Synaptic Cynicism

Are You Still Here?

2009-02-04T17:41:00.005-05:00

Like a guest leaving waaaay too late from a party, you seem to be sticking around where you're not welcome anymore.

What the fuck is your problem?

Ha! Just kidding. If for some reason, the G0dz oF th3 iNt3rw3Bs won't let you automatically hop on over to the new site (anti-redirect features in your browser, perhaps?) then be sure and click this link to check out all the new, fresh, minty goodness at the updated SynCyn site:

http://www.syncyn.com

I know for a fact that after I put the code into the page, I tried it in Firefox on a Mac, and it said that it blocked the page from moving, but gave me the "Allow" button in the upper right. It's SUPPOSED to just work, but if you're reading this, clearly it hasn't.

So what are you waiting for? You're missing the party!

See? Bookends. One party ends, and a new one begins. Only the new party's going to have more attitude. Like Dylan McKay on a bender. You gonna let Brenda mouth off like that? Hell no. You're Dylan fucking McKay. *swigs liquor* SLAP!

See you at the new site, y'all.

He's All Growed Up.

2009-01-26T22:37:00.002-05:00

The move to the new server is complete. I give you the new, and soon-to-be-improved Synaptic Cynicism.

http://www.syncyn.com/

I'm not wild about the themes I found, but I'll work on it. In the meantime, update your RSS readers if that's how you get the "news", and I say that word with the loosest possible meaning implied. I'll be dropping a delayed re-direct in here at some point, but in the meantime, please visit the new site and let me know what you think. I tried to mimic the layout as closely as possible, although I have better Twitter options, so you don't have to read all my replies to people and wonder what in the hell we're talking about. It's like one side of a phone conversation. Completely confusing.

Anyway, I'm thrilled to be changing shit up for now. Give it a little time, and I think it'll all work out. And if not, I'll chloroform you out behind the garage and leave you in the woods. Either way's cool with me.

Got Any Cardboard Boxes You Can Lend Me?

2009-01-18T16:59:00.003-05:00

I'm preparing to move. Not in real life, mind you. HA! You silly - the economy is so assy right now, I'd be moving into a litter box that I share with two other cats. No, I'm prepping a SynCyn move - to a dedicated server! I purchased a domain name over the summer and haven't done anything with it since, but I think I'm ready to go for it, and I want to let everyone know that it's coming, so you can mentally ready yourself for the big day.

I will be working behind the scenes to make sure everything is going smoothly before I flip the switch, but hopefully it will be easy. I've been using that BlogBackupOnline tool since the inception of the blog, so I'm hoping I can just move all the posts in one large group, and since I used Photobucket for all the pics, I think everything will be in the code, which should make the transition easier (I think).

Anyway, I'll let you know when you need to update your RSS readers, if that's how you do this, but I'll be inserting a re-direct in the page code anyway (I think). Lots of (I think)s today. But yeah, hopefully, it'll be a seamless transition, and I can do more with the new tool set than here. Not that spending any more time on an endeavor this asinine is a good thing, but well, I like having control of things. So stay tuned for that one.

Howdy.

2009-01-13T19:11:00.005-05:00

Just a quick thought: lately people have been starting to follow me on Twitter (yay) which is nice, because I feel like my inane ramblings won't flutter out into the void of the Internet and just die and turn to silicon dust without at least a few people having seen them. However, some of these people that are adding me are not exactly the kind of people I assumed would do so. And if I'm wrong about them, then man, that is O-to-the-motherfuckin'-K, and I apologize.

But I feel like some of it's Twitter spam (does such a thing exist? I assume so), and I don't want to block them, because I might be alienating someone who actually wanted to hear what I have to say (read: someone actually more mentally ill than I am myself, and someone to whom I am grateful) but I also could give two shits about what someone else thinks if the only reason they added me was so that they could have 12,137 followers instead of 12,136. You get me?

SO. If y'all would be so kind, do me a favor: if you find me on Twitter via this here blog, drop me a tiny note that says so, so I can welcome you properly and say thanks for the support! Much obliged. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to get back to a little show I like to call "excessive drinking on weeknights as a means of coping with the universe shitting on one's soul".

