talk to the hand.
I will spare you the explicit details of the excision – just know that it was an unpleasant experience, and explains why I am standing as I type this. If you are ever cursed with a similarly stingy-berry, I am now confident in recommending that you just pull up your shorts and let erosion do the work for you.
And now, back to our regularly scheduled program.
Since, to my knowledge, there’s no folk literature on removing a stingy dingleberry, I found myself woefully unprepared for the encounter. I couldn't just get up, I thought. I need to do SOMETHING. I glanced about hopefully for a stray pair of scissors, but alas, in a workplace restroom my chances of cutting clean the opportunistic parasite were about as good as a 16-seed cutting down the nets with an NCAA Championship title. Next to zero.
So I executed plan B, raising myself off the pot and descending quickly in an effort to gain gravity’s assistance. As I came to a sudden halt upon the seat, I felt the dingle-menace clutch tighter. I knew there was only one way I was going to exorcise this das-turdly demon free of my ass. I needed to talk to the hand.
I will spare you the explicit details of the excision – just know that it was an unpleasant experience, and explains why I am standing as I type this. If you are ever cursed with a similarly stingy-berry, I am now confident in recommending that you just pull up your shorts and let erosion do the work for you.
And now, back to our regularly scheduled program.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
SLAM DUNK MARKETING
What's in a name?
I was just thinking today of some ways to leverage the names of celebrities in selling popular consumer goods, since people tend to gravitate toward the familiar in making purchase decisions. That's the power of the brand name, you know. And few sports leagues have marketed its "brand name" superstars as well as the NBA.
It was with the NBA and Newman's Own in mind that I had another one of my genius ideas: Officially-licensed products bearing the names of some of the National Basketaball Association's most beloved superstars. Here's what I've got so far...
Alonzo's Blueberry Mourning
Eddy's Lamb Curry
Shaquille's O'atmeal
Elton's Brandy
Tim's Duncan Donuts
Jason's Terry Cloth Dish Towel
Channing's Pork Frye Rice
Tracy's McGrade-A Eggs
Donyell's Marshmallows
Steve's Nashed Potatoes
General Yao's Chicken
Gold Ron's Artesticle Cream
Paul's Piercing Pagoda
Kevin's Garnett-Flix
Latrell's Snackwells
I was just thinking today of some ways to leverage the names of celebrities in selling popular consumer goods, since people tend to gravitate toward the familiar in making purchase decisions. That's the power of the brand name, you know. And few sports leagues have marketed its "brand name" superstars as well as the NBA.
It was with the NBA and Newman's Own in mind that I had another one of my genius ideas: Officially-licensed products bearing the names of some of the National Basketaball Association's most beloved superstars. Here's what I've got so far...
Alonzo's Blueberry Mourning
Eddy's Lamb Curry
Shaquille's O'atmeal
Elton's Brandy
Tim's Duncan Donuts
Jason's Terry Cloth Dish Towel
Channing's Pork Frye Rice
Tracy's McGrade-A Eggs
Donyell's Marshmallows
Steve's Nashed Potatoes
General Yao's Chicken
Gold Ron's Artesticle Cream
Paul's Piercing Pagoda
Kevin's Garnett-Flix
Latrell's Snackwells
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
TELEVISIONARY
Sometimes I wonder if I watch too much television. What IS too much television? How many hours a week are considered okay? At my age, isn't that just a judgment call?
When I was a kid I remember there being strict regulation on the number of hours spent watching television. My sister and I had a set number of hours per week and we spent them like cash, watching parent-approved programming. Maybe that's why, now, my television is on every waking moment...because I am my own boss now, and those old school rules no longer apply. My time is my own and I can do what I want with it. I also buy a lot of sugary kids cereal because I can. Getting older has a lot of drawbacks - from bills to anxiety - one of its perks is that you can watch as much television as you want.
I must admit there are other, more productive things I could be doing with the idle hours I spend fusing with the cushions of my couch. I could be playing poker online, for example. Or annoying the neighbors by playing guitar. Or reading books - I hear reading is good for mental fitness. Or maybe I could be writing the book everyone says I need to write. No one has any idea what the book would be about, least of all me, but everyone agrees I need to write one. Every time I have an idea for a topic, the comment is the same: "Sounds good, I can't wait to read it." Yeah. And I can't wait to write it. On the commercial, of course.
I like television. Sweet, glorious television. When I come home from work I religiously do two things, in this order: Remove pants, turn on television. Most of the time there's not even anything worth watching - I just like the sound of stuff going on in the background. Makes me feel connected somehow. So I go about my chores or other business while listening to ESPN news, CNN, or that funky jazz music they're always jamming on the Weather Channel. Or Fox News Channel when I need a good laugh. Doesn't really matter - I just like the company...even when I'm in the company of others.
