You're going to hear a lot about Barack Obama in the next year. And not just from me. May as well do your homework. I did - and found one of the best speeches on the role of religion in politics I've ever heard.
I would admit that it's also the ONLY speech on religion and politics I've ever heard, but I don't want that to diminish the impact of the endorsement.
So what's it all about? Barack takes aim at conservative politicians who mean to portray all Democrats as godless and immoral. He says that the religious do not have a monopoly and morality, but also that constructive religious support has been essential throughout our nation's progress and cannot be ignored today. Some really great stuff in here, especially for open-minded conservatives.
Here's something to watch for that rubbed me the wrong way. I noticed that Barack changes his tone, inflection, and manner depending upon the crowd he is addressing. Before an assembly of church-going African Americans here, you'll note his delivery is decidedly more "urban," for lack of a better word. At first I found the subtle adjustment a little disingenuous of him (think Hillary). But then I caught myself doing the same exact thing! And I wasn't even aware I was doing it.
I realized that this adjustment in communication style and delivery, at least in my case, was occuring on a subconscious level. I wasn't choosing to forfeit grammar, gratuitously employ expletives as adjectives, and end all my sentences with apostrophes. I was just mirroring the people with whom I was interacting. And you'll notice Barack starts out doing a little of that here. It's actually kind of amusing. But he settles down about 3 minutes in and the common sense starts pouring out. Almost scares me to think that Americans, after hearing what this guy is shoveling, would even consider the alternatives. He's slick. He's sharp. And he's got good ideas. Which basically means he's screwed because if the results from last two presidential elections proved anything, it's that we don't want slick, sharp, and good ideas in the White House. We like our late night comedy just the way it is.
That won't stop me from drumming up support for him, though. I can't help it. I have a common sense fetish. Good ideas turn me on, baby. In fact, last night I downloaded every one of this guy's speeches, drew down the shades, and uncorked a bottle of red. It was hot. Didn't even make it half way through his first speech before I needed a cold shower.
Kidding inside, I encourage you not to dismiss this guy simply because he's a Democrat (dad), or because he's only been in politics for 10 years (isn't that a PLUS?), or because he's Christian, or because he's black, or because he's also white (didn't you know?), or because he's a man (didn't you know?), or because he's smoother than Billy Dee Williams, or because his name makes you think about a cave in Afghanistan, or because you don't vote (slacker).
Check out the issues link on his page when you get a chance. You might be surprised to learn you have a lot in common. When I saw government corruption third on his list of issues, it became instantly clear that he's been shopping AYNtK for ideas.
And I'm happy to provide them.
Barack: Three day work week, baby. We can DO this!
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Friday, February 16, 2007
NO RESERVATIONS
Chief Illiniwek has taken sabbatical. The University of Illinois has, at long last, been forced to retire its controversial Native American symbol/mascot (depending upon which side of the fence you sit) once and for all.
As an alum who once supported and celebrated the Chief, I can honestly say I wasn’t surprised or sad to see the Chief finally go – but only because I always knew it was just a matter of time. Those who wanted Illiniwek out were going to get their way eventually – because the people who wanted him to stay were, well, primarily well-to-do white people. And let’s face it – that just didn’t look good under the media's powerful hyper-P.C. microscope.
If Illiniwek supporters had the blessing of the native Amercan community, the story would be radically different. There’d probably be a lot more Chiefs out there, in fact. Chief Iowek. Chief Wisonsiwek. Chief Ohiowek. The names of so many of our nation’s states are derivatives of native American tribes. Fortunately, that hasn’t pissed anyone off yet. (I’ve got a list of alternative state names ready to go in the unlikely event we lose that battle. I like to be prepared.)
Certainly, there is a difference between naming the territories on a map after the native people who had thrived here prior to European expansion (germs!) and dressing up a college kid in an Indian suit and having him prance around barefoot on a basketball court surrounded by thousands of orange-clad white people swinging their arms like tomahawks, many of them reservation drunk and tragically undereducated as to actual Native American history and culture.
Whoa! Did I just say "reservation" drunk? What’s that supposed to mean? Isn’t that a negative Native American stereotype?
It sure is. And, sadly, those are the kinds of stereotypes that will persist in the wake of Illiniwek's burial, while less-offensive (if also less accurate) stereotypes like "the Chief" are discarded in the name of unchecked political correctness.
Personally, I never did see what was so offensive about Chief Illiniwek, his questionably authentic headdress, or his always-spirited quasi-endemic dance routine. While attending Illinois, I never got the feeling the University or its drunk students (myself included...but only after I turned 21, of course) ever regarded the the Chief as an unflattering representation of Native American history and culture. His dress and dance may have been contrived, in part, but not for the purpose of ridiculing a people.
The Chief was most certainly not, as many have argued, a caricature or cartoon – like the Cleveland Indians mascot. To many of us, he seemed real - and we came to associate our school pride with his image: a celebrated symbol of courage, strength, honor, and respect. When I see a Chief decal in the back window of a passing car, I don't giggle at the thought of a dancin' injun. I actually feel a sudden kinship with the driver of that car - as though we are members of the same tribe, so to speak.
It seemed the Chief's authenticity was always in question, and this was an ongoing struggle for supporters. But he wasn't supposed to be an actual person from the past - like Sacajawea, Crazy Horse, or Sitting Bull. He was a cultural composite of the many Native people who we still recognize to this day in the names of so many of our towns, counties, cities, and states. Why would early University officials have elected to associate their state school, its image and athletic program with a complete mockery?
Of course, they never did. But in the eyes of those who matter, that's what he has become.
And that, my friends, is really all that matters. I do not belong to the ethnic group of people his half-time circus act means to represent. I’m a mutt of various European descents - white bred to the core. So I’m really in no position to judge whether or not he is offensive to Native Americans. Only Native Americans can make that determination. And it appears they have. If the Native people after whom Chief Illiniwek was modeled find his use offensive, then it's incumbent upon those in power to be respectful of that - even if we the people cannot find it in ourselves to.
That's the point most die-hard supporters I know just don't get. It’s not whether white people, or people of other colors for that matter, find him offensive – it’s the people he is meant to represent who matter. If I call you "wise" and mean it in a good way, but you think I'm making fun of you, it doesn't matter that I am meaning it in a good way. All that matters is how you are taking it. If I keep calling you "wise" knowing that you don't like it, then I am disrespecting you. And that's what's been going on here for years.
It is indeed unfortunate that Illiniwek WAS respected and revered as a positive symbol of Native American culture. Minority groups may not have thought so - but he was. Had they come to appreciate the Chief as we did (and do), they would not have objected to his contrived pageantry and traditional exhibition. They would have embraced him. To an objective third party, the Chief's half-time ceremony wasn't an "offensive" one in and of itself. Illiniwek wasn't waving around a fist full of scalps. He wasn't shown stealing the women and raping the horses, or vice versa. He was simply performing a dance that celebrated the history of the people after whom our state was named. If that's a stereotype, I've got to tell you I've seen worse. But it's not about me. And I suppose that is all I need to know.
So save your Illini gear - might be worth something some day. Like the embarrassing lawn jockeys my grandfather, bless his departed heart, had no problem putting out in his front yard. Relics of a similar, less-enlightened time when it seemed okay to do something we have since agreed it is not.
Progress isn't always popular.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
IF I ONLY HAD A PERSONALITY
My buddy JB sent me this great article on Barack Obama's star appeal. I found it quite entertaining. Here's an excerpt that made me snort milk out my nose all over the keyboard.
"The Illinois Senator is the ultimate modern media creature -- he's a good-looking, youthful, smooth-talking, buttery-warm personality with an aw-shucks demeanor who exudes a seemingly impenetrable air of Harvard-crafted moral neutrality. If Hillary Clinton even dares to open her mouth within a hundred feet of him at any time during the campaign, she's going to come off like a pig digging for truffles. Even Edwards -- the so-called "slick" candidate from '04 -- sounds like a two-bit suburban Buick dealer next to Obama. You get past the "issues," and it's a wipeout."
Spot on. It's called charisma. Hillary may be intelligent, motivated, and well-intended - but it's just so damn painful watching her speak. She's about as loose as the tin man. She needs to visit the wizard and get herself some charisma. Mos def.
"The Illinois Senator is the ultimate modern media creature -- he's a good-looking, youthful, smooth-talking, buttery-warm personality with an aw-shucks demeanor who exudes a seemingly impenetrable air of Harvard-crafted moral neutrality. If Hillary Clinton even dares to open her mouth within a hundred feet of him at any time during the campaign, she's going to come off like a pig digging for truffles. Even Edwards -- the so-called "slick" candidate from '04 -- sounds like a two-bit suburban Buick dealer next to Obama. You get past the "issues," and it's a wipeout."
Spot on. It's called charisma. Hillary may be intelligent, motivated, and well-intended - but it's just so damn painful watching her speak. She's about as loose as the tin man. She needs to visit the wizard and get herself some charisma. Mos def.
Monday, February 12, 2007
CUT THE WETTING CAKE
New Mexico is pissed off about drinking and driving, so they came up with a sweet idea to send a message: Cake. But not just any cake. Urinal cake - the talking kind.
At $21 a pop, the state has ordered 500 urinal cakes that deliver a pre-recorded message designed to warn bar and restaurant patrons against drinking and driving. And on top of each cake is the state DWI slogan, "You drink, you drive, you lose."
NOW - Imagine for just a moment, if you will. Some drunk dude staggers into the bathroom to give the porcelain wall ornament one more shot when suddenly, from out of no where, a man's voice starts lecturing him on the perils of piloting while intoxicated.
The man freaks out, loses balance, and starts leaking all over the wall and floor. He presumes he is hallucinating, or perhaps even hearing the voice of the Almighty himself, which prompts him to head back to the bar for another drink. This, in turn, leads him right back into the bathroom for another round at the stand'n'go.
He enters slowly, peers around nervously, and swings in each stall door to be sure he is alone before finally unzipping for his final stream of consciousness. Confident in complete solitude, he stumbles up to the wall again and shoots a hot laser into the white dish, cutting sloppily into his wetting cake.
Again the voice mocks him, detailing the consequences of navigating buzzed. Alarmed, the man turns completely around, urinating wildly all over the slick tile floor and shouting for the menace to make himself known.
But now the voice is behind him.
He spins back around and eyes up the cake in the basin at his waist. He reaches in and angrily pries the preachy culprit from its foamy warm nest and hurls it hard at the opposite wall.
Just then, another patron swings open the rickety wooden door and catches a face-full of piss icing, spun in a flickering stream off a flying, talking plastic urinal cake. Tasting twice-filtered special export dribbling down his cheek, the surprise guest assumes an immediate state of rage and flies across the room at our would-be Olympic discus champ.
The two collapse in a puddle of tepid waste, rolling about heatedly, their clothes soaking up that evening's sterile chemical stew like a hungry sponge. A third patron steps through the threshhold in time to spy two men writhing about on the floor. He's so loaded he completely disregards the fracas and steps over to the nearest urinal to make a deposit. As he does so, a voice begins discussing the dangers of drinking and driving. The attacker on the floor hears this voice and thinks the guy at the urinal is lecturing him.
He scrambles to his feet, steps to the third man and runs his elbow hard in the back of the man's head. The original drunk, meanwhile, spies his opportunity to escape and bounds out the bathroom door. The aggressor hastily follows him out. The third man, dazed from the sudden blow he just received at the hands of a complete stranger, gains his faculties, zips up, and races out the door after the others. The first man jumps into his car and fishtails off. The second man drops his keys, recovers, unlocks his door and flies off down the road after the first. The third man stumbles out into the parking lot and sees the taillights heading off into the distance, so he hops into his car and joins pursuit.
Now we've got three dangerous drunkards ripping at insane speeds around curvy dark roads instead of responsibly weaving at 10MPH below the speed limit.
So I ask you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury - is this conversational urinal cake a good idea?
At $21 a pop, the state has ordered 500 urinal cakes that deliver a pre-recorded message designed to warn bar and restaurant patrons against drinking and driving. And on top of each cake is the state DWI slogan, "You drink, you drive, you lose."
NOW - Imagine for just a moment, if you will. Some drunk dude staggers into the bathroom to give the porcelain wall ornament one more shot when suddenly, from out of no where, a man's voice starts lecturing him on the perils of piloting while intoxicated.
The man freaks out, loses balance, and starts leaking all over the wall and floor. He presumes he is hallucinating, or perhaps even hearing the voice of the Almighty himself, which prompts him to head back to the bar for another drink. This, in turn, leads him right back into the bathroom for another round at the stand'n'go.
He enters slowly, peers around nervously, and swings in each stall door to be sure he is alone before finally unzipping for his final stream of consciousness. Confident in complete solitude, he stumbles up to the wall again and shoots a hot laser into the white dish, cutting sloppily into his wetting cake. Again the voice mocks him, detailing the consequences of navigating buzzed. Alarmed, the man turns completely around, urinating wildly all over the slick tile floor and shouting for the menace to make himself known.
But now the voice is behind him.
He spins back around and eyes up the cake in the basin at his waist. He reaches in and angrily pries the preachy culprit from its foamy warm nest and hurls it hard at the opposite wall.
Just then, another patron swings open the rickety wooden door and catches a face-full of piss icing, spun in a flickering stream off a flying, talking plastic urinal cake. Tasting twice-filtered special export dribbling down his cheek, the surprise guest assumes an immediate state of rage and flies across the room at our would-be Olympic discus champ.
The two collapse in a puddle of tepid waste, rolling about heatedly, their clothes soaking up that evening's sterile chemical stew like a hungry sponge. A third patron steps through the threshhold in time to spy two men writhing about on the floor. He's so loaded he completely disregards the fracas and steps over to the nearest urinal to make a deposit. As he does so, a voice begins discussing the dangers of drinking and driving. The attacker on the floor hears this voice and thinks the guy at the urinal is lecturing him.
He scrambles to his feet, steps to the third man and runs his elbow hard in the back of the man's head. The original drunk, meanwhile, spies his opportunity to escape and bounds out the bathroom door. The aggressor hastily follows him out. The third man, dazed from the sudden blow he just received at the hands of a complete stranger, gains his faculties, zips up, and races out the door after the others. The first man jumps into his car and fishtails off. The second man drops his keys, recovers, unlocks his door and flies off down the road after the first. The third man stumbles out into the parking lot and sees the taillights heading off into the distance, so he hops into his car and joins pursuit.
Now we've got three dangerous drunkards ripping at insane speeds around curvy dark roads instead of responsibly weaving at 10MPH below the speed limit.
So I ask you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury - is this conversational urinal cake a good idea?
THE SUN NEVER SETS...
Did you hear what those randy Brits are up to?
Beginning on Valentine's Day (that's Wednesday, fellas) the pharmacy chain Boots plans to offer Viagra WITHOUT A PRESCRIPTION.
According to the Boots company, its pilot program will be offered in three stores in Manchester first and is expected to last six months - although if erections persist longer than that, you should see a doctor immediately. Many believe the move will be the catalyst for a new sexual revolution. Never mind the upper lip - when it comes to keeping the anatomy "stiff," Britons clearly have something else in mind.
Beginning on Valentine's Day (that's Wednesday, fellas) the pharmacy chain Boots plans to offer Viagra WITHOUT A PRESCRIPTION.
According to the Boots company, its pilot program will be offered in three stores in Manchester first and is expected to last six months - although if erections persist longer than that, you should see a doctor immediately. Many believe the move will be the catalyst for a new sexual revolution. Never mind the upper lip - when it comes to keeping the anatomy "stiff," Britons clearly have something else in mind.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
PEPPERMINTERNITY
I know it's a little early, but I couldn't resist. I just HAD to post these pictures of a pair of human skeletons wrapped in eternal embrace. They were uncovered at an archaeological dig site in Italy.
I think this image would make for a good Certs ad.