Smell ya later!

Wait - My iPhone Can Do WHAAAT?

2009-01-10T17:35:00.013-05:00

Since getting an iPhone this summer, and becoming obsessed with it, as I do with any and all gadget-related things in my life (if only other pursuits were able to harness the fury with which I lust after gadgets, I'd probably be living a much more well-rounded life, but I digress), I have found a few websites to keep track of new apps and cool stuff you can add to your phone to make it more useful, fun, or what-have-you. One I check regularly is called AppShopper, and it does a really great job of charting price drops and increases, updates, new apps, and everything else that might fluctuate within the Apple App Store ecosystem.

But since the advent of the App Store, there have been so many shitty, SHITTY, worthless, dog barf apps that have come out, you often have to wade through a sea of runny 'rhea to get to that diamond in the rough, especially if it's something new that no one's downloaded, crapped their pants over, and reviewed on iTunes already. I finished my work for today, and headed over to check out some new stuff, and thought I'd just drop in to share some of today's highlights with you.

First up is this piece of shit, which caught my eye not because of the busted-ass whore in the slutty schoolgirl garb, or for the idea that I could prank(!) my friends, but because of the "attractive brown background" update. Make a note of that one.

Then there's Baby Sign ASL, which is a way for you to teach your young child some of the basics of American Sign Language. I'm sure this is a great way to communicate early on with your youngster, hearing-impaired or not, except that this little girl is throwing the metal horns, and looking like she's about to eat your face while rocking out to some Sabbath.

Because if you're a total moron idiot with no social tact or grace, simply ponying up for an iPhone and this app will suddenly yield you the keys to the Fuck Kingdom on DoinIt Mountain.

For the girls that need to ferret out (verb choice deliberate) the users of the application listed above.

Did YOU know cups were amazing? I mean, sure, they hold our drinks, and possibly small snacks like candy and delicious Bugles, and I saw a hobo make one into a totally effective megaphone on the streets of San Francisco last week, but AMAZING? Well, fuck me sideways and call me Sally, because there it is, plain as day. And look! Now "free mode" won't be so buggy when I play it! Awesome!

Ah, the simple joys of a guessing game. Great for children to learn numbers. Psst - you know what else is great for children to learn numbers? PARENTING AND SCHOOL.

And since Apple started allowing slightly NSFW apps in the store, we have an absolute DELUGE of crap like this:

If, quite simply, you LUV to fart.

If you don't LUV it, but you want people to think you did it. Which makes no sense at all.

For getting to the bottom of those fart mysteries that surround us all.

And this, for people who like to fart while painting the sky on mescaline.

Sadly, I could do this all night.

To Tweet Or Not To Tweet...

2009-01-07T16:15:00.007-05:00

I've resisted the urge to use Twitter for a long time. A REALLY long time, especially in the tech world. I just didn't see the point. My life is not that interesting, and no one really cares when I've just eaten a delicious sandwich or what I'm watching on TV. Then someone I know and like sent me a request to follow her. So I picked up an account over there, and decided to actually check it out.

For about 15 seconds. I finally decided at least I could cyber-squat my name, so no one else could snatch it if I did, at some point, decide I wanted to use the service. I went as far to install an app on my iPhone, and it was cool, but I couldn't see myself using it at all, despite how amazingly awesome the rest of the world (read: podcasts I listen to about geek shit) said it was.

Then I remember Colleen saying something about having thoughts about starting it, being on the fence or something, and it was floating around my head for a few days...

Then I had an idea today on the way home from work. I was quietly lamenting the fact that I post here so infrequently these days, due to a litany of personal responsibilities, and audibly (at least to anyone sitting in my car, which happened to be no one, but could have been someone if we're all believing in ghosts and crap like that, or my multiple personalities) bemoaning the fact that I have so many short, angry, funny thoughts throughout the day that never manifest themselves into much more than a sly chuckle, let alone a full-on blog post. And it hit me all at once, like a fat kid hits a Ben and Jerry's stand on a hot summer day.