I personally don't think I watch too much television because I'm not really WATCHING it most of the time. It's just on. In terms of actual programming, there are really only a few shows I get excited about, and the total number of hours spent watching is roughly comparable to the number of hours I watched as a kid.
Here's my top 10:
1. Survivor - there's nothing like the real thing, baby. The Amazing Race is fun to catch every once in a while, but Survivor hooked me early on and I never gave it up. Gotta love people playing mind games in the tropics. Yeah, I'm a huge dork.
2. Lost - I was addicted to the DVD collection of season one, but missed the start of season two. So now I have to avoid it every week in order to preserve the integrity of the story. Hoping to catch it in reruns over the summer. Best drama by a mile.
3. The Office - I can actually sit through the same episode more than once. Back to back. The best comedy hands down.
4. The Sopranos - I'm thankful HBO gives us a number of chances to catch this bad boy over the course of the week, especially since it's on opposite Desperate Housewives.
5. Desperate Housewives - I admit it...I watch it, and I enjoy it. Not as much as last season, of course, but I still enjoy tuning in to find out what those zany ladies are going to do next.
6. Grey's Anatomy - Didn't really care for this one when it first came out, but the use of popular music as a story-telling device gave it a curious appeal. I must admit, I do enjoy this dramedy one as well.
7. Scrubs - Close second to the Office for best comedy on television. I don't laugh out loud often, but this show consistently makes me do it.
8. My Name is Earl - Love the concept here, and Randy is a riot. Interesting how my three favorite comedies are among the few on television that don't insult me with a laugh track. Don't tell me when I'm supposed to be laughing - if it's funny, I'll do it on my own. In fact, a fourth favorite comedy would have been Arrested Development, had the show made it.
9. The Apprentice - Big mistake moving it to Monday. I didn't even realize they'd started a new season until it was two weeks in. But Burnett knows how to put together compelling hour-long dramas, so it's always an hour well wasted.
10. The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson - That Scottish dude is fucking hilarious. Have you ever listened to his monologues? He just rambles on about nonsense for minutes on end - not unlike myself on these very pages, come to think of it. Good stuff.
I also watch a shitload of sports - but that doesn't really count because it's biologically unavoidable. Watching sports is hard-coded in my Y chromosome.
Oh - hey, gotta run. Commercial's over.
When I was a kid I remember there being strict regulation on the number of hours spent watching television. My sister and I had a set number of hours per week and we spent them like cash, watching parent-approved programming. Maybe that's why, now, my television is on every waking moment...because I am my own boss now, and those old school rules no longer apply. My time is my own and I can do what I want with it. I also buy a lot of sugary kids cereal because I can. Getting older has a lot of drawbacks - from bills to anxiety - one of its perks is that you can watch as much television as you want.
I must admit there are other, more productive things I could be doing with the idle hours I spend fusing with the cushions of my couch. I could be playing poker online, for example. Or annoying the neighbors by playing guitar. Or reading books - I hear reading is good for mental fitness. Or maybe I could be writing the book everyone says I need to write. No one has any idea what the book would be about, least of all me, but everyone agrees I need to write one. Every time I have an idea for a topic, the comment is the same: "Sounds good, I can't wait to read it." Yeah. And I can't wait to write it. On the commercial, of course.
I like television. Sweet, glorious television. When I come home from work I religiously do two things, in this order: Remove pants, turn on television. Most of the time there's not even anything worth watching - I just like the sound of stuff going on in the background. Makes me feel connected somehow. So I go about my chores or other business while listening to ESPN news, CNN, or that funky jazz music they're always jamming on the Weather Channel. Or Fox News Channel when I need a good laugh. Doesn't really matter - I just like the company...even when I'm in the company of others.
I personally don't think I watch too much television because I'm not really WATCHING it most of the time. It's just on. In terms of actual programming, there are really only a few shows I get excited about, and the total number of hours spent watching is roughly comparable to the number of hours I watched as a kid.
Here's my top 10:
1. Survivor - there's nothing like the real thing, baby. The Amazing Race is fun to catch every once in a while, but Survivor hooked me early on and I never gave it up. Gotta love people playing mind games in the tropics. Yeah, I'm a huge dork.
2. Lost - I was addicted to the DVD collection of season one, but missed the start of season two. So now I have to avoid it every week in order to preserve the integrity of the story. Hoping to catch it in reruns over the summer. Best drama by a mile.
3. The Office - I can actually sit through the same episode more than once. Back to back. The best comedy hands down.
4. The Sopranos - I'm thankful HBO gives us a number of chances to catch this bad boy over the course of the week, especially since it's on opposite Desperate Housewives.
5. Desperate Housewives - I admit it...I watch it, and I enjoy it. Not as much as last season, of course, but I still enjoy tuning in to find out what those zany ladies are going to do next.
6. Grey's Anatomy - Didn't really care for this one when it first came out, but the use of popular music as a story-telling device gave it a curious appeal. I must admit, I do enjoy this dramedy one as well.