"Breath-saving freshness that lasts a long, LONG time."
I think this image would make for a good Certs ad.
"Breath-saving freshness that lasts a long, LONG time."
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
GANGSTAPELLA
This is an instant classic. I never realized the words were so dreadfully off-color. Kind of saddens me that there's a market for this ugly breed of hateful "crap" rap. At least the colelge kids in this clip knew to have fun with it. Well done!
And if you dig on that one, this dandy from Ben Folds is another winner. LOVE the literal slideshow graphics.
And if you dig on that one, this dandy from Ben Folds is another winner. LOVE the literal slideshow graphics.
...AND ASK QUESTIONS LATER
Here's a copy of the field manual they're issuing to the 21,000 new troops Bush is sending over to Iraq.
ARE YOU READY FOR WEB 2.0?
This short film clip is pretty damn insightful. It's a visual description of the concept of the world wide web and an introduction to the next generation of this tremendously powerful virtual mind.
As I type and post this, I am actually teaching the web. Hard to imagine - but clearly the case. This web thing is fast becoming the stuff of science fiction literature.
As I type and post this, I am actually teaching the web. Hard to imagine - but clearly the case. This web thing is fast becoming the stuff of science fiction literature.
AD IT UP
As usual, this year's Super Bowl commercials proved another disappointment. I think they were a bigger hit back when people tuned in to actually watch the game - not all the ads in between. Since there's been all of this hype about how cool and funny Super Bowl ads are supposed to be, expectations have run high. And as you know, expectations are the mother of disappointment.
That said, there were a few gems hidden in the rough. And here is a cool site where you can watch them all and vote for your favorite Super Bowl ads tournament style - bracket by bracket. I went through each round ad by ad and it is my professional opinion that Coke had the strongest spots. My final showdown was between e-Trade's "Things you can do with one finger" and Coke's "Vice City" which won my vote as best spot (but was only the 10th most popular ad according to this online resource).
If you've got a few minutes to browse around, check it out!
That said, there were a few gems hidden in the rough. And here is a cool site where you can watch them all and vote for your favorite Super Bowl ads tournament style - bracket by bracket. I went through each round ad by ad and it is my professional opinion that Coke had the strongest spots. My final showdown was between e-Trade's "Things you can do with one finger" and Coke's "Vice City" which won my vote as best spot (but was only the 10th most popular ad according to this online resource).
If you've got a few minutes to browse around, check it out!
ONE DOLLAR CHILL
On top of record cold temperatures, it is now snowing here in the windy city. Several inches are expected to complete winter's inclement promise.
It was so cold this morning on my way to work that I actually saw a homeless man give another homeless man a dollar. I'm not kidding. Right under the Damen overpass before Webster I saw a raggedy homeless dude handing an even more destitute fellow a frozen dollar bill. You know it's cold when the homeless are helping out the homeless.
I think if I had a ton of disposable cash and nothing to do all day, I'd buy a huge sack of McDonald's cheeseburgers and drive around the city tossing them at hungry street folks. I like to think I'd do that, anyhow. In reality, I'd probably fire up a brand new XBOX and order a large pizza.
It was so cold this morning on my way to work that I actually saw a homeless man give another homeless man a dollar. I'm not kidding. Right under the Damen overpass before Webster I saw a raggedy homeless dude handing an even more destitute fellow a frozen dollar bill. You know it's cold when the homeless are helping out the homeless.
I think if I had a ton of disposable cash and nothing to do all day, I'd buy a huge sack of McDonald's cheeseburgers and drive around the city tossing them at hungry street folks. I like to think I'd do that, anyhow. In reality, I'd probably fire up a brand new XBOX and order a large pizza.
REHAB IS FOR QUITTERS
My buddy JB sent me a link this morning to the news story about San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsome. Perhaps you heard of him. He first grabbed the national headlines when he championed same-sex marriage, defying a California law that denied gay folks the right to tie the knot. He became an overnight sensation...almost bigger than Cher...until the court got involved and ordered the city to go back to discriminating based on orientation like the rest of the state.
Gavin found the spotlight again recently when it was revealed that he'd been having an affair with the wife of his campaign manager. Imagine busting your ass tirelessly night and day for months on end to support someone you believe will make a real difference - and the whole time he's also been running for your wife's orifice.
Yesterday, Gavin announced he will be following in the footsteps of all public figures who get caught saying and doing bad things: he's entering rehab for alcohol abuse! Although the PC phrasology these days is for "alcohol use," not "alcohol abuse." Abuse sounds like a problem.
So let's sing - all together now! For he's a jolly good fellow...
Newsome's official statement is straight out of the damage control handbook:
"Upon reflection with friends and family this weekend, I have come to the conclusion that I will be a better person without alcohol in my life. I take full responsibility for my personal mistakes and my problems with alcohol are not an excuse for my personal lapses in judgment."
Do you notice how they always include that line about alcohol not being an excuse for their behavior? I suppose it's an attempt to own up and take responsibility, but how can it be taken seriously when it's attached to a rehab announcement? The whole point to announcing treatment in the first place is to provide an excuse for bad behavior. Why would you go out of your way to make a public announcement that you're entering rehab if not to provide an excuse? Yeah...he's taking FULL responsibility for his actions - even if alcohol made him do it.
Gavin found the spotlight again recently when it was revealed that he'd been having an affair with the wife of his campaign manager. Imagine busting your ass tirelessly night and day for months on end to support someone you believe will make a real difference - and the whole time he's also been running for your wife's orifice.
Yesterday, Gavin announced he will be following in the footsteps of all public figures who get caught saying and doing bad things: he's entering rehab for alcohol abuse! Although the PC phrasology these days is for "alcohol use," not "alcohol abuse." Abuse sounds like a problem.
So let's sing - all together now! For he's a jolly good fellow...
Newsome's official statement is straight out of the damage control handbook:
"Upon reflection with friends and family this weekend, I have come to the conclusion that I will be a better person without alcohol in my life. I take full responsibility for my personal mistakes and my problems with alcohol are not an excuse for my personal lapses in judgment."
Do you notice how they always include that line about alcohol not being an excuse for their behavior? I suppose it's an attempt to own up and take responsibility, but how can it be taken seriously when it's attached to a rehab announcement? The whole point to announcing treatment in the first place is to provide an excuse for bad behavior. Why would you go out of your way to make a public announcement that you're entering rehab if not to provide an excuse? Yeah...he's taking FULL responsibility for his actions - even if alcohol made him do it.
Monday, February 05, 2007
BUMPER STICKERS
Here's an abridged list of bumper stickers I found online. Kudos to the fine minds behind some of these gems!
****************
• On an infant's shirt): Already Smarter Than BUSH
• 1/20/09: End of an Error
• That's OK, I Wasn't Using My Civil Liberties Anyway
• Let's Fix Democracy in THIS Country first!
• If You Can Read This, You're Not Our President
• Bush: Creating the Terrorists Our Kids Will Have to Fight
• IMPEACHMENT: It's Not Just for Blowjobs Anymore
• America : One Nation, Under Surveillance
• They Call Him "W" So He Can Spell It
• Cheney/Satan '08
• JAIL to the Chief
• Who Would Jesus Torture?
• No, Seriously, WHY Did We Invade?
• We Need a President Who's Fluent In English
• We're Making Enemies Faster Than We Can Kill Them
• Is It Vietnam Yet?
• Bush Doesn't Care About The White People, Either
• Where Are We Going? And Why Are We In This Handbasket?
• The Republican Party: Our Bridge to the 11th Century
****************
• On an infant's shirt): Already Smarter Than BUSH
• 1/20/09: End of an Error
• That's OK, I Wasn't Using My Civil Liberties Anyway
• Let's Fix Democracy in THIS Country first!
• If You Can Read This, You're Not Our President
• Bush: Creating the Terrorists Our Kids Will Have to Fight
• IMPEACHMENT: It's Not Just for Blowjobs Anymore
• America : One Nation, Under Surveillance
• They Call Him "W" So He Can Spell It
• Cheney/Satan '08
• JAIL to the Chief
• Who Would Jesus Torture?
• No, Seriously, WHY Did We Invade?
• We Need a President Who's Fluent In English
• We're Making Enemies Faster Than We Can Kill Them
• Is It Vietnam Yet?
• Bush Doesn't Care About The White People, Either
• Where Are We Going? And Why Are We In This Handbasket?
• The Republican Party: Our Bridge to the 11th Century
HI BURN 8
It is a cold day in Chicago.
A winter city once warm inside from the many sweet wines of victory now shivers in the bitter cold chill of defeat. The streets outside my window are quiet as the thermometer flirts with zero; salt-encrusted steel machines smoke on the boulevard - the only signs of life on this deathly frigid day. Puxtawhatever Phil tells us there is to be an early spring this year, but it is difficult to even imagine the season to come when the world remains so firmly in winter's grip.
Everything seems to crawl to a halt when it's this cold - myself included. Just as the molecules outside slow to a quivering array of frozen matter, we the breathing particles in this system too seem to slow. Information processes slowly. Movement feels impeded by invisible arms. I am perpetually on sleep's edge. It is a daily struggle to find the energy required to maintain the simplest of routines.
We are all just a few waking hours from hibernation. Just a couple of tasks and meals a day from sleeping as the mighty Bears, conserving energy for another go around the sun - which for all its fiery mass is only capable of teasing us now, even while it sustains us.
Nap anyone?
A winter city once warm inside from the many sweet wines of victory now shivers in the bitter cold chill of defeat. The streets outside my window are quiet as the thermometer flirts with zero; salt-encrusted steel machines smoke on the boulevard - the only signs of life on this deathly frigid day. Puxtawhatever Phil tells us there is to be an early spring this year, but it is difficult to even imagine the season to come when the world remains so firmly in winter's grip.
Everything seems to crawl to a halt when it's this cold - myself included. Just as the molecules outside slow to a quivering array of frozen matter, we the breathing particles in this system too seem to slow. Information processes slowly. Movement feels impeded by invisible arms. I am perpetually on sleep's edge. It is a daily struggle to find the energy required to maintain the simplest of routines.
We are all just a few waking hours from hibernation. Just a couple of tasks and meals a day from sleeping as the mighty Bears, conserving energy for another go around the sun - which for all its fiery mass is only capable of teasing us now, even while it sustains us.
Nap anyone?
Friday, February 02, 2007
HIGH CLASS PICTURE
This picture features the bravest student in the history of the Chicago Public School system. He probably also has a rocket arm and gets picked first before every game of touch football, the little glue-sniffer.Go Bears!
Did you know that, at the start of every NFL season, more bets are placed on the Bears to win the Super Bowl than any other team? Every season. Doesn't matter how good the team is supposed to be - Chicagoans bet money on da Bears. We're crazy stupid like that. Same goes for the Cubs. We love a good long shot - especially if our team is that long shot.
This season the Bears started as 12-1 odds to win it all. Not terrible odds - but not the greatest, either. Didn't matter to the betting public. And now Chicagoans are betting on da Bears in record numbers. But what worries me is the line. The line on the Super Bowl opened at 7 and hasn't moved. All that action on the Bears and the line hasn't budged a point. Why do you suppose that is? Someone's covering all those bets without thinking twice about it. Leads me to believe someone's taking care of business on the inside. Watch for an unevenly called game. Or perhaps Sexy Rexy is on the bookie's payroll. More than a couple unforced errors at key points during the game could be a sign that something is up. 7 points is considered a pretty big spread. Is the Colts offense really that much better than the Bears D?
And here I thought DEFENSE wins championships. Last I checked, the Colts didn't have much of one. Something smells fishy to me here - and not in a good way. This game is going to be a lot closer than people think.
My prediction? Bears 97, Colts 3.
Unless Rex has a good game, of course, in which case we'll probably break 100.
HAPI BETDE!
A friend here at the office turned 40 today and was shocked when I informed him that he was beginning his 41st year here. He told me that factoring in the time he was in his mother's womb didn't count. I assured him I was not considering that time at all.
"Your birthday records the number of years you've COMPLETED," I explained, "Not the number of the year you are in."
"Come again?"
"When you turn 1, you're not starting your first year...you're DONE with it. Your first birthday celebrates an entire tour of duty here. One full year completed. When you turn 40, you're celebrating having gone around the sun 40 full times. So you're actually ushering in your 41st year. You just kicked off year 41 of your life."
"So when I was 39..."
"On your 39th birthday you were actually beginning your 40th year."
He suddenly walked off muttering something under his breath and hasn't spoken to me since.
"Your birthday records the number of years you've COMPLETED," I explained, "Not the number of the year you are in."
"Come again?"
"When you turn 1, you're not starting your first year...you're DONE with it. Your first birthday celebrates an entire tour of duty here. One full year completed. When you turn 40, you're celebrating having gone around the sun 40 full times. So you're actually ushering in your 41st year. You just kicked off year 41 of your life."
"So when I was 39..."
"On your 39th birthday you were actually beginning your 40th year."
He suddenly walked off muttering something under his breath and hasn't spoken to me since.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
DON'T BE A SQUARE
Looking for another timewaster?
Check out this Squares Game. You just move your center square around eating up a bunch of other squares - but watch out for the red squares. They're very BAD!
I've played it a number of times and topped out around 9,000 points and 100 squares. They claim the high for the site is over 18,000. Hard to even imagine!
It starts out pretty easy but gets progressively more difficult as the speed of incoming red squares increases. Plus, the size of your original black square gets bigger the more squares you consume! HINT: The circles give you special powers. If you get the invincible one, just start wiping the screen clean and ring up points fast!
I also dig the techno dance beat in the background. Really gets me fired up...
Check out this Squares Game. You just move your center square around eating up a bunch of other squares - but watch out for the red squares. They're very BAD!
I've played it a number of times and topped out around 9,000 points and 100 squares. They claim the high for the site is over 18,000. Hard to even imagine!
It starts out pretty easy but gets progressively more difficult as the speed of incoming red squares increases. Plus, the size of your original black square gets bigger the more squares you consume! HINT: The circles give you special powers. If you get the invincible one, just start wiping the screen clean and ring up points fast!
I also dig the techno dance beat in the background. Really gets me fired up...
NOW THAT'S SUPER!
Do you know the origin of the name “Super Bowl”?
Don't lie. Nobody does. It’s just one of those words that’s been around forever and no one ever stops to wonder why. It’s the Super Bowl and that’s that. As far as most Americans are concerned, the term Super Bowl has been around since the signing of the Declaration of Independence and is written into our nation’s Constitution. We don’t question its origin because it’s not important. What’s important is what the Super Bowl stands for – a chance for Americans to worship two of their favorite false idols at once: sport and media. I can't wait to find a good spot in front of that enormous HDTV television and settle in for 5+ hours of extreme overeating and overhyped coverage.
Where traditional holidays are given to family, televised cultural events like the Super Bowl (and the Oscars to a lesser degree) provide a good excuse for gathering with friends. It’s like a second Thanksgiving – this time with junk food and drunk friends. Nevermind the turkey...could you pass that 7-layer taco dip! And who brought these mini beef roll thingies? They're incredible!
So where DID the term “Super Bowl” come from? Okay, I’ll tell you. A little closer, please – I don’t want everyone to hear this. It’s actually an off-the-cuff combination of words jokingly uttered by one of the original organizers. Here’s what happened.
Back in 1967 there were two football leagues, the National Football League and the American Football League. The former was the original league; the latter was an upstart rival. After 7 years, the upstart rival AFL became successful enough that people started wondering which league was better. So it was agreed upon that the champion of the National Football League would play the champion of the American Football League to settle things once and for all.
The Commissioner of the NFL, Pete Rozelle, suggested they call that game “The Big One.” A creative genius he was not. Nor was AFL Founder Lamar Hunt, who recently passed away. But it was Lamar's term that ultimately stuck. He claims he was thinking about all of those college football championship games that had been called "bowls" for years when he said: “This game is going to be like a ‘super’ bowl!”