I could use Twitter to post all the little stupid crap that's not really worth writing a whole post here about, and feel like I put it somewhere, so that MAYBE, if some of my readers, and I know there are few, wanted to follow my insane rantings on a more regular basis, they could. I feel absolutely honored when you guys say things like "we wish you'd post more often" or something like that, and this way, I could exorcise those tiny demons and give you something in the process. So I'm going to give it a whirl and I'm going to try some different things, possibly maybe hooking it up to this blog right here if I can with some techie voodoo trickery or whatever. (EDIT: one quick Google search, and 5 minutes, and BAM! New widget up on the right so you can read the silly short stuff too, if you don't feel like Twittering with me. YEAH!)

And if you were just saying that stuff about me posting more to be nice, well fuck y'all, because now it just blew up in your faces! Yeah!

But no, seriously, if you really feel that way, that's awesome and you rule. And like I said, if not, see above.

And if you want to give this whole thing a go with me, check me out here. Be sure and let me know if you're digging it, hate it, hate me, hate Earth, love cheese or pancakes, or basically anything else. I need a new quick diversion. Be my diversion.

Snuggie! aka Fashion FAIL

2008-12-26T14:24:00.019-05:00

So I wasn't sure whether or not to put this video above or below the post, but I figured everyone should have the opportunity I had just now; that is to see it first, with virgin eyes, and then begin thinking about it.

I give you, The Snuggie.

*EDIT: I removed the video because I was tired of it autoplaying, and didn't feel like hearing it every time I checked on something. It was tormenting me. If you want to see it, click the link above.*

Now let's talk about this for a second.

Were you aware that blankets had become so woefully ineffective at guarding our frail human bodies against the evils of the dark winter demons? Last time I checked, my blankets were still fully functional, nor did they slip off of me, as they do in the beginning of the commercial, because I have the luxury of opposable thumbs, which apparently, this woman does not. Poor dear. In addition to that, if I want to reach for something, my hands are "trapped inside"! Damn it! I hate when my couch throws become sentient and refuse to release my appendages to do such common things as answer telephones and use a remote control, while they secretly plan my demise.

Thank heaven for the Snuggie. It's just in time to save humanity from the enslavement of nefarious blanket forces.

It's ostensibly a way to cover yourself up like a fruity little monk, because that's what the old dude totally looks like. The family's appearance, however, says something closer to "cult", where the board games and marshmallow roastings are pleasant diversions from the group's ultimate goals of spreading the good word of Jesus/alien overlords/Rachael Ray/etc by any means necessary. But it's good to know that you can cuddle your baby or pet without getting totally gross baby or pet juices and secretions all over your nice clothes. Fuck that.

No longer will the tyranny of having people mock you for fashion choices prevent you from living a normal life, because all your friends and acquaintances will have Snuggies too. The scene with the football game reminds me of Logan's Run, with everyone in their little future color suits and waiting for Carousel to "renew" them. Watch that movie at least once or twice, by the way. Sci-fi classic. But I digress. All the high-fiving in the world and general ebullience of a public sporting event can't change the fact that you look like a fucking alien trying to look normal in human society. I mean, if you are bat-shit crazy enough to wear this thing out of the house, you might as well just jerk your car into a ravine because you don't belong here. Also, everyone hates you. Even your friends.

That being said, I can totally see my mom getting behind a product like this, because she is always cold, and the kind of person that balls herself up on a couch to watch a movie and is sound asleep before the 8-minute mark. Being totally ensconced in a fleecey wonderland is probably her idea of paradise. But even she knows enough not to walk outside in it, even to say hello to a neighbor, because then her "secret" would be out.

So I am going to start drinking now, and hopefully will be able to do it enough to forget that I saw this commercial to begin with. I suggest you do the same, lest you be seduced by its warm warming warmingness. ORDER NOW!

(because you can, of course, get 2 for the price of 1, plus 2 little book light thingies.)

Oh - and sorry I didn't comment back at all on my last post - I had to fix something in my settings and wasn't getting notifications. Thanks to all who were nice enough to wish me well on this totally rad crap that happened.