7. Scrubs - Close second to the Office for best comedy on television. I don't laugh out loud often, but this show consistently makes me do it.
8. My Name is Earl - Love the concept here, and Randy is a riot. Interesting how my three favorite comedies are among the few on television that don't insult me with a laugh track. Don't tell me when I'm supposed to be laughing - if it's funny, I'll do it on my own. In fact, a fourth favorite comedy would have been Arrested Development, had the show made it.
9. The Apprentice - Big mistake moving it to Monday. I didn't even realize they'd started a new season until it was two weeks in. But Burnett knows how to put together compelling hour-long dramas, so it's always an hour well wasted.
10. The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson - That Scottish dude is fucking hilarious. Have you ever listened to his monologues? He just rambles on about nonsense for minutes on end - not unlike myself on these very pages, come to think of it. Good stuff.
I also watch a shitload of sports - but that doesn't really count because it's biologically unavoidable. Watching sports is hard-coded in my Y chromosome.
Oh - hey, gotta run. Commercial's over.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
URINALYSIS NEGATIVE
Thanks to Karen and Randy for sharing this. According to their forward, the following mural was created by Edge Designs, a woman-run company that designs interior office space. With free rein to design anything they wanted for an office project in NYC, the following design was presented.
If you thought you had stagefright before...
Stagefright is actually a pretty interesting phenomenon that has escaped scientific explanation for years. Also known as Urinalzheimer's, Stagefright is the propensity for the body to "forget" how to discharge urine while the host body is standing in a crowded restroom. The more people in the restroom, and the closer their proximity to the subject, the more severe the symptoms of Urinalzheimer's. Researchers have noted two exceptions to this.
1.) Alcohol's ability to inhibit social awareness actually enables the body to perform as normal in these situations, regardless of how many other people are in the immediate vicinity.
2.) A temporary condition informally referred to as "Fat Dick Days" can facilitate the public urination process. Unfortunately, the "Fat Dick Days" condition is equally mysterious.
"On Fat Dick Days, the male member actually appears more massive in stature - fuller, girthier, and more robust," says Dr. Frank Borscht of the Research Institute for Well Hungarians. "Just as the male sex organ reflexively shrivels up in cold temperatures, it can also swell and expand under other conditions...even in a flaccid state. Armed with an usually fat dick, Urinalzheimer's is not an issue. We just haven't figured out what causes fat dick yet, but it may be the key to defeating Urinalzheimer's for good."
Until then, men will have to rely on alcohol, urinal dividers, and courtesy distance ettiquette when relieving themselves in the presence of other men.
If you thought you had stagefright before...Stagefright is actually a pretty interesting phenomenon that has escaped scientific explanation for years. Also known as Urinalzheimer's, Stagefright is the propensity for the body to "forget" how to discharge urine while the host body is standing in a crowded restroom. The more people in the restroom, and the closer their proximity to the subject, the more severe the symptoms of Urinalzheimer's. Researchers have noted two exceptions to this.
1.) Alcohol's ability to inhibit social awareness actually enables the body to perform as normal in these situations, regardless of how many other people are in the immediate vicinity.
2.) A temporary condition informally referred to as "Fat Dick Days" can facilitate the public urination process. Unfortunately, the "Fat Dick Days" condition is equally mysterious.
"On Fat Dick Days, the male member actually appears more massive in stature - fuller, girthier, and more robust," says Dr. Frank Borscht of the Research Institute for Well Hungarians. "Just as the male sex organ reflexively shrivels up in cold temperatures, it can also swell and expand under other conditions...even in a flaccid state. Armed with an usually fat dick, Urinalzheimer's is not an issue. We just haven't figured out what causes fat dick yet, but it may be the key to defeating Urinalzheimer's for good."
Until then, men will have to rely on alcohol, urinal dividers, and courtesy distance ettiquette when relieving themselves in the presence of other men.
COLOR UNCOORDINATED
So we're sitting in a shoe store over the weekend and Geri asks me a question that may or may not have been rhetorical.
"You DO know that those colors don't go together, right?"
I glanced down at what I was wearing. A light brown sweater over a chocolate brown t-shirt, light brown cords, and a tan coat.
"No, Geri," I admitted. "How would I know that? I'm a fashion retard. I figured everything was a shade of brown, so it all would match."
"No," she replied. "That's not how it works."
This may go a long way toward explaining why people don't always take my ideas seriously at work.
(It couldn't be the ideas themselves!)
"You DO know that those colors don't go together, right?"
I glanced down at what I was wearing. A light brown sweater over a chocolate brown t-shirt, light brown cords, and a tan coat.
"No, Geri," I admitted. "How would I know that? I'm a fashion retard. I figured everything was a shade of brown, so it all would match."
"No," she replied. "That's not how it works."
This may go a long way toward explaining why people don't always take my ideas seriously at work.
(It couldn't be the ideas themselves!)
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