And upon hearing those words together, everyone in the meeting just looked around at each other and agreed: “That name totally sucks, but let’s use it anyhow for now…until we can come up with something better.”
True story - even the last part. “Super Bowl” was intended to be a stop-gap name – a placeholder they’d use temporarily until they could work out something more meaningful. Super Bowl, after all, was kind of generic. Super? Bowl? Why not just call it the Uber Mega Ultimate Super Championship of the Universe? Because Super Bowl was alsmot perfect in its simplicity.
And so today, all these years later, we're still calling “the Big One” the Super Bowl. And a super day it is certain to be...
Don't lie. Nobody does. It’s just one of those words that’s been around forever and no one ever stops to wonder why. It’s the Super Bowl and that’s that. As far as most Americans are concerned, the term Super Bowl has been around since the signing of the Declaration of Independence and is written into our nation’s Constitution. We don’t question its origin because it’s not important. What’s important is what the Super Bowl stands for – a chance for Americans to worship two of their favorite false idols at once: sport and media. I can't wait to find a good spot in front of that enormous HDTV television and settle in for 5+ hours of extreme overeating and overhyped coverage.
Where traditional holidays are given to family, televised cultural events like the Super Bowl (and the Oscars to a lesser degree) provide a good excuse for gathering with friends. It’s like a second Thanksgiving – this time with junk food and drunk friends. Nevermind the turkey...could you pass that 7-layer taco dip! And who brought these mini beef roll thingies? They're incredible!
So where DID the term “Super Bowl” come from? Okay, I’ll tell you. A little closer, please – I don’t want everyone to hear this. It’s actually an off-the-cuff combination of words jokingly uttered by one of the original organizers. Here’s what happened.
Back in 1967 there were two football leagues, the National Football League and the American Football League. The former was the original league; the latter was an upstart rival. After 7 years, the upstart rival AFL became successful enough that people started wondering which league was better. So it was agreed upon that the champion of the National Football League would play the champion of the American Football League to settle things once and for all.
The Commissioner of the NFL, Pete Rozelle, suggested they call that game “The Big One.” A creative genius he was not. Nor was AFL Founder Lamar Hunt, who recently passed away. But it was Lamar's term that ultimately stuck. He claims he was thinking about all of those college football championship games that had been called "bowls" for years when he said: “This game is going to be like a ‘super’ bowl!”
And upon hearing those words together, everyone in the meeting just looked around at each other and agreed: “That name totally sucks, but let’s use it anyhow for now…until we can come up with something better.”
True story - even the last part. “Super Bowl” was intended to be a stop-gap name – a placeholder they’d use temporarily until they could work out something more meaningful. Super Bowl, after all, was kind of generic. Super? Bowl? Why not just call it the Uber Mega Ultimate Super Championship of the Universe? Because Super Bowl was alsmot perfect in its simplicity.
And so today, all these years later, we're still calling “the Big One” the Super Bowl. And a super day it is certain to be...
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
A DANDY LION INDEED
I love this one. Two 11th graders in Southampton, Hampshire managed to pull off the ultimate school prank. Or perhaps I should say "pull out."
A couple years ago the unnamed duo sprayed weed killer on their school lawn in the shape of a monstrous penis. School staff since re-seeded the damaged area, but not before satellite photos memorialized their feat from space. The appendage can now be seen on Microsoft Virtual Earth and other satellite mapping programs.
Looks like the kids of Southampton High have a new "hang out."
A couple years ago the unnamed duo sprayed weed killer on their school lawn in the shape of a monstrous penis. School staff since re-seeded the damaged area, but not before satellite photos memorialized their feat from space. The appendage can now be seen on Microsoft Virtual Earth and other satellite mapping programs.
Looks like the kids of Southampton High have a new "hang out."
TO SPOOF A PREDATOR
Here's an amusing spoof of those Dateline "To Catch a Predator" shows. The end is the best part.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
...AND I FEEL FINE
Are you familiar with the concept of rapture? I recently decided to familiarize myself with end of the world, and this was the word that kept coming up. Rapture. Rapture. Rapture. What's a rapture, I thought. So I looked it up.
Some dictionaries list rapture as a sensation of absolute ecstasy, like the rapture Chicagoans are likely to feel when the Bears upset the Colts on Sunday in Miami. Or the great Rapture certain to envelope America upon Bush's exit from la casa blanca. In theologian terms, however, the “Rapture” means something entirely different. It’s the term used to describe an upcoming event where Christians are taken by God to Heaven – which sounds like a pretty cool deal, except that a lot of folks aren’t invited to the big bash in the sky. Nope – a bunch of us are going to be spending eternity on the curb outside of the 7-11 - lost and without hope.
Voted out of the tribe in Heaven.
Curious? So was I. So I dug a little deeper. For those of you as ignorant about the fundamental tenets of Christianity as I am, here’s a frightening look at the end of the world as we know it.
According to Biblical prophecy, the Rapture is scheduled to occur 7 years before the end of this age. What age is “this” age? That is subject to interpretation, but let’s assume for our soul’s sake it’s the one we’re in now. The age of "now" I like to call it for simplicity's sake. So there’s a 7 year period at the END of this age…and at the end of those 7 years, Christ will be coming out of retirement for his long-anticipated encore performance. The big show is being billed as the “Second Coming,” and while Jesus was one groovy guy (by most modern accounts), his reunion tour is expected to be a complete catastrophe.
Literally. Yeah - by all accounts, when JC comes back, he's all business.
But let me back up for second and explain why Christ is coming out of retirement in the first place. In the interim 7 years between the Rapture and the Second Coming, there is the expected emergence of someone by the name of Antichrist. That would be our antagonist. I used to hear "Antichrist" and think of folks like Kim Jong-Il, Hugo Chavez, Hillary Clinton, and Pat Robertson. And my grandmother swears it's Paul Wolfowitz. But according to my sources, the real antichrist is going to be a charming, childless man from Europe. And he’s going to really start mixing shit up.
At the end of 7 years, the planet is going to be in such a state of disarray that Christ will enter stage center wearing a kung-fu robe. A Battle Royale ensues. I read that Don King is already promoting the event on his website, promising plenty of pay-per-view entertainment for the terrified masses. And the executives at FOX are even kicking around some programming concepts for when the Apocalypse is in full swing. Of note are two shows, the first one a reality TV show centered on a “band of brothels” trying to promote procreation in a world where sexual dysfunction and disinterest have become the norm. This one would be called ‘Armageddon Laid’. The second will feature a guy who turns McDonalds restaurants into churches in an effort to promote faith and community on a mass scale as only the best branded corporations of our time have managed. This show will be titled ‘Prophesize Me.”
No, not really. I shouldn't joke. This is serious stuff I’m talking about here! I only make light of the end of the world to bring it to your attention. Do I have your attention yet? No? Okay...let me try terrorizing you. While JC and this debonair European antichrist dude go Armageddon on each other, it is expected that a THIRD of the world’s population will be exterminated. That’s like 2.2 BILLION people! Do I have you attention now? Yeah – this Rapture thing is pretty intense.
Of course, my entire tongue-in-cheek description here is just the Cliff’s Notes version. And it's not even that accurate depending on who you ask. Most Christians don't even agree on what the Rapture will entail, or when it will come. For a more complete explanation, I recommend a good Protestant Bible (the Roman Catholics, I should note, don't call it Rapture at all). If you're too busy to look it up yourself, this is what you need to know about the end of the world:
Good, God-fearing Christians will be saved and the rest of humanity will suffer a great end.
Totally uncool if you ask me. What about the billions of people on this planet whose religious beliefs are contrary to the teachings of Christianity? There are a lot of genuinely good people in this world who don't believe a word of the Bible. Presuming there's any credence to the concept of Rapture, wouldn't they be worth saving?
I have a calculator at my desk and I did a little number crunching. There are roughly 6.5 billion people in the world. If a third of us are wiped out, that leaves 4.3 billion people left to start over again. The number of people expected to depart earth is roughly equivalent to the total number of Christians in the world. Is this a coincidence? Are we all guest starring in the final season of LOST? Here is the population of the world broken down into religious figures, pardon the pun.
1 Christianity: 2.1 billion (1.1 billion of which are Catholics)
2 Islam: 1.3 billion
3 Secular/Nonreligious/Agnostic/Atheist: 1.1 billion
4 Hinduism: 900 million
5 Chinese traditional religion: 394 million
6 Buddhism: 376 million
7 Primal-indigenous: 300 million
8 African Traditional & Diasporic: 100 million
9 Sikhism: 23 million
10 Juche: 19 million
11 Spiritism: 15 million
12 Judaism: 14 million
13 Baha'i: 7 million
14 Jainism: 4.2 million
15 Shinto: 4 million
16 Cao Dai: 4 million
17 Zoroastrianism: 2.6 million
18 Tenrikyo: 2 million
19 Neo-Paganism: 1 million
20 Unitarian-Universalism: 800,000
21 Rastafarianism: 600,000
22 Scientology: 500,000
23 Universal Way of the Jolly Llama: 1...but catching on fast!
There sure are a lot of different ideas out there! And most of these systems of belief are mutually exclusive by design. That is to say, to have one faith is to deny the faiths of others. Religion isn't a Chinese menu off of which you can mix and match different dishes to suit your spiritual taste. Not in theory, anyhow. Historically, people have been told that one discipline is the true discipline and everyone else is on the wrong path. There's a frightening rigidty to it. But in practice, there's a lot of customization going on today. Globalization has brought world's people closer together, exposing us to more ideas and different thought. More and more people are opening their minds to ask "what if"? So the lines in this pie chart aren't as solid as they appear - there's a lot of crossover going on as the colors start bleeding into one another.
Ask around and you'll find actual beliefs vary widely - often within congregations! There are over 2 billion Christians all lumped together in the largest piece of the pie, most of whom disagree with one another on some pretty basic ideas. with so many different messages out there, how is one to know which ones to listen to and which ones to tune out?
We tend to take religion and make it our own. We personalize it. We internalize it. We shape it to fit our lifestyle. It's spiritualism for the new millenium - and for one world. A best practices thing is happening here whereby ideas with merit stick, while those rooted in antiquity are phased out over time. Perhaps that is what is happening with Jihadist Islam today. A miniscule faction of militaristic muslims are discovering there's little worldwide support for their brand of extremism. Killing people who don't share in your beliefs is not among those religious practices civilization chooses to encourage. So they are meeting resistance and have been largely confined to desolate, dangerous places. They're fighting for their dying beliefs like a cornered animal...but the world's civilized people have collectively said "no" to terror. The global human organism understands that the cancer of violent religious fanaticism must be destroyed for the future success of the species.
But I digress...
What were we talking about? Oh yeah. Rapture! So let's get to the part you've been waiting for. WHEN IS THE END OF THE WORLD? Well, according to Rapture Ready, the website tracking our progress toward the end of the world, there’s a lot of disturbingly prophetic activity going on that would indicate the end of the world is nigh.
You can check out the Rapture Index here. Looks to me like we’re speeding toward the Rapture right now! The Rapture Index is a visual measure of world catastrophe intended to predict the Second Coming. It’s basically a snapshot of global strife that changes from day to day. As events in our world unfold, some good and some bad, the Index increases or decreases. And, believe it or not, according to the Rapture Index, we’re on an upswing right now that could be signaling the end of days.
According to my calendar, the end of the world is scheduled for late 2012. So that leaves us all a few more years to atone.
I'm no theologian. I'm actually the first one to admit I know VERY little about religion. But I honestly don't know about all of this biblical prophecy stuff. I tend to think the end of the world is going to be a lot swifter than any of us can fathom. And like an ant in the shadow of a footstep, we probably won't even know it's coming.
Except Chuck Norris, of course, who will ready and waiting.
Some dictionaries list rapture as a sensation of absolute ecstasy, like the rapture Chicagoans are likely to feel when the Bears upset the Colts on Sunday in Miami. Or the great Rapture certain to envelope America upon Bush's exit from la casa blanca. In theologian terms, however, the “Rapture” means something entirely different. It’s the term used to describe an upcoming event where Christians are taken by God to Heaven – which sounds like a pretty cool deal, except that a lot of folks aren’t invited to the big bash in the sky. Nope – a bunch of us are going to be spending eternity on the curb outside of the 7-11 - lost and without hope.
Voted out of the tribe in Heaven.
Curious? So was I. So I dug a little deeper. For those of you as ignorant about the fundamental tenets of Christianity as I am, here’s a frightening look at the end of the world as we know it.
According to Biblical prophecy, the Rapture is scheduled to occur 7 years before the end of this age. What age is “this” age? That is subject to interpretation, but let’s assume for our soul’s sake it’s the one we’re in now. The age of "now" I like to call it for simplicity's sake. So there’s a 7 year period at the END of this age…and at the end of those 7 years, Christ will be coming out of retirement for his long-anticipated encore performance. The big show is being billed as the “Second Coming,” and while Jesus was one groovy guy (by most modern accounts), his reunion tour is expected to be a complete catastrophe.
Literally. Yeah - by all accounts, when JC comes back, he's all business.
But let me back up for second and explain why Christ is coming out of retirement in the first place. In the interim 7 years between the Rapture and the Second Coming, there is the expected emergence of someone by the name of Antichrist. That would be our antagonist. I used to hear "Antichrist" and think of folks like Kim Jong-Il, Hugo Chavez, Hillary Clinton, and Pat Robertson. And my grandmother swears it's Paul Wolfowitz. But according to my sources, the real antichrist is going to be a charming, childless man from Europe. And he’s going to really start mixing shit up.
At the end of 7 years, the planet is going to be in such a state of disarray that Christ will enter stage center wearing a kung-fu robe. A Battle Royale ensues. I read that Don King is already promoting the event on his website, promising plenty of pay-per-view entertainment for the terrified masses. And the executives at FOX are even kicking around some programming concepts for when the Apocalypse is in full swing. Of note are two shows, the first one a reality TV show centered on a “band of brothels” trying to promote procreation in a world where sexual dysfunction and disinterest have become the norm. This one would be called ‘Armageddon Laid’. The second will feature a guy who turns McDonalds restaurants into churches in an effort to promote faith and community on a mass scale as only the best branded corporations of our time have managed. This show will be titled ‘Prophesize Me.”
No, not really. I shouldn't joke. This is serious stuff I’m talking about here! I only make light of the end of the world to bring it to your attention. Do I have your attention yet? No? Okay...let me try terrorizing you. While JC and this debonair European antichrist dude go Armageddon on each other, it is expected that a THIRD of the world’s population will be exterminated. That’s like 2.2 BILLION people! Do I have you attention now? Yeah – this Rapture thing is pretty intense.
Of course, my entire tongue-in-cheek description here is just the Cliff’s Notes version. And it's not even that accurate depending on who you ask. Most Christians don't even agree on what the Rapture will entail, or when it will come. For a more complete explanation, I recommend a good Protestant Bible (the Roman Catholics, I should note, don't call it Rapture at all). If you're too busy to look it up yourself, this is what you need to know about the end of the world:
Good, God-fearing Christians will be saved and the rest of humanity will suffer a great end.
Totally uncool if you ask me. What about the billions of people on this planet whose religious beliefs are contrary to the teachings of Christianity? There are a lot of genuinely good people in this world who don't believe a word of the Bible. Presuming there's any credence to the concept of Rapture, wouldn't they be worth saving?
I have a calculator at my desk and I did a little number crunching. There are roughly 6.5 billion people in the world. If a third of us are wiped out, that leaves 4.3 billion people left to start over again. The number of people expected to depart earth is roughly equivalent to the total number of Christians in the world. Is this a coincidence? Are we all guest starring in the final season of LOST? Here is the population of the world broken down into religious figures, pardon the pun.