The Betrothal of A Bastard

2008-12-02T13:06:00.001-05:00

Well, I've had a busy few weeks, as is always evidenced by my complete lack of posting. This time, though, it wasn't just abject sloth that prevented me from blogging, but rather a series of events set into motion that moved forth with juggernaut-like speed.

I am officially engaged to be married. To a person. A human person. For reals.

To a girl who, I can only imagine, has always harbored thoughts of romance for bitter, venom-tongued, stone-hearted cyborgs. Otherwise, this whole process seems awfully odd and off-putting, and in fact calls into question her judgment in a variety of ways.

That being said, however, I am actually quite excited at the prospect of spending my life with another person who accepts me for being the staggeringly brilliant, if not somewhat emotionally stunted, and *occasionally* criminally flatulent genius I am.

I've tried to be a better person around her, than I would ordinarily allow myself to be, and in making this effort, it's actually happened. I find myself saying and doing things that leave my family slack-jawed, in a good way. And you know what? Personal growth is underrated. Well, not if you're Oprah, or that fat, bald, lying sack of monkey shit "Dr." Phil, but for everyday people with drinking problems and emotional baggage? It feels pretty good to make headway in your life and see actual progress as you, dare I say, mature?

Yes, I dare. I said to someone the other day, after being congratulated, "Yeah, you know, I guess I'm a real, live grown-up now, doing grown-up things." And I thought about that. I realized that almost overnight, I went from being a singular, floating entity with various ties to people and things, to a integral part of something else, and inextricably linked to someone. Sure, I paid bills and showed up to work on time (mostly) and did other grown-up things, but this felt different. I was responsible for something bigger than me now. And as much as I thought it might feel awkward and weird, it made me feel really good to know I was ok with it, and that I'd come that far.

I used to picture a world for myself that was like Blade Runner. I mean, sure, we all do, what with the future-y goodness of flying cars and androids working for us, but I mean specifically Deckard's life, lived alone, interacting with others, but fundamentally isolated, soaked with scotch, and unable to discern actual memory from hallucination on occasion. And I was ok with that. I had come to terms with that, and my peace with that thought allowed me to go onward. But that's not how it worked out, and I can't say I'm disappointed. While I was prepared to live out my days this way, I'm glad I don't have to.

Which leads me to my point. On some core level, I feel I don't deserve to be happy. It's a sentiment we all feel at some point or another, but it's been a defining characteristic of my personality, and both explained and buffered my college years and later adolescence. Thing is, somewhere I turned a corner and realized I deserved to be happy. And coming to the conclusion that things weren't written for me the way I thought them to be made me feel an odd sense of hope that I never expected to feel. Ever.

Perhaps I'll one day lament the fact that I didn't end up with that dystopian, self-destructive future, all Hemingway'd and Bukowski'd. But for the time being, I'm content just being a grown up. And planning the most kick-ass, excellent wedding a human could ever have. Involving, of course, furious gun battles, brain-computer interfaces, homemade liquor, pants-wetting martial arts displays, and the fate of the human race. And even if I can't have the Matrix as our wedding theme, I'll be satisfied with the liquor. Which is probably where I'd split the difference anyway.

Going Against The Grain.

2008-11-05T07:50:00.004-05:00

As the title of this blog might indicate, if your powers of deduction are where they should be, I'm not generally the most hopeful, glass-half-full kind of person. Which is why the following needs to be said: in light of the election, I feel, for the first time in my life, a sense of hope and pride that I know I've never felt before. No measure of the jaded bitterness that I cultivated for so long could have postulated where we stand as a country today, or that I would have been so motivated to be a part of that change. I'm still in a state of disbelief, because even with the repeated pronouncements of every news outlet that this was an historic event, the full gravity of what just happened hasn't fully sunk in yet emotionally - although on an intellectual level, I have already wrapped my head around it.

And I think what strikes me the most is that we live in a country that I was certain was unable to enact the kind of systemic change we saw yesterday. And I don't think I've ever been more happy to be wrong in my life. Is he going to change everything that's wrong? No, probably not. Certainly not. But he seems to want to try. He spoke to something in me that I assumed was long since dead, but it turns out was just dormant, and waiting for someone with the right message to rouse it from its slumber.