1 Christianity: 2.1 billion (1.1 billion of which are Catholics)
2 Islam: 1.3 billion
3 Secular/Nonreligious/Agnostic/Atheist: 1.1 billion
4 Hinduism: 900 million
5 Chinese traditional religion: 394 million
6 Buddhism: 376 million
7 Primal-indigenous: 300 million
8 African Traditional & Diasporic: 100 million
9 Sikhism: 23 million
10 Juche: 19 million
11 Spiritism: 15 million
12 Judaism: 14 million
13 Baha'i: 7 million
14 Jainism: 4.2 million
15 Shinto: 4 million
16 Cao Dai: 4 million
17 Zoroastrianism: 2.6 million
18 Tenrikyo: 2 million
19 Neo-Paganism: 1 million
20 Unitarian-Universalism: 800,000
21 Rastafarianism: 600,000
22 Scientology: 500,000
23 Universal Way of the Jolly Llama: 1...but catching on fast!
There sure are a lot of different ideas out there! And most of these systems of belief are mutually exclusive by design. That is to say, to have one faith is to deny the faiths of others. Religion isn't a Chinese menu off of which you can mix and match different dishes to suit your spiritual taste. Not in theory, anyhow. Historically, people have been told that one discipline is the true discipline and everyone else is on the wrong path. There's a frightening rigidty to it. But in practice, there's a lot of customization going on today. Globalization has brought world's people closer together, exposing us to more ideas and different thought. More and more people are opening their minds to ask "what if"? So the lines in this pie chart aren't as solid as they appear - there's a lot of crossover going on as the colors start bleeding into one another.Ask around and you'll find actual beliefs vary widely - often within congregations! There are over 2 billion Christians all lumped together in the largest piece of the pie, most of whom disagree with one another on some pretty basic ideas. with so many different messages out there, how is one to know which ones to listen to and which ones to tune out?
We tend to take religion and make it our own. We personalize it. We internalize it. We shape it to fit our lifestyle. It's spiritualism for the new millenium - and for one world. A best practices thing is happening here whereby ideas with merit stick, while those rooted in antiquity are phased out over time. Perhaps that is what is happening with Jihadist Islam today. A miniscule faction of militaristic muslims are discovering there's little worldwide support for their brand of extremism. Killing people who don't share in your beliefs is not among those religious practices civilization chooses to encourage. So they are meeting resistance and have been largely confined to desolate, dangerous places. They're fighting for their dying beliefs like a cornered animal...but the world's civilized people have collectively said "no" to terror. The global human organism understands that the cancer of violent religious fanaticism must be destroyed for the future success of the species.
But I digress...
What were we talking about? Oh yeah. Rapture! So let's get to the part you've been waiting for. WHEN IS THE END OF THE WORLD? Well, according to Rapture Ready, the website tracking our progress toward the end of the world, there’s a lot of disturbingly prophetic activity going on that would indicate the end of the world is nigh.
You can check out the Rapture Index here. Looks to me like we’re speeding toward the Rapture right now! The Rapture Index is a visual measure of world catastrophe intended to predict the Second Coming. It’s basically a snapshot of global strife that changes from day to day. As events in our world unfold, some good and some bad, the Index increases or decreases. And, believe it or not, according to the Rapture Index, we’re on an upswing right now that could be signaling the end of days.
According to my calendar, the end of the world is scheduled for late 2012. So that leaves us all a few more years to atone.
I'm no theologian. I'm actually the first one to admit I know VERY little about religion. But I honestly don't know about all of this biblical prophecy stuff. I tend to think the end of the world is going to be a lot swifter than any of us can fathom. And like an ant in the shadow of a footstep, we probably won't even know it's coming.
Except Chuck Norris, of course, who will ready and waiting.
Monday, January 29, 2007
ANIMAL CANDIES
Valentine's Day is right around the corner, so here's a timely link to some candy-related news. It's an update on the folks at Necco, the candymaker behind those little heart-shaped sugar bombs kids have been passing around for decades. There are 10 new phrases to look for this year, and they have a decidedly animalistic bent to them:
• COOL CAT
• PUPPY LOVE
• TAKE A WALK
• MY PET
• BEAR HUG
• TOP DOG
• URA TIGER
• GO FISH
• LOVE BIRD
• PURR FECT
And I've also been working a few extensions of this theme for next year's batch:
• PLAY DEAD
• PET ME
• BARE HUG
• DOG STYLE
• IN HEAT
• I BITE
• NICE TAIL
• WHIP MEOW
• COOL CAT
• PUPPY LOVE
• TAKE A WALK
• MY PET
• BEAR HUG
• TOP DOG
• URA TIGER
• GO FISH
• LOVE BIRD
• PURR FECT
And I've also been working a few extensions of this theme for next year's batch:
• PLAY DEAD
• PET ME
• BARE HUG
• DOG STYLE
• IN HEAT
• I BITE
• NICE TAIL
• WHIP MEOW
Sunday, January 28, 2007
THE iNCREDIBLES
Here are some fantastic Photoshopped creations of imaginary future Mac products. My personal favorite is the iBrator. Sweet.
Graphic designers are colorful folks.
Graphic designers are colorful folks.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
PROCRASTINATORS OF AMERICA REJOICE
Tax day has been postponed two days this year and will fall on April 17, 2007. That's two more days to let that stack of tax forms sit on your kitchen table. Two more days to say, "I'll do it tomorrow." Two more days to watch American Idol uninterrupted. Turns out April 15th falls on a Sunday this year, and Monday the 16th is Emancipation Day, an obscure holiday for the folks who live in D.C. - so your taxes aren't officially due until Tuesday the 17th. And that's all you need to know about that.
LOOK WHO DROPPED IN!
I love stupid criminal tricks. This surveillance video is a fucking classic. They pieced together video footage from outside and inside surveillance cameras to show you how NOT to rob a liquor store. The star of this short clip is a real winner whose mom should be very proud.
And if you're thinking of knocking over a booze mart, please take notes.
And if you're thinking of knocking over a booze mart, please take notes.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Monday, January 22, 2007
I WON'T STAND FOR THIS!
I found out something really disturbing a few weeks ago and I don’t know who to talk to about it, so I am just going to share it here. I have lived my entire lifetime unaware that there are people in this world who stand up to wipe their ass. And the people who informed me that this was the way they cleaned their house were equally shocked to discover that there are people in this world who wipe their ass while seated. I remember it came up in casual conversation among friends during my New Years trip to Austin. I can’t say exactly how we arrived upon the topic of asswiping, but it is really not so uncommon for conversations with me to plunge into the defacatory realm. I guess you could say I like to talk a lot of shit. Shit is something we all know about because we all do it. I personally find the topic a nice icebreaker. It’s like the new weather.
OLD: Did you hear about that storm headed that way?
NEW: I find bananas really clean me out. Have you enjoyed similar success with any other fruits with peels?
But back to the fecal matter at hand. I remember a comment was made, and for clarification I delved a little deeper, at which point it became quite clear that the folks I was speaking with preferred to stand while wiping their ass. The ensuing look of shock on my face gave me away as a sitter. There was suddenly silence. No one knew how to react to this earth-shattering revelation.
It really felt like two worlds had collided – we just stared at one another, awkward and a little afraid, adrenalin pumping…not unlike, I would imagine, the colonists and natives coming face to face for the very first time. Who ARE these people, we thought of each other. So similar to us...and yet so very exotic and strange.
We immediately demanded from one another our rationales for sitting/standing to wipe and were awestruck to realize they were identical! I was told that the only way to really get access is to stand up. And yet, when I stand up, my ass cheeks naturally swing back together like saloon doors – which, frankly, I find dangerous. One moist dingleberry and you’ve got ass pancakes. Not pretty.
I’ve always just reached back from my seated position since my cheeks are already at maximum spread. It just seems it would be a safer, more effective method for asskeeping than standing up and trapping anything that may not have pinched entirely free.
I don’t know – I just don’t see it. And yet I was told by several people (whose hands I will never shake again) that they preferred to stand and wipe. Me? I won't stand for it.
STAMPEDE!
I borrowed a stamp from a coworker today and it dawned on me that I hardly have a need for them anymore. I pay virtually all of my bills online now – at least the ones that aren’t automatically deducted every month. Needing a stamp today made me think back to the stack of bills I used to have sitting on my desk. Paying them all used to be such a hassle. Writing out all those checks, stuffing the envelopes, paying for stamps, and marching down to the mailbox. These days I pay bills in between checking e-mail and checking scores. I click a couple of buttons, type in the amount, and hit send. Done. Bills paid. And since I’ve never been the thoughtful type who sends holiday and birthday cards, my need for stamps has really waned in recent years.
But that didn’t stop me from appreciating the novelty in the link I'm about to share. For a small upcharge you can actually order custom designed stamps with your own personal photos on them! Like, for example, if you’re a sorry ass Packers fan, you might want to turn that popular photo of Rex Grossman getting his ass blasted by a Packers lineman (you know the one I'm talking about) into a postage stamp before mailing out your invites for this year’s Super Bowl party. They’ve even got a library of photos you can go through. Are they real stamps? Please. You did not just ask me that. Of course they are, silly.
If you still use stamps and have a few minutes to upload some pics, this could be big fun. Check it out!
But that didn’t stop me from appreciating the novelty in the link I'm about to share. For a small upcharge you can actually order custom designed stamps with your own personal photos on them! Like, for example, if you’re a sorry ass Packers fan, you might want to turn that popular photo of Rex Grossman getting his ass blasted by a Packers lineman (you know the one I'm talking about) into a postage stamp before mailing out your invites for this year’s Super Bowl party. They’ve even got a library of photos you can go through. Are they real stamps? Please. You did not just ask me that. Of course they are, silly.
If you still use stamps and have a few minutes to upload some pics, this could be big fun. Check it out!
EVERYDAY MAGIC
Before he started appearing on those car commercials, this magician was just a street performer. Check out some of his routine here. Damn good stuff.
BLUE ORLEANS
Do you know what today is? It's blue monday!
It's the day "experts" believe is the gloomiest, most depressing day of the year. And for folks in New Orleans and New England, blue Monday is certainly living down to the hype. Both NFL teams suffered agonizing defeats in yesterday's conference championship playoff round, leaving tens of thousands even more miserable than normal on this dreariest of all days.
Why is Blue Monday considered so blue? A combination of factors contribute: weather, debt, time since Christmas, time since failing our new year's resolutions, low motivational levels, and the feeling of a need to take action. Yes, we're a bunch of cold, broke quitters with a list full of things to do and no motivation. No wonder we're feeling so blue!
At least those of here in Chicago have da Bears, so for us it feels more like Blue and Orange Monday. If we're not feeling well here it has less to do with the weather and more to do with the amount of celebrating we did last night. OUCH. I noticed that Vegas already has da Bears listed as 7 point underdogs. I like it. Nothing gets us midwestern folks riled up more than lack of respect.
Personally, I don't feel so blue today. Probably because of the massive crap I took this morning. Nothing like a power dump to start the morning off right.
It's the day "experts" believe is the gloomiest, most depressing day of the year. And for folks in New Orleans and New England, blue Monday is certainly living down to the hype. Both NFL teams suffered agonizing defeats in yesterday's conference championship playoff round, leaving tens of thousands even more miserable than normal on this dreariest of all days.
Why is Blue Monday considered so blue? A combination of factors contribute: weather, debt, time since Christmas, time since failing our new year's resolutions, low motivational levels, and the feeling of a need to take action. Yes, we're a bunch of cold, broke quitters with a list full of things to do and no motivation. No wonder we're feeling so blue!
At least those of here in Chicago have da Bears, so for us it feels more like Blue and Orange Monday. If we're not feeling well here it has less to do with the weather and more to do with the amount of celebrating we did last night. OUCH. I noticed that Vegas already has da Bears listed as 7 point underdogs. I like it. Nothing gets us midwestern folks riled up more than lack of respect.
Personally, I don't feel so blue today. Probably because of the massive crap I took this morning. Nothing like a power dump to start the morning off right.
NEIGHBORHOODS WITHOUT NEIGHBORS
Here’s an interesting theory on why our nation's arch conservatives are so fucked up. The author offers an insightful look into the despair of suburban communities and suggests this feeling of hopelessness is having a profound impact on ideology. I found a surprising amount to agree with in this well-articulated opinion piece.
Here's an excerpt:
"The engine that drives the radical Christian Right in the United States, the most dangerous mass movement in American history, is not religiosity, but despair. It is a movement built on the growing personal and economic despair of tens of millions of Americans, who watched helplessly as their communities were plunged into poverty by the flight of manufacturing jobs, their families and neighborhoods torn apart by neglect and indifference, and who eventually lost hope that America was a place where they had a future.
"This despair crosses economic boundaries, of course, enveloping many in the middle class who live trapped in huge, soulless exurbs where, lacking any form of community rituals or centers, they also feel deeply isolated, vulnerable and lonely."
That's good stuff right there. Soulless exurbs? I'm diggin' the rhetoric big time. There's plenty more where this came from.
Here's an excerpt:
"The engine that drives the radical Christian Right in the United States, the most dangerous mass movement in American history, is not religiosity, but despair. It is a movement built on the growing personal and economic despair of tens of millions of Americans, who watched helplessly as their communities were plunged into poverty by the flight of manufacturing jobs, their families and neighborhoods torn apart by neglect and indifference, and who eventually lost hope that America was a place where they had a future.
"This despair crosses economic boundaries, of course, enveloping many in the middle class who live trapped in huge, soulless exurbs where, lacking any form of community rituals or centers, they also feel deeply isolated, vulnerable and lonely."
That's good stuff right there. Soulless exurbs? I'm diggin' the rhetoric big time. There's plenty more where this came from.
MIXING PLEASURE WITH BUSINESS
I don’t know how it happened but I became important somehow – and it’s really starting to have a negative impact on my ability to be a good time.
When I first got out of college, I scored a full time gig writing for a local ad agency in Champaign, Illinois. It didn’t pay a whole lot, but then I suppose I didn’t really work a whole lot, either. We didn’t have a lot of clients, so I had a LOT of down time. I later came to understand that too much down time = unemployment office. But I was young, naive, and carefree, so I played computer games, e-mailed friends, started a couple of screenplays I wouldn’t finish, and kicked off an internet e-letter called All You Need to Know.
Yes - the very same AYNtK. There was a lot going on inside that I felt I needed to get out. And, surprisingly, people were interested in what I had to say. So I kept writing. In many ways, it was more rewarding to me personally than anything I was doing professionally at the time. Truly a labor or love.
Back then I would spend much of my workweek, every week, researching information about news, events, and little known facts…and then sharing that information with people all over the world – most of whom were strangers I would never know. I made fun of a lot of things, too, most of all myself, because it’s important to have a sense of humor. I definitely had a lot of fun back then, which is more than I can say for my poor liver. But the liver is doing much better today…what’s left of it.
In many ways, those were the days. Rent was cheap. Beer was cheap. My taste in everything was cheap. But even then I knew I had way more potential…and eventually, I was going to have to explore the world outside of that small, Midwestern campustown. Not long after 9/11/01, I moved back to sweet home Chicago, where I was born and raised. I got a job at a suburban marketing firm, nearly doubled my salary, and almost immediately began flushing that extra cash away on expensive rent, expensive beer, and more expensive taste in everything. That’s what city living is all about.
That was also when I discovered that there is a different pace to life in the city. People drive you to work harder and longer hours. Traffic congestion, crime, pollution, and other ills of city living began to sink in and I started wondering what the hell I’d done. I was driving myself crazy at the office, assuming more responsibilities by the day and falling asleep at 8:30 every night. It was brutal. Between the long commute and the even longer work day, I found I little time or energy left for myself at the end of the day. But it was good experience to have, however short-lived, if for no other reason than it showed me what was important to me: living close to work, relatively normal work hours, and ambient, natural light.
A year and a half after signing on in that suburban nightmare, I bailed for a small creative shop in the west loop.
Being the only writer at an agency is a blessing and a curse. There’s some degree of job security in being the only guy in house who can turn a phrase, but there’s also a lot of pressure being the only guy in house who can turn a phrase. I learned that mt previous experience was serving me well, and I was a lot better at doing the things the clients pay money for.
And then I got promoted.
And then I got promoted again.
And then I got promoted again. All in just the last year. I’ve been handed more responsibility than I’ve ever had before…an almost frightening amount, to be honest. But I keep accepting it because I know I can handle it. And because it’s good to feel needed. And because I’m still saddled by a tremendous amount of student loan debt. Unfortunately, the promotions came without the pay increases that might typically be expected. But at least now I have more options than I did a year ago. If they can't line your pockets with gold, you need to find that silver lining.
So here I sit - busier than can be. These days I don’t really have a ton of time to research information about news, events, and little known facts. And I don’t really have time to make fun of a lot of stuff, not even myself. Which sucks because it’s important to have a sense of humor. But it’s also important to feel financially secure, and that’s why I’ve been so out of touch lately. I’ve become important somehow - and it's really having a negative impact on my ability to be a good time.
But I can still feel it inside. There’s a lot left to share. A lot left to talk about. And I WILL get it out eventually...
When I first got out of college, I scored a full time gig writing for a local ad agency in Champaign, Illinois. It didn’t pay a whole lot, but then I suppose I didn’t really work a whole lot, either. We didn’t have a lot of clients, so I had a LOT of down time. I later came to understand that too much down time = unemployment office. But I was young, naive, and carefree, so I played computer games, e-mailed friends, started a couple of screenplays I wouldn’t finish, and kicked off an internet e-letter called All You Need to Know.
Yes - the very same AYNtK. There was a lot going on inside that I felt I needed to get out. And, surprisingly, people were interested in what I had to say. So I kept writing. In many ways, it was more rewarding to me personally than anything I was doing professionally at the time. Truly a labor or love.
Back then I would spend much of my workweek, every week, researching information about news, events, and little known facts…and then sharing that information with people all over the world – most of whom were strangers I would never know. I made fun of a lot of things, too, most of all myself, because it’s important to have a sense of humor. I definitely had a lot of fun back then, which is more than I can say for my poor liver. But the liver is doing much better today…what’s left of it.
In many ways, those were the days. Rent was cheap. Beer was cheap. My taste in everything was cheap. But even then I knew I had way more potential…and eventually, I was going to have to explore the world outside of that small, Midwestern campustown. Not long after 9/11/01, I moved back to sweet home Chicago, where I was born and raised. I got a job at a suburban marketing firm, nearly doubled my salary, and almost immediately began flushing that extra cash away on expensive rent, expensive beer, and more expensive taste in everything. That’s what city living is all about.
That was also when I discovered that there is a different pace to life in the city. People drive you to work harder and longer hours. Traffic congestion, crime, pollution, and other ills of city living began to sink in and I started wondering what the hell I’d done. I was driving myself crazy at the office, assuming more responsibilities by the day and falling asleep at 8:30 every night. It was brutal. Between the long commute and the even longer work day, I found I little time or energy left for myself at the end of the day. But it was good experience to have, however short-lived, if for no other reason than it showed me what was important to me: living close to work, relatively normal work hours, and ambient, natural light.
A year and a half after signing on in that suburban nightmare, I bailed for a small creative shop in the west loop.
Being the only writer at an agency is a blessing and a curse. There’s some degree of job security in being the only guy in house who can turn a phrase, but there’s also a lot of pressure being the only guy in house who can turn a phrase. I learned that mt previous experience was serving me well, and I was a lot better at doing the things the clients pay money for.
And then I got promoted.
And then I got promoted again.
And then I got promoted again. All in just the last year. I’ve been handed more responsibility than I’ve ever had before…an almost frightening amount, to be honest. But I keep accepting it because I know I can handle it. And because it’s good to feel needed. And because I’m still saddled by a tremendous amount of student loan debt. Unfortunately, the promotions came without the pay increases that might typically be expected. But at least now I have more options than I did a year ago. If they can't line your pockets with gold, you need to find that silver lining.
So here I sit - busier than can be. These days I don’t really have a ton of time to research information about news, events, and little known facts. And I don’t really have time to make fun of a lot of stuff, not even myself. Which sucks because it’s important to have a sense of humor. But it’s also important to feel financially secure, and that’s why I’ve been so out of touch lately. I’ve become important somehow - and it's really having a negative impact on my ability to be a good time.
But I can still feel it inside. There’s a lot left to share. A lot left to talk about. And I WILL get it out eventually...
Friday, January 05, 2007
GREAT EXPECTATIONS
How often does reality meet your expectations? If you're like most people, the answer is not very often. For some reason, events seldom seem to play out as we imagine they might. The reason, of course, is that there are a lot of variables in this equation we call life. Too many, in fact, to account for them all. And yet, perhaps naively, we continue to try. Painting pictures in our minds of the way life's supposed to be...establishing expectations as a matter of routine. And for what?
Expectations are byproducts of self-awareness - the construction of future events for the purpose of creating order. It's as if we feel the more we can predict about the way things will be, the more control we will have over the course of our lives. It's always about control. And yet it can be argued that the true order of things cannot be perceived by the human mind – ergo, the order we impose upon things is a false order. Further, we presume everything about the future based on a very limited, very human sensory experience. How myopic!
Right now an infinite number of gears are turning, all of which have an impact on all of the other gears. It is a brilliant and beautiful act of divine synchronization...one we can't even begin to comprehend. Countless variables computing tirelessly and simultaneously - a giant engine of universal cognition. If one thing about the future is certain, it is that the future is uncertain.
I have concluded that expectations should be avoided. They are distractions - the children of insecurity, and the mother of disappointment. We commonly tell one another to move on from yesterday so that we can better experience today. Likewise, would we not benefit from withdrawing ourselves from tomorrow in favor of a more current consciousness? Or is the blessing of imagination also a curse that both enriches our lives with great promise and limits our growth? Expectations, like our wildest dreams, limit us. They create borders in our minds that prevent us from achieving our full potential. Worse, dreams and expectations can discourage us when we fail to realize them.
Dream when you sleep. When you're awake, live.
Expectations are byproducts of self-awareness - the construction of future events for the purpose of creating order. It's as if we feel the more we can predict about the way things will be, the more control we will have over the course of our lives. It's always about control. And yet it can be argued that the true order of things cannot be perceived by the human mind – ergo, the order we impose upon things is a false order. Further, we presume everything about the future based on a very limited, very human sensory experience. How myopic!
Right now an infinite number of gears are turning, all of which have an impact on all of the other gears. It is a brilliant and beautiful act of divine synchronization...one we can't even begin to comprehend. Countless variables computing tirelessly and simultaneously - a giant engine of universal cognition. If one thing about the future is certain, it is that the future is uncertain.
I have concluded that expectations should be avoided. They are distractions - the children of insecurity, and the mother of disappointment. We commonly tell one another to move on from yesterday so that we can better experience today. Likewise, would we not benefit from withdrawing ourselves from tomorrow in favor of a more current consciousness? Or is the blessing of imagination also a curse that both enriches our lives with great promise and limits our growth? Expectations, like our wildest dreams, limit us. They create borders in our minds that prevent us from achieving our full potential. Worse, dreams and expectations can discourage us when we fail to realize them.
Dream when you sleep. When you're awake, live.
THE FANTASTIC FANATIC
Here's a sweet clip that's been floating around for a while. Someone recently did us the courtesy of "translating" the subject's German to English for us. While it's fun to watch (and listen to) on its own merit, the rather loose translation is a fucking riot.
Chicago Cubs fans ought to get a real kick out of it...just be sure to gut it out until the end. Sums up life as a Cubs fan nicely in about 4 minutes.
Chicago Cubs fans ought to get a real kick out of it...just be sure to gut it out until the end. Sums up life as a Cubs fan nicely in about 4 minutes.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
INSECURITY
Here's a link to a site where you can make your own motivational posters. I posted a couple of my own special designs last year (you may recall) but refused to share the link because I didn't want you to be as cool as me.
I think sufficient time has passed that I can now share this with you...
Enjoy!
I think sufficient time has passed that I can now share this with you...
Enjoy!
SOLDIER MACHISMO
Soldiers are brave...but this guy takes the cake in my book. He's a Lieutenant who's refusing to go back to Iraq on the grounds the war is "illegal." And he may end up in a maximum security military prison for 6 years as a result.
Here’s an interview with the first commissioned U.S. officer to publicly refuse his deployment orders. This wasn't just a snap decision, either. You can tell this guy has thought a lot about it...and makes some pretty good arguments in his defense. Definitely worth a browse if you're looking to burn a few minutes while your afternoon crap percolates.
Here’s an interview with the first commissioned U.S. officer to publicly refuse his deployment orders. This wasn't just a snap decision, either. You can tell this guy has thought a lot about it...and makes some pretty good arguments in his defense. Definitely worth a browse if you're looking to burn a few minutes while your afternoon crap percolates.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
DEEP IN THE HEART
How was your New Years? Do anything fun? Me neither. Okay, that's a lie. G and I took a little trip and had a blast. If you think I'm going to waste my precious time telling you all about it, you know me pretty well...
I took a trip to Austin, Texas to visit some close friends and ring in 2007 with one of my favorite musical artists, and hometown favorite, Bob Schneider (whose link is in the sidebar). That dude jams, y'all. If you get a chance to catch him live, I highly recommend it. As for Austin, it's pretty damn hard to beat 72 degrees in late December...so I had a hot time on the merit of the weather alone.
This was my first visit to the Lone Star state capital, so we did all of the touristy things to do: took a tour of the Capitol building, snapped a bunch of pictures that didn't turn out, wandered the streets of Austin's historic downtown, stuffed our bellies with local cuisine (mostly barbecue and chipotle-infused you-name-it), investigated shopping boutiques in various districts, got lost, got drunk, and got arrested.
Arrested? No. Not really. We tried - but they don't arrest folks for just anything down there. Ask Dick Cheney. He shot a man in the face last year and the authorities responded like Texans shoot people in the face all the time. What they ARE serious about down there in Texas is drinking and driving. I got the impression it was a BIG problem from all of the signs and radio ads warning against it. It seemed every on-ramp to every major highway around Austin's city limits has a massive electronic light board threatening jail time for drinking and driving. We decided it would be in our best interest not to test them on this.
A couple things about Austin. Our trip was fantastic - but largely because we were visiting a number of good friends who helped make our stay a special one. Had we been on our own, I'm not certain Austin would have been as exciting a destination as we had anticipated. You've heard the expression, "Nice place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there." For me, Austin is probably the opposite: seemed to be GREAT place to live, but not exactly the best place to go on holiday. Unless you've got friends there, of course - which we did. And that made this New Years adventure a memorable one. At least the part of it I can actually remember. I'll know more about my New Years Eve once everyone uploads their digital pics and I can see what I was doing.
They like thinking of themselves as "weird" down there in Austin - but I didn't see a whole lot that was truly out of the ordinary. There were t-shirts, hats, stickers, and buttons everywhere we went that read: "Keep Austin Weird." I guess the locals don't like all the new blood spilling in and watering down their "cool" pool, so they promote "weirdness" almost as a branded heritage that's uniquely theirs. In truth, I see weirder every day right here in Chicago. I guess it all depends on what you're used to. Austin isn't "weird" so much as it is different from the rest of Texas. And that might be explained by its more liberal leanings. As a younger, hipper "college" town, it's ideologically out of synch with the rest of the state.
Here's something else you should know about Austin. Their baked beans are WAY different. I ordered them as a side several times and they're relatively dry and taste like chili seasoning. I was expecting sweet molasses gravy with sliced onions and thick bacon chunks...like I'm used to here in the midwest. I have to say, I didn't much care for the beans, which I'm sure my hosts were just fine with. Me and baked beans don't always agree with one another, and it's the folks nearby who always end up suffering. I actually unleashed a real doozy at the Whole Foods grocery store down there that had shoppers gsping and hacking in the aisles. It was brutal. A long, slow leaker that I had to work out of my jeans by taking long strides and patting out the trapped air between steps. When I sensed it was following me, we departed in a hurry. As we were pulling out of the parking lot, I'm pretty sure I saw a fleet of fire engines screaming their way down 5th toward ground zero. Nasty.
Speaking of the Whole Foods, I have to tell you, WOW. Austin's flagship store is simply amazing. I actually made the comment that it was almost worth moving down to Austin simply to be near it. It was THAT kick ass. Chicago has a couple of Whole Foods grocery stores. They're a little pricier than the other local chains because, in theory, a lot of the stuff there is better for you. Organic. All natural. Steroid and insecticide free. So it's earned a reputation as being the "health food" grocery store, which to me has always meant "flavor free food." But that is not the case with Whole Foods. In fact, a lot of their stuff actually tastes BETTER. And if you take the time to look at the labels, it's not all that healthy for you, either. At least not the stuff I'd actually pay money to eat.
Por ejemplo, our hosts insisted we purchase some of their "cowboy burger" patties. They were, simply put, the best burgers I'd ever tasted. Yes, even better than Fuddruckers. I know - hard to believe...but TRUE. I think the fact that they were pan-fried in a half stick of butter may have had something to do with that, but they were still damn tasty of their own accord. Loaded with jalapenos, bacon, garlic, onion, and cheese, every bite was a juicy taste explosion. Heavenly.
And that was just one food item. The entire store was magnificent. First off, it was ENORMOUS. They had winding aisles that weaved charmingly in and out of larger corridors. There were food stations and mountains of displays everywhere. Everything was cooked, packaged, stacked, and presented in excess. I saw a column of holiday pies so large they would never all be purchased - displayed entirely for effect. It was like visiting a museum celebrating America as the land of plenty. The produce section was so vibrant and colorful it looked like the Partridge Family bus had plowed into a farmer's market. There were manned stations everywhere offering more varieties of food than I knew existed. They had a sushi bar. A bakery. A butcher shop. It was almost too much for a food lover like me to handle. But that's when I felt a massive fart coming on and had to plan my impromtu exit strategy. I easily could have spent all day in there whipping my salivary glands into an anticipatory frenzy.
All in all, our trip to Austin was fabulous. Although if I go again it will be to see my friends, not the city. Oh yeah, and we saw a mullet. That, naturally, made the whole journey instantly worthwhile.
I took a trip to Austin, Texas to visit some close friends and ring in 2007 with one of my favorite musical artists, and hometown favorite, Bob Schneider (whose link is in the sidebar). That dude jams, y'all. If you get a chance to catch him live, I highly recommend it. As for Austin, it's pretty damn hard to beat 72 degrees in late December...so I had a hot time on the merit of the weather alone.
This was my first visit to the Lone Star state capital, so we did all of the touristy things to do: took a tour of the Capitol building, snapped a bunch of pictures that didn't turn out, wandered the streets of Austin's historic downtown, stuffed our bellies with local cuisine (mostly barbecue and chipotle-infused you-name-it), investigated shopping boutiques in various districts, got lost, got drunk, and got arrested.
Arrested? No. Not really. We tried - but they don't arrest folks for just anything down there. Ask Dick Cheney. He shot a man in the face last year and the authorities responded like Texans shoot people in the face all the time. What they ARE serious about down there in Texas is drinking and driving. I got the impression it was a BIG problem from all of the signs and radio ads warning against it. It seemed every on-ramp to every major highway around Austin's city limits has a massive electronic light board threatening jail time for drinking and driving. We decided it would be in our best interest not to test them on this.