As for the path not taken, I couldn't help but listen to the concession speech and think to myself, "if he ran his campaign with the level of compassion and heartfelt pride with which he now speaks, we might have had a very different result". I think he realized as he addressed his supporters just how wrong he was in all of the choices he made along the way, and you could really hear the regret in his voice. People in the audience were still yelling and booing, even at that last stop. Hopefully this will serve not as a sticking point, and a polarizing event in our history, as many of those supporters wished it to be along the trail, but a call for sense and unity - sincerely - which is what we need right now.

I guess you really do reap what you sow.

Scintillating.

2008-10-21T21:53:00.004-04:00

A short while ago (moments, really), a reader posted this comment on one of my older posts, about the Wonder Years, and specifically my feelings on one Winnifred Cooper. I have not corrected (tee hee) or altered the comment in any way:

You jeolous haters suck. Winnie is alway's the best then any other girl on the show. By the way this blog and site really sucks full of SOB haters. Winnie was alway's the prettiest girl then any of the other girls on the show. Why would Kevin want to ever hook up with Becky someone like her that is very annoying who likes to hit him all the time in the arm and punch. Winnie is the best and better then fat Topanga on Boy Meets World. Winnie will alway's be Winnie cooper to me and no one else can. Winnie and Kevin belong together no matter what. I think you sorry ass haters need to get some freaking help and get a grip. You all are so jeolous of a pretty girl like Winnie. Well that'd Fred Savages girl and no one can't mess with her. She and Topanga are lucky ones to be the main love interests to both savage brothers.

Naturally, I was thunderstruck at the magnitude of such a perfectly balanced and cutting analysis of not only the show, but my blog, and our collective discussion in general and felt the need to thank this bright shining light in a world of darkness for illuminating our rampant stupidity.

Here is my reply:

Anonymous,

Thank you so much for sharing your insightful and well-articulated argument. Clearly this is an issue that you feel very strongly about and you are more than prepared to defend your point, as is evidenced by your inclusion of other Savage-brother-helmed sitcoms of the late 80s and early 90s. It's truly a shame that we can't enjoy this high level of discourse with our political leaders.

Once again, thank you for your grammatically incisive and enlightening remarks.

Ah, it's nice to have people in the world who actually care more about defending a fictional character in a long-since-canceled television program than the fact that our economy is in a black hole-like tailspin from which we seem unable to escape with any modicum of dignity as a country intact.

What I'm most curious about is how exactly this person came to find this particular post. I googled "winnie cooper" and after 76 pages, I didn't even see the post anywhere. So what exactly prompted this outcry for the girl who done us wrong?

And Now, For Something Completely Different

2008-10-17T23:30:00.004-04:00

I figured I'd inject a smidge of levity into the PissyPants Express that rolled through here before. From the always excellent, sometimes incomprehensible (only because my geek-fu isn't what I think it is sometimes, and you can't beat math) XKCD:

Welcome to my morning. Only sub out the laptop for the phone, since I can't make a fist in the morning, let alone lift a laptop.

Where I'm At

2008-10-03T20:50:00.005-04:00

So I haven't posted in a while. Since that one really lazy (read: awesome) Saturday. Well, I've had a lot on my mind. See, I'm in kind of a weird place right now. I want to buy a home, so that I can start a life and move into that next rad phase, but, well, I don't know if you've heard, but our country is kind of a fucktastrophe. So I'm kind of in this weird limbo where I keep thinking about how long it's actually going to take before I am actually able to get a decent mortgage, like the one I was pre-approved for in like, March or something. Because now I'm pre-approved for exactly one donkey, a sack of rice, and a wish.

I really can't believe I spent my life paying bills on time and being really diligent about finance so I can get Shawshanked because these fuckpuppets on Wall St. decided they were gonna basically break every possible rule of smart finance, because hey, who the hell's gonna find out? I've been listening to podcasts a lot lately, as anyone who knows me can attest to, because every day, I've got some new kernel of wisdom from NPR or something about our situation. Which brings me to my next point - abruptly, but we got here, and man, everyone's heard about this stuff enough.

Our election. Umm, hi. I'm about to admit something that is going to get a lot of people really riled up