A couple things about Austin. Our trip was fantastic - but largely because we were visiting a number of good friends who helped make our stay a special one. Had we been on our own, I'm not certain Austin would have been as exciting a destination as we had anticipated. You've heard the expression, "Nice place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there." For me, Austin is probably the opposite: seemed to be GREAT place to live, but not exactly the best place to go on holiday. Unless you've got friends there, of course - which we did. And that made this New Years adventure a memorable one. At least the part of it I can actually remember. I'll know more about my New Years Eve once everyone uploads their digital pics and I can see what I was doing.
They like thinking of themselves as "weird" down there in Austin - but I didn't see a whole lot that was truly out of the ordinary. There were t-shirts, hats, stickers, and buttons everywhere we went that read: "Keep Austin Weird." I guess the locals don't like all the new blood spilling in and watering down their "cool" pool, so they promote "weirdness" almost as a branded heritage that's uniquely theirs. In truth, I see weirder every day right here in Chicago. I guess it all depends on what you're used to. Austin isn't "weird" so much as it is different from the rest of Texas. And that might be explained by its more liberal leanings. As a younger, hipper "college" town, it's ideologically out of synch with the rest of the state.
Here's something else you should know about Austin. Their baked beans are WAY different. I ordered them as a side several times and they're relatively dry and taste like chili seasoning. I was expecting sweet molasses gravy with sliced onions and thick bacon chunks...like I'm used to here in the midwest. I have to say, I didn't much care for the beans, which I'm sure my hosts were just fine with. Me and baked beans don't always agree with one another, and it's the folks nearby who always end up suffering. I actually unleashed a real doozy at the Whole Foods grocery store down there that had shoppers gsping and hacking in the aisles. It was brutal. A long, slow leaker that I had to work out of my jeans by taking long strides and patting out the trapped air between steps. When I sensed it was following me, we departed in a hurry. As we were pulling out of the parking lot, I'm pretty sure I saw a fleet of fire engines screaming their way down 5th toward ground zero. Nasty.
Speaking of the Whole Foods, I have to tell you, WOW. Austin's flagship store is simply amazing. I actually made the comment that it was almost worth moving down to Austin simply to be near it. It was THAT kick ass. Chicago has a couple of Whole Foods grocery stores. They're a little pricier than the other local chains because, in theory, a lot of the stuff there is better for you. Organic. All natural. Steroid and insecticide free. So it's earned a reputation as being the "health food" grocery store, which to me has always meant "flavor free food." But that is not the case with Whole Foods. In fact, a lot of their stuff actually tastes BETTER. And if you take the time to look at the labels, it's not all that healthy for you, either. At least not the stuff I'd actually pay money to eat.
Por ejemplo, our hosts insisted we purchase some of their "cowboy burger" patties. They were, simply put, the best burgers I'd ever tasted. Yes, even better than Fuddruckers. I know - hard to believe...but TRUE. I think the fact that they were pan-fried in a half stick of butter may have had something to do with that, but they were still damn tasty of their own accord. Loaded with jalapenos, bacon, garlic, onion, and cheese, every bite was a juicy taste explosion. Heavenly.
And that was just one food item. The entire store was magnificent. First off, it was ENORMOUS. They had winding aisles that weaved charmingly in and out of larger corridors. There were food stations and mountains of displays everywhere. Everything was cooked, packaged, stacked, and presented in excess. I saw a column of holiday pies so large they would never all be purchased - displayed entirely for effect. It was like visiting a museum celebrating America as the land of plenty. The produce section was so vibrant and colorful it looked like the Partridge Family bus had plowed into a farmer's market. There were manned stations everywhere offering more varieties of food than I knew existed. They had a sushi bar. A bakery. A butcher shop. It was almost too much for a food lover like me to handle. But that's when I felt a massive fart coming on and had to plan my impromtu exit strategy. I easily could have spent all day in there whipping my salivary glands into an anticipatory frenzy.
All in all, our trip to Austin was fabulous. Although if I go again it will be to see my friends, not the city. Oh yeah, and we saw a mullet. That, naturally, made the whole journey instantly worthwhile.
BAD CARMA
As you may have already read, my car was hit by an old man driving a van a few weeks ago. Sucked. The bastard then decided to park his van right across the street - still bearing my paint on its side. Police were of little assistance because no one had witnessed the impact. And the insurance company has been slow to pursue an investigation because my $1,000 deductible covered most of the damage. I left a letter on the widshield of the van in an effort to coax the driver into fessing up, but to date have enjoyed no such luck. I decided I was just going to have to chalk it up to bad "carma."
And then the improbable happened.
Geri and I walked down the steps of her apartment and out onto the front stoop Christmas Eve day. On the concrete there, next to a dirty door mat, was a tiny sliver of gray plastic. I noticed it, but thought little of it until I stepped down the second set of stairs and opened the front gate facing Damen Ave. On the sidewalk outside the gate were strewn more plastic bits and pieces, all shimmering gray and metallic in the mid-morning sunshine. What the fuck is all this crap, I thought.
My eyes lifted up and I noticed that the car in front of me was missing its driver side side-view mirror. Upon second look, that car was my car. I walked into the street and looked at the driver's side. I had been hit again - the victim of a second hit-and-run accident in 11 days! This time, the driver of the other vehicle had been silver, and by the look of the damage, had been traveling at a pretty high rate of speed as it caromed out of control and into my poor once-new Passat. Looking up and down the block, there were pieces of glass, metal, and plastic everywhere. The mirror had completely shattered upon impact, sending car parts tens of feet in every direction...a tiny plastic slivers had made it all the way up the steps of neighboring condos.
Talk about bad carma.
I called my insurance company to report my second hit-and-run claim in 11 days. They asked the usual battery of questions, surely suspicious of my routine and activities. How does something like this happen twice in so short a period of time? The bad news only got worse. My $1000 deductible for the first collision did not apply to the second one. They were separate claims, and I would have to pay $1000 out of pocket for each of them before the insurance company would cover anything.
Two grand. Gone in the blink of an eye. Merry fucking Christmas. But I decided I would not let it ruin my holiday. I continued to shop and spend as though I still had all that money in the bank, fully confident that the universe would compensate me for my trouble in 2007.
I've also been parallel parking my "loaner" with two tires up on the curb to be on the safe side.
And then the improbable happened.
Geri and I walked down the steps of her apartment and out onto the front stoop Christmas Eve day. On the concrete there, next to a dirty door mat, was a tiny sliver of gray plastic. I noticed it, but thought little of it until I stepped down the second set of stairs and opened the front gate facing Damen Ave. On the sidewalk outside the gate were strewn more plastic bits and pieces, all shimmering gray and metallic in the mid-morning sunshine. What the fuck is all this crap, I thought.
My eyes lifted up and I noticed that the car in front of me was missing its driver side side-view mirror. Upon second look, that car was my car. I walked into the street and looked at the driver's side. I had been hit again - the victim of a second hit-and-run accident in 11 days! This time, the driver of the other vehicle had been silver, and by the look of the damage, had been traveling at a pretty high rate of speed as it caromed out of control and into my poor once-new Passat. Looking up and down the block, there were pieces of glass, metal, and plastic everywhere. The mirror had completely shattered upon impact, sending car parts tens of feet in every direction...a tiny plastic slivers had made it all the way up the steps of neighboring condos.
Talk about bad carma.
I called my insurance company to report my second hit-and-run claim in 11 days. They asked the usual battery of questions, surely suspicious of my routine and activities. How does something like this happen twice in so short a period of time? The bad news only got worse. My $1000 deductible for the first collision did not apply to the second one. They were separate claims, and I would have to pay $1000 out of pocket for each of them before the insurance company would cover anything.
Two grand. Gone in the blink of an eye. Merry fucking Christmas. But I decided I would not let it ruin my holiday. I continued to shop and spend as though I still had all that money in the bank, fully confident that the universe would compensate me for my trouble in 2007.
I've also been parallel parking my "loaner" with two tires up on the curb to be on the safe side.
HOLY CRAP!
Is it 2007 already? I feel like I went to sleep in 2000 and woke up 7 years later. How did we get here? Are we really this close to the year 2010? Am I really this old? Seems like just the other day we were celebrating the millenium. Suddenly we're looking at the second space odyssey. And I didn't fully comprehend the first one!
Anyhow, happy new year. Whatever happened last year, put it behind you. That was last year - and by almost all accounts, it was a pretty awful year. I've got a pretty good feeling about this year, though. I think you're going to like it. Most of it. Unless you believe Pat Robertson, who predicts a devastating terrorist attack here in the states with millions of casualties. There's lookin' on the bright side. Hey, Pat - how about having a little faith?
Anyhow, happy new year. Whatever happened last year, put it behind you. That was last year - and by almost all accounts, it was a pretty awful year. I've got a pretty good feeling about this year, though. I think you're going to like it. Most of it. Unless you believe Pat Robertson, who predicts a devastating terrorist attack here in the states with millions of casualties. There's lookin' on the bright side. Hey, Pat - how about having a little faith?
Thursday, December 21, 2006
HAPPY HOLIDAYS? WHY NOT!
This holiday season I’d like to share with you a few of my not-so-closely-guarded secrets to happiness. They’re not all that earth-shattering, but they do make sense. At least to me they do.
1.) Stay regular – constipation is a sure way to have a bad day. Gotta keep the pipes clean. I recommend a weekly cup of senna tea to flush out the exhaust and keep the engine running smoothly.
2.) Make time for yourself EVERY DAY. Even if it’s just a half hour right before bed (wink), make sure you’ve got a little time every day to do the things you enjoy. Read, do a crossword puzzle, take a bath, watch your favorite television program, go for a jog. Whatever it is you enjoy, set aside time for it and stick to the plan. Tell people “no” if you have to. You can’t very well be expected to please everyone else in your life if you can’t make yourself happy first. That's why clowns are so miserable. Didn't you know?
3.) Hang out with people you like. There are a lot of people in this world. Find the ones you get along with…the ones whose company you enjoy. The ones who make you laugh. The ones you feel comfortable with. These are your friends. Friends are like medicine when you’re sick, and multi-vitamins when you’re not.
4.) Love the people you don’t like. I know it sounds crazy, but I’m serious. Life’s too short to spend any time at all pissed off at people – especially people you know aren’t going to change. We all know people who spend their lives questioning the intentions and cursing the actions of others. What a miserably unconstructive way to spend the day! We’ve all got our faults, so accepting one another for the horrible creatures we are makes all the petty bullshit that much more bearable. Trust me. If something or someone rubs you the wrong way, the healthiest thing you can do is shrug it off. As a beloved, pot-smoking college roommate of mine used to say, “Acknowledge…and move on.” It’s a philosophy on life that’s as simple to remember as it is hard to live by.
5.) Accomplish something. Few things give us that sense of self-worth as when we actually FINISH something we started. It doesn’t have to be your life’s masterpiece. It just has to be something you started. Read a book someone recommends, even if it’s not something you’d normally read. Make that trip you’ve been promising someone you’d make (that’s what I’m doing next week!). Make a doctor’s appointment. Shave your head once and for all. Try sushi. Make up your mind to do something and do it. You'll feel sweet.
Enjoy your holidays - we'll be in touch soon...
AYNtK
1.) Stay regular – constipation is a sure way to have a bad day. Gotta keep the pipes clean. I recommend a weekly cup of senna tea to flush out the exhaust and keep the engine running smoothly.
2.) Make time for yourself EVERY DAY. Even if it’s just a half hour right before bed (wink), make sure you’ve got a little time every day to do the things you enjoy. Read, do a crossword puzzle, take a bath, watch your favorite television program, go for a jog. Whatever it is you enjoy, set aside time for it and stick to the plan. Tell people “no” if you have to. You can’t very well be expected to please everyone else in your life if you can’t make yourself happy first. That's why clowns are so miserable. Didn't you know?
3.) Hang out with people you like. There are a lot of people in this world. Find the ones you get along with…the ones whose company you enjoy. The ones who make you laugh. The ones you feel comfortable with. These are your friends. Friends are like medicine when you’re sick, and multi-vitamins when you’re not.
4.) Love the people you don’t like. I know it sounds crazy, but I’m serious. Life’s too short to spend any time at all pissed off at people – especially people you know aren’t going to change. We all know people who spend their lives questioning the intentions and cursing the actions of others. What a miserably unconstructive way to spend the day! We’ve all got our faults, so accepting one another for the horrible creatures we are makes all the petty bullshit that much more bearable. Trust me. If something or someone rubs you the wrong way, the healthiest thing you can do is shrug it off. As a beloved, pot-smoking college roommate of mine used to say, “Acknowledge…and move on.” It’s a philosophy on life that’s as simple to remember as it is hard to live by.
5.) Accomplish something. Few things give us that sense of self-worth as when we actually FINISH something we started. It doesn’t have to be your life’s masterpiece. It just has to be something you started. Read a book someone recommends, even if it’s not something you’d normally read. Make that trip you’ve been promising someone you’d make (that’s what I’m doing next week!). Make a doctor’s appointment. Shave your head once and for all. Try sushi. Make up your mind to do something and do it. You'll feel sweet.
Enjoy your holidays - we'll be in touch soon...
AYNtK
HOLIDAY FEAST
Just a friendly reminder that it's okay to pass on second helpings. Eat well this holiday season...just not too well.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
A HIT-AND-RUN CHRISTMAS
I got back from my trip to San Francisco last week in one piece to find that I could not say the same for my car.
I’d parked it on a side street outside of Geri’s place prior to leaving town on business, and while I was gone, some assclown clipped the rear driver-side quarter panel pretty good and drove off.
Was there a note? Please. Is there ever a note? Of course not. Who would leave a note unless they’d been caught red-handed?
Official estimates place the damage somewhere in the neighborhood of $1700. The good news is that I pay insurance for these types of things. The bad news is that I like to keep my insurance premiums low each month, which means a higher deductible – in this case $1,000. That’s out-of-pocket cost to me before the insurance company will even think about getting their checkbook out.
There’s never a good time for something like this to happen, but the holidays have got to be the worst time. In addition to the normal hustle and bustle of the season, the gift buying and wrapping, shopping, unbearably cold weather and unbearably slow traffic, now I have to deal with a fucking hole in the rear end of my car. A hole that, I discovered almost immediately, had been left by one of the neighbors – a maroon van always parks on the same street.
Needless to say, I marched right down to the police station to let them know I’d been the victim of a hit-and-run accident. I filled out a police report and asked them what I needed to do. I did not like what I heard next.
The way I understand it, as explained by the friendly folks at Belmont and Western (Precinct 19), is that anybody can drive around the city hitting anybody they want to and unless someone actually SEES it happen, it didn't really happen. Never mind all of the circumstantial evidence, physical evidence, and common sense evidence. Such as? Let’s see here. The van was witnessed as parked right behind my car on the morning the accident happened. That same afternoon it was parked on the other side of the street, and a huge gash bearing the van's paint color suddenly appeared on my car, which had not moved one inch. Further, the gash was the exact same size and shape as a hinge on the side of the van, which now appears to bear the same silver paint color that is missing from MY car! I didn’t have to call Matlock for help on this one.
But because no one actually SAW it happen, the police said they couldn’t do anything about it – a policy perhaps best summed up as “complete and utter bullshit.” They could do something about it if they wanted to. They could come inspect the damage and confront the driver of the maroon van. If they put just 15 minutes into investigating it, they’d be able to help “serve and protect” the interests of the people they say they serve and protect.
The fact is, they don’t WANT to help me, because they have more important things to be taking care of, like securing the perimeter of the Dunkin Donuts on Ashland and Wellington, and handing out parking citations to the absent-minded, but otherwise law-abiding, folks who don’t put enough change in the meters on Southport.
But I’m not that easily put off. We’re talking about $1000 here. That’s a lot of kick ass Christmas gifts for the people I love.
So I sat down and wrote a letter to the owner of the van – a letter I plan to leave on the windshield of his broken down piece of crap vehicle the next time I spy it riding curbside on west Oakdale. The letter even includes photographs of the damage, as well as the number of the police report I filed implicating his van in a hit-and-run accident.
I close the letter with my phone number and an appeal for him to call me with his insurance information so I don't have to pursue criminal charges. The idea is to let him know that *I* know he hit me…and hope better sense prevails (if not the fear of prosecution).
So we'll see what happens. He could just ignore it or call me up and tell me to fuck off, in which case I'm no worse off than I am now. Or he might just play ball and I'll have saved myself a grand.
Here’s the letter and some photos for your files. I’ll keep you posted on this friendly neighborhood quarrel as it unfolds.
**********************
December 20, 2006
Re: Illinois license plate #1122136
Dear Neighbor,
This vehicle was recently identified as having been involved in a hit-and-run accident at the west end of the 1900 block of west Oakdale.
On Wednesday, December 13th, 2006, the vehicle was parked on the north side of the west-bound, one-way street behind a silver sedan. Preliminary forensic evidence, including photographs, paint samples, and other metrics have revealed that the silver vehicle incurred damage between the daylight hours of 9:30 am and 3pm, and that the damage was sustained by this vehicle as it was moved into or out of a parallel parked space.
This letter has been drafted as a courtesy to let the owner of this vehicle know that a police report has been filed with the Chicago Police Department (RD# HM-774156) and an investigation into this incident will be forthcoming.
As you may be aware, hit-and-run offenses are felonies that can carry substantial penalties. Since a note was not recovered from the crime scene, you are encouraged to call me at [312.NUMBER] regarding this accident to prevent criminal charges from being filed.
We believe this is a matter best settled by insurance companies, and your cooperation will be greatly appreciated.
Sincerely,
AYNtK
Neighborhood Watch
I’d parked it on a side street outside of Geri’s place prior to leaving town on business, and while I was gone, some assclown clipped the rear driver-side quarter panel pretty good and drove off.
Was there a note? Please. Is there ever a note? Of course not. Who would leave a note unless they’d been caught red-handed?
Official estimates place the damage somewhere in the neighborhood of $1700. The good news is that I pay insurance for these types of things. The bad news is that I like to keep my insurance premiums low each month, which means a higher deductible – in this case $1,000. That’s out-of-pocket cost to me before the insurance company will even think about getting their checkbook out.
There’s never a good time for something like this to happen, but the holidays have got to be the worst time. In addition to the normal hustle and bustle of the season, the gift buying and wrapping, shopping, unbearably cold weather and unbearably slow traffic, now I have to deal with a fucking hole in the rear end of my car. A hole that, I discovered almost immediately, had been left by one of the neighbors – a maroon van always parks on the same street.
Needless to say, I marched right down to the police station to let them know I’d been the victim of a hit-and-run accident. I filled out a police report and asked them what I needed to do. I did not like what I heard next.
The way I understand it, as explained by the friendly folks at Belmont and Western (Precinct 19), is that anybody can drive around the city hitting anybody they want to and unless someone actually SEES it happen, it didn't really happen. Never mind all of the circumstantial evidence, physical evidence, and common sense evidence. Such as? Let’s see here. The van was witnessed as parked right behind my car on the morning the accident happened. That same afternoon it was parked on the other side of the street, and a huge gash bearing the van's paint color suddenly appeared on my car, which had not moved one inch. Further, the gash was the exact same size and shape as a hinge on the side of the van, which now appears to bear the same silver paint color that is missing from MY car! I didn’t have to call Matlock for help on this one.
But because no one actually SAW it happen, the police said they couldn’t do anything about it – a policy perhaps best summed up as “complete and utter bullshit.” They could do something about it if they wanted to. They could come inspect the damage and confront the driver of the maroon van. If they put just 15 minutes into investigating it, they’d be able to help “serve and protect” the interests of the people they say they serve and protect.
The fact is, they don’t WANT to help me, because they have more important things to be taking care of, like securing the perimeter of the Dunkin Donuts on Ashland and Wellington, and handing out parking citations to the absent-minded, but otherwise law-abiding, folks who don’t put enough change in the meters on Southport.
But I’m not that easily put off. We’re talking about $1000 here. That’s a lot of kick ass Christmas gifts for the people I love.
So I sat down and wrote a letter to the owner of the van – a letter I plan to leave on the windshield of his broken down piece of crap vehicle the next time I spy it riding curbside on west Oakdale. The letter even includes photographs of the damage, as well as the number of the police report I filed implicating his van in a hit-and-run accident.
I close the letter with my phone number and an appeal for him to call me with his insurance information so I don't have to pursue criminal charges. The idea is to let him know that *I* know he hit me…and hope better sense prevails (if not the fear of prosecution).
So we'll see what happens. He could just ignore it or call me up and tell me to fuck off, in which case I'm no worse off than I am now. Or he might just play ball and I'll have saved myself a grand.
Here’s the letter and some photos for your files. I’ll keep you posted on this friendly neighborhood quarrel as it unfolds.
**********************
December 20, 2006
Re: Illinois license plate #1122136
Dear Neighbor,
This vehicle was recently identified as having been involved in a hit-and-run accident at the west end of the 1900 block of west Oakdale.
On Wednesday, December 13th, 2006, the vehicle was parked on the north side of the west-bound, one-way street behind a silver sedan. Preliminary forensic evidence, including photographs, paint samples, and other metrics have revealed that the silver vehicle incurred damage between the daylight hours of 9:30 am and 3pm, and that the damage was sustained by this vehicle as it was moved into or out of a parallel parked space.
This letter has been drafted as a courtesy to let the owner of this vehicle know that a police report has been filed with the Chicago Police Department (RD# HM-774156) and an investigation into this incident will be forthcoming.
As you may be aware, hit-and-run offenses are felonies that can carry substantial penalties. Since a note was not recovered from the crime scene, you are encouraged to call me at [312.NUMBER] regarding this accident to prevent criminal charges from being filed.
We believe this is a matter best settled by insurance companies, and your cooperation will be greatly appreciated.
Sincerely,
AYNtK
Neighborhood Watch
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
TURBULENCE
Today I write you from not-so-sunny California. Traveling on business, I had about an hour to relax in my hotel room before heading out for another meeting. After treating myself to myself, I now find I have 54 minutes left to play with.
So yeah - traveling on biz. Not my bag, really. Being successful in business, no matter what you do, is all about relationships. Unfortunately, I tend to be more on cthe introverted side until I've got about three martinis in me. In other words, not very good at small talk. I'm more of a typer than a talker. If business meetings involved people sitting around texting clever comments back and forth, I'd probably have a shot at the cover of Forbes. But sit me down with clients over a relaxing dim sum lunch and I've got about as much to say as Paris Hilton. But my boss says I sell myself short - that I'm actually quite good with people, who tend to like me because I come off as genuine. And so many people in business are anything but.
I suppose that's why I'm here today. Meeting clients. Shaking hands. Smiling. Nodding. Laughing. Providing punchlines where awkward pauses paralyze uneasy conversation. I'm a social favor. A reliable sidekick. An able crutch.
Before we departed from O'Hare yesterday, I must admit I had my reservations about this journey. First off, it involved getting on a plane - which, as you know, I don't do very often. Second, there were some very clear signs from the heavens that this mission might not be in my best interest. Like when my boss's boyfriend picked us up to take us to the airport. We walked up to the car to get in and the back passenger side door was locked. So I tapped on the window to get their attention. The car slowly pulled away from me and rolled down the street. I stood there in the middle of the street with my bags wondering how far they would get before realizing they had just left without me. The answer, in case you are curious, is two blocks. I actually got a big kick out of that.
Then as we were preparing to board the airplane, the PA announcer at O'Hare International informs us that the Department of Homeland Security had just raised its threat level to orange. That has to be one of the top 5 things you don't want to hear as you are stepping onto an airplane. Right up there with: "Free samples of baked beans for all passengers."
Speaking of beans, about half way to San Francisco my entire mid section was swollen with gas. For some reason, sitting in that cramped position with a seat belt fastened for hours on end makes my entire gastrointestinal system cramp up. I tried to hold it as long as I could, but eventually couldn't any longer. I let out a "tester" to see how absorbant the cushions were. They tell you in the safety literature to use them as flotation devices should the plane land on water. I figured they must be able to contain a couple of long-winded farts for a couple of hours.
I was wrong, of course, and the plane began to fill with a rapidly spreading, putrid stench. A malodorous wind I actually came to enjoy, to be honest. There's just something about the smell of my own gas that I don't mind so much. You know how it is. Anyhow, the guy next to me leans over and says: "People who pass gas on planes ought to be hung."
Staring directly at the Time magazine in my hands I calmly replied, "Actually...I am."
I don't fly airplanes to make friends - another reason I'd never cut it in sales. Networking is for IT specialists.
But the trip is winding down and I do feel it has been a successful one. I've been in front of a lot of people who can now put my adorable face with my name when we converse via conference call. I'm told it makes a lot of difference in developing strong client-agency relationships. And I believe it. But I'm still not looking forward to the 5 hour flight back.
In fact, I'm getting stomach cramps just thinking about it. You smell me?
So yeah - traveling on biz. Not my bag, really. Being successful in business, no matter what you do, is all about relationships. Unfortunately, I tend to be more on cthe introverted side until I've got about three martinis in me. In other words, not very good at small talk. I'm more of a typer than a talker. If business meetings involved people sitting around texting clever comments back and forth, I'd probably have a shot at the cover of Forbes. But sit me down with clients over a relaxing dim sum lunch and I've got about as much to say as Paris Hilton. But my boss says I sell myself short - that I'm actually quite good with people, who tend to like me because I come off as genuine. And so many people in business are anything but.
I suppose that's why I'm here today. Meeting clients. Shaking hands. Smiling. Nodding. Laughing. Providing punchlines where awkward pauses paralyze uneasy conversation. I'm a social favor. A reliable sidekick. An able crutch.
Before we departed from O'Hare yesterday, I must admit I had my reservations about this journey. First off, it involved getting on a plane - which, as you know, I don't do very often. Second, there were some very clear signs from the heavens that this mission might not be in my best interest. Like when my boss's boyfriend picked us up to take us to the airport. We walked up to the car to get in and the back passenger side door was locked. So I tapped on the window to get their attention. The car slowly pulled away from me and rolled down the street. I stood there in the middle of the street with my bags wondering how far they would get before realizing they had just left without me. The answer, in case you are curious, is two blocks. I actually got a big kick out of that.
Then as we were preparing to board the airplane, the PA announcer at O'Hare International informs us that the Department of Homeland Security had just raised its threat level to orange. That has to be one of the top 5 things you don't want to hear as you are stepping onto an airplane. Right up there with: "Free samples of baked beans for all passengers."
Speaking of beans, about half way to San Francisco my entire mid section was swollen with gas. For some reason, sitting in that cramped position with a seat belt fastened for hours on end makes my entire gastrointestinal system cramp up. I tried to hold it as long as I could, but eventually couldn't any longer. I let out a "tester" to see how absorbant the cushions were. They tell you in the safety literature to use them as flotation devices should the plane land on water. I figured they must be able to contain a couple of long-winded farts for a couple of hours.
I was wrong, of course, and the plane began to fill with a rapidly spreading, putrid stench. A malodorous wind I actually came to enjoy, to be honest. There's just something about the smell of my own gas that I don't mind so much. You know how it is. Anyhow, the guy next to me leans over and says: "People who pass gas on planes ought to be hung."
Staring directly at the Time magazine in my hands I calmly replied, "Actually...I am."
I don't fly airplanes to make friends - another reason I'd never cut it in sales. Networking is for IT specialists.
But the trip is winding down and I do feel it has been a successful one. I've been in front of a lot of people who can now put my adorable face with my name when we converse via conference call. I'm told it makes a lot of difference in developing strong client-agency relationships. And I believe it. But I'm still not looking forward to the 5 hour flight back.
In fact, I'm getting stomach cramps just thinking about it. You smell me?
PHOTOSHOPPING SPREE
Here's a video that may help explain why so many people have a poor self-image. It's called Evolution and you gotta know it goes on all the time.
Friday, December 08, 2006
FUMBLING THE BALL
I've been offline a lot lately.
Working hard. You know how it is.
Taking charge. Running the show. Being all I can be.
Taking it to the streets. Being the ball. Rocking the Casbah.
Breaking Benjamins. Counting Crows. Whistling Dixie. Sitting on the dock of the bay. Kissing the ring. Making the donuts. Burning the midnight oil. Bringing home Kevin's bacon. Jumping the shark. Holding the line. Burying the hatchet. Raising the roof. Lowering the floor. Widening the walls. Expanding the corners. Singing the blues. Running the table. Spilling the beans. Pleading the fifth. Playing the fool. Joining the club. Honing in. Maxing out. Cornering the market. Collecting the rent. Searching for Bobby Fischer. Flying the coop. Paying the piper. Making the grade. Cutting the cheese. Folding the laundry.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I've been busy doing other shit. And that means I have a lot to tell you...in due time, of course. Stick with me.
More to come.
Working hard. You know how it is.
Taking charge. Running the show. Being all I can be.
Taking it to the streets. Being the ball. Rocking the Casbah.
Breaking Benjamins. Counting Crows. Whistling Dixie. Sitting on the dock of the bay. Kissing the ring. Making the donuts. Burning the midnight oil. Bringing home Kevin's bacon. Jumping the shark. Holding the line. Burying the hatchet. Raising the roof. Lowering the floor. Widening the walls. Expanding the corners. Singing the blues. Running the table. Spilling the beans. Pleading the fifth. Playing the fool. Joining the club. Honing in. Maxing out. Cornering the market. Collecting the rent. Searching for Bobby Fischer. Flying the coop. Paying the piper. Making the grade. Cutting the cheese. Folding the laundry.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I've been busy doing other shit. And that means I have a lot to tell you...in due time, of course. Stick with me.
More to come.
HAVE YOU EVER REALLY TAKEN A DUMP?
The phrase confuses me. I've left more than my share of dumps over the years, but I've never once so much as contemplated, for even a second, taking one. Where would I take it? And what would I do with it when I get it there? Sorry. I'm perfectly content leaving my dumps...wherever they may fall.
Good day!
Good day!
HOLIDAY TRADITIONS VIA SPAM
Here's a little humor that was sent to me this week from Hawaii Steve-O. In addition to a prosaic stream of porno bloopers and pin-up powerpoint presentations (most of which I know to delete without opening by scanning their filename), he's also good for something fun every once in a while - like this dandy tale.
It's a story explaining why we place an angel atop the Christmas tree every year. If you've ever wondered about that tradition, here's a little history by way of viral online storytelling.
************
When four of Santa's elves got sick, and the trainee elves did not produce the toys as fast as the regular ones, Santa was beginning to feel the pressure of being behind schedule.
Then Mrs. Claus told Santa that her Mom was coming to visit. This stressed Santa even more.
When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth (Dasher, no doubt) and two had jumped the fence and were out, heaven knows where. More stress.
Then when he began to load the sleigh one of the boards cracked, and the toy bag fell to the ground and scattered the toys. So, frustrated, Santa went into the house for a cup of apple cider and a shot of rum.
When he went to the cupboard he discovered that the elves had hidden the liquor, and there was nothing to drink.
In his frustration, he accidentally dropped the cider pot, and it broke into hundreds of little pieces all over the kitchen floor.
He went to get the broom and found that mice had eaten the straw end of the broom. Just then the doorbell rang, and a very irritable Santa trudged to the door. He opened it and there was a little angel standing there holding a great big Christmas tree.
The angel said very cheerfully, "Merry Christmas, Santa. Isn't it a lovely day? I have a beautiful tree for you. Where would you like me to put it?"
*****************
It's a story explaining why we place an angel atop the Christmas tree every year. If you've ever wondered about that tradition, here's a little history by way of viral online storytelling.
************
When four of Santa's elves got sick, and the trainee elves did not produce the toys as fast as the regular ones, Santa was beginning to feel the pressure of being behind schedule.
Then Mrs. Claus told Santa that her Mom was coming to visit. This stressed Santa even more.
When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth (Dasher, no doubt) and two had jumped the fence and were out, heaven knows where. More stress.
Then when he began to load the sleigh one of the boards cracked, and the toy bag fell to the ground and scattered the toys. So, frustrated, Santa went into the house for a cup of apple cider and a shot of rum.
When he went to the cupboard he discovered that the elves had hidden the liquor, and there was nothing to drink.
In his frustration, he accidentally dropped the cider pot, and it broke into hundreds of little pieces all over the kitchen floor.
He went to get the broom and found that mice had eaten the straw end of the broom. Just then the doorbell rang, and a very irritable Santa trudged to the door. He opened it and there was a little angel standing there holding a great big Christmas tree.
The angel said very cheerfully, "Merry Christmas, Santa. Isn't it a lovely day? I have a beautiful tree for you. Where would you like me to put it?"
*****************
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Friday, December 01, 2006
SNOW DAZE
Amazing how a little snow brings out the best in people. In case you couldn't pick up on the tone there, that was sacrasm. As you probably know, the midwest is getting hammered by its first big snowstorm of the season and, predictably, people are losing their minds. Most of it has to do with getting around...and the fact that you can't really get around. At least not with the ease you normally would - which is a joke in itself considering congestion on the roads these days.
This morning I woke up and looked out my 20th floor window at the Chicago skyline. It was shrouded in a white haze, like someone had just shook up our snowglobe and set it back down on the table. As I type this from the comfort of my desk, I watch the flurries turn to flakes, crisscrossing in mid air in their relentless assault on everything glass, concrete, and steel. Surprisingly, my drive in to the office was uneventful. Took me a few extra minutes to make the drive - so around 20 minutes instead of the typical 15...and only because I was driving slower than I normally drive (which many would consider slow to begin with). Even though the roads were relatively clear, I couldn't help but detect drivers were on edge. I heard a lot more car horns. I saw people making ill-advised decisions. A guy turning from the 90/94 off-ramp onto Lake Street nudged a pedestrian, who slammed his fist on the hood as he walked by. The window of the vehicle rolled down and some words were exchanged. It was not a pleasant morning commute.
And then what happens is that everyone shows up to work grumpy. Instead of everyone being thrilled that it's Friday, people are frustrated and anxious and tense. The snow is calming to watch - but if you have to deal with it in any fashion, it can be quite stressful. I parked in the garage across the street from my office this morning - which I never do. I figured it was worth the $9 to keep the car dry and off the street...and to guarantee A.) it wouldn't get snowed in, and B.) it would start at 5pm when I leave.
And so here I sit. Watching the snow fall. Barely able to see the buildings across the street for this veil of streaming cotton. Wondering how long it will take me to get home tonight. But I accept it as something I can't change - and why would I want to? Snow is part of the beauty of life. Weather is a big part of the human experience. We give it a huge chunk of time on the nightly news. We allocate space on the back pages of newspapers. We discuss it with strangers when nothing else comes to mind. Climate is something people of a region have in common - it should bring us closer together, not whip us into a blustery frenzy. Snow is our common enemy today. a beautiful, majestic foe with billions of tentacles. But she can be defeated - if we arm ourselves with peace, love, and Gap.
Damn, that commercial is stuck in my head.
Shit break.
This morning I woke up and looked out my 20th floor window at the Chicago skyline. It was shrouded in a white haze, like someone had just shook up our snowglobe and set it back down on the table. As I type this from the comfort of my desk, I watch the flurries turn to flakes, crisscrossing in mid air in their relentless assault on everything glass, concrete, and steel. Surprisingly, my drive in to the office was uneventful. Took me a few extra minutes to make the drive - so around 20 minutes instead of the typical 15...and only because I was driving slower than I normally drive (which many would consider slow to begin with). Even though the roads were relatively clear, I couldn't help but detect drivers were on edge. I heard a lot more car horns. I saw people making ill-advised decisions. A guy turning from the 90/94 off-ramp onto Lake Street nudged a pedestrian, who slammed his fist on the hood as he walked by. The window of the vehicle rolled down and some words were exchanged. It was not a pleasant morning commute.
And then what happens is that everyone shows up to work grumpy. Instead of everyone being thrilled that it's Friday, people are frustrated and anxious and tense. The snow is calming to watch - but if you have to deal with it in any fashion, it can be quite stressful. I parked in the garage across the street from my office this morning - which I never do. I figured it was worth the $9 to keep the car dry and off the street...and to guarantee A.) it wouldn't get snowed in, and B.) it would start at 5pm when I leave.
And so here I sit. Watching the snow fall. Barely able to see the buildings across the street for this veil of streaming cotton. Wondering how long it will take me to get home tonight. But I accept it as something I can't change - and why would I want to? Snow is part of the beauty of life. Weather is a big part of the human experience. We give it a huge chunk of time on the nightly news. We allocate space on the back pages of newspapers. We discuss it with strangers when nothing else comes to mind. Climate is something people of a region have in common - it should bring us closer together, not whip us into a blustery frenzy. Snow is our common enemy today. a beautiful, majestic foe with billions of tentacles. But she can be defeated - if we arm ourselves with peace, love, and Gap.
Damn, that commercial is stuck in my head.
Shit break.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
GET IN LINE
Torn up over which game console to buy for your kids this holiday season? Check out this handy guide provided by the folks at the Onion.
A SPOONFUL OF SUGAR
Everyone's entitled to a cranky day. I know I have my share of them. Even the 6-year-old H-Man will wake up in a funk from time to time, as he did this morning. I remember flopping about in my sheets on school mornings, dreading the thought of a long day in class. The shortened days of November have a way of depressing even the most cheerful of children. It's hard to get excited when it's cold, dark, and gray outside. Getting the H-man motivated was going to require a heavy dose of good cheer.
"I think you're going to want to get up soon, do you know why?" I asked him.
"Why?" he asked from beneath the comfort of a heavy pillow.
"Because today is going to be the best day ever."
"No it's not," he rebutted, as though the suggestion were another one of my ludicrous overstatements. Anyone who's read AYNtK for any length of time is familiar.
"Yes, it is. I just know it is."
"Today is going to be the worstest day," he shot back.
"That's not even a word!" Geri shouted out from the closet.
"Actually, H. Today is supposed to be the bestest day," I said in his native firstgradese.
He rolled over, getting the sense that I just might be serious.
"It's true," I continued. "And the reason is because of all the great things that could happen today. I have no idea what they are, but there are tons and tons of great things just waiting to happen. Stuff I can't even imagine, they're so good. And I need to be out there to enjoy them all. I'll tell you what. I'M excited about today because something very fun is going to happen. I can feel it. Yep. Today could be the best day ever - and I am not going to miss it." I slapped the edge of the mattress a couple of times and walked off confidently.
Three minutes later the H-Man was in the shower.
And now, as I sit here at work, I find myself hoping nothing bad happens to the little guy today or he'll never believe another word I say for as long has he lives.
"I think you're going to want to get up soon, do you know why?" I asked him.
"Why?" he asked from beneath the comfort of a heavy pillow.
"Because today is going to be the best day ever."
"No it's not," he rebutted, as though the suggestion were another one of my ludicrous overstatements. Anyone who's read AYNtK for any length of time is familiar.
"Yes, it is. I just know it is."
"Today is going to be the worstest day," he shot back.
"That's not even a word!" Geri shouted out from the closet.
"Actually, H. Today is supposed to be the bestest day," I said in his native firstgradese.
He rolled over, getting the sense that I just might be serious.
"It's true," I continued. "And the reason is because of all the great things that could happen today. I have no idea what they are, but there are tons and tons of great things just waiting to happen. Stuff I can't even imagine, they're so good. And I need to be out there to enjoy them all. I'll tell you what. I'M excited about today because something very fun is going to happen. I can feel it. Yep. Today could be the best day ever - and I am not going to miss it." I slapped the edge of the mattress a couple of times and walked off confidently.
Three minutes later the H-Man was in the shower.
And now, as I sit here at work, I find myself hoping nothing bad happens to the little guy today or he'll never believe another word I say for as long has he lives.
Monday, November 20, 2006
KRAMER JUMPS THE SHARK
Wow. This is really bad. Michael Richards, the frizzy-haired comic actor who played Kramer on Seinfeld, was caught on tape making a complete ass out of himself.
On stage.
Apparently, he was getting heckled by a couple guys at a recent stand-up comedy show at the Laugh Factory when he completely lost all control and made a number of incredibly insensitive racial comments about the hecklers.
I personally think heckling sucks, but it doesn't sink to this level.
Be warned, the link is vulgar in its depiction of Michael Richards ceremoniously ending his own career. Click on the movie link to view the whole thing yourself. I hope he made a call to Mel Gibson's publicist after this shocking performance, because he's going to need a PR miracle to survive this Apocalytpo stumble.
On stage.
Apparently, he was getting heckled by a couple guys at a recent stand-up comedy show at the Laugh Factory when he completely lost all control and made a number of incredibly insensitive racial comments about the hecklers.
I personally think heckling sucks, but it doesn't sink to this level.
Be warned, the link is vulgar in its depiction of Michael Richards ceremoniously ending his own career. Click on the movie link to view the whole thing yourself. I hope he made a call to Mel Gibson's publicist after this shocking performance, because he's going to need a PR miracle to survive this Apocalytpo stumble.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
MILLIONS OF PEOPLE LIVING AS FOES
Here's something that breaks my heart.
We were at Barnes & Noble Bookseller yesterday afternoon, browsing for Christmas gift inspiration, when we decided to stop in their second floor cafe for a gingerbread latte. As we waited for the barista to whip up our seasonal specialty beverages, we pulled up chairs at a nearby table. At the table behind us, three young boys were talking to each other while one of their mothers read quietly beside them.
"Yeah, I know. We're ALL going to go to war."
"Yeah, like, in 10 years it's going to be World War 3."
"I know. I'm going to be 19. We're going to have to go to war."
"I heard World War 3 is already started, but we won't have to go for 10 years."
"Yeah. It's started already. But the real world war won't be for 10 years."
As we got up to get our warm spiced coffee drinks, I suddenly felt terribly depressed. "Did you hear that?" I asked. "Those kids were talking about going to war. They were NINE years old and talking about World War 3."
It was startling, and made me wonder what kind of world we had created - that war was the expectation of our nation's youth. And not just any old war, but the mother of all wars...global smackdown numero tres.
I wasn't worried about going to war when I was a kid. We had the evil Russians to fear, not war. War back then was a handful of mysterious men in smoke-filled rooms without windows, pushing big red buttons and bringing armageddon to places thousands of miles away. It was a fear we couldn't imagine, so we didn't imagine it. We played Frogger and Pitfall and spun around on broken down cardboard boxes to people rhymically making fart sounds with their mouths. The human beatbox age was a simpler time.
But today's kids see news reports every day of American soldiers dying in a faraway place. They have family members, or friends with family members, serving extended tours of duty in the Middle East. And what are we telling our kids when they ask why we're at war? Do we tell them the truth? Or do we tell them what George Bush tells us because the Administration's soundbytes are hardwired into our polluted stream of consciousness? Do we reflexively demonize the nation of Islam? Do we define them all as "terrorists"? Do we say, "Because they hate us"? Or do we take the time to explain to our kids the way of the world - detailing our complex cultural differences, outlining our very different histories, and making an attempt to tell both sides of the story. They don't hate our people, kids. They hate our policies. There's a difference. They don't hate our way of life. They hate that our way of life is sustained at the expense of theirs. The responsibility for our current conflict is shared, depsite what you may hear from the righteous brothers at arms.
How do we raise our children so they don't make the same mistakes we've made? I don't quote Ozzy Osbourne very often - not because he isn't quoteworthy, but because his exact words are usually subject to great debate - but "maybe it's not too late...to learn how to love and forget how to hate."
The alternative may be exactly as those precocious 9-year-olds put it.
We'll be going off the rails on a crazy train.
We were at Barnes & Noble Bookseller yesterday afternoon, browsing for Christmas gift inspiration, when we decided to stop in their second floor cafe for a gingerbread latte. As we waited for the barista to whip up our seasonal specialty beverages, we pulled up chairs at a nearby table. At the table behind us, three young boys were talking to each other while one of their mothers read quietly beside them.
"Yeah, I know. We're ALL going to go to war."
"Yeah, like, in 10 years it's going to be World War 3."
"I know. I'm going to be 19. We're going to have to go to war."
"I heard World War 3 is already started, but we won't have to go for 10 years."
"Yeah. It's started already. But the real world war won't be for 10 years."
As we got up to get our warm spiced coffee drinks, I suddenly felt terribly depressed. "Did you hear that?" I asked. "Those kids were talking about going to war. They were NINE years old and talking about World War 3."
It was startling, and made me wonder what kind of world we had created - that war was the expectation of our nation's youth. And not just any old war, but the mother of all wars...global smackdown numero tres.
I wasn't worried about going to war when I was a kid. We had the evil Russians to fear, not war. War back then was a handful of mysterious men in smoke-filled rooms without windows, pushing big red buttons and bringing armageddon to places thousands of miles away. It was a fear we couldn't imagine, so we didn't imagine it. We played Frogger and Pitfall and spun around on broken down cardboard boxes to people rhymically making fart sounds with their mouths. The human beatbox age was a simpler time.
But today's kids see news reports every day of American soldiers dying in a faraway place. They have family members, or friends with family members, serving extended tours of duty in the Middle East. And what are we telling our kids when they ask why we're at war? Do we tell them the truth? Or do we tell them what George Bush tells us because the Administration's soundbytes are hardwired into our polluted stream of consciousness? Do we reflexively demonize the nation of Islam? Do we define them all as "terrorists"? Do we say, "Because they hate us"? Or do we take the time to explain to our kids the way of the world - detailing our complex cultural differences, outlining our very different histories, and making an attempt to tell both sides of the story. They don't hate our people, kids. They hate our policies. There's a difference. They don't hate our way of life. They hate that our way of life is sustained at the expense of theirs. The responsibility for our current conflict is shared, depsite what you may hear from the righteous brothers at arms.
How do we raise our children so they don't make the same mistakes we've made? I don't quote Ozzy Osbourne very often - not because he isn't quoteworthy, but because his exact words are usually subject to great debate - but "maybe it's not too late...to learn how to love and forget how to hate."
The alternative may be exactly as those precocious 9-year-olds put it.
We'll be going off the rails on a crazy train.
THE WONDER YEARS
FYI - the world is in the process of selecting a new list of 7 World Wonders, and you can vote for your favorites here.
Some of the structures that made the list baffle me. The Eiffel Tower? One of the 7 Wonders of the World? I don't think so. Even the Parisians thought it hideous when it was first constructed. Others on the list make complete sense. Stonehenge. Easter Island. Truly magnificent "wonders" that defy explanation and instill us with a sense of awe.
A large number of contenders are up for consideration, and the world wants your opinion. Which was a greater world wonder - the Great Wall of China or the Eiffel Tower? No question in my mind that the largest man-made monument on the planet nabs that honor...but you may not see it that way. Read the short blurbs on all of the nominees (there are a bunch I personally wasn't even aware of) and then cast your vote today!
Some of the structures that made the list baffle me. The Eiffel Tower? One of the 7 Wonders of the World? I don't think so. Even the Parisians thought it hideous when it was first constructed. Others on the list make complete sense. Stonehenge. Easter Island. Truly magnificent "wonders" that defy explanation and instill us with a sense of awe.
A large number of contenders are up for consideration, and the world wants your opinion. Which was a greater world wonder - the Great Wall of China or the Eiffel Tower? No question in my mind that the largest man-made monument on the planet nabs that honor...but you may not see it that way. Read the short blurbs on all of the nominees (there are a bunch I personally wasn't even aware of) and then cast your vote today!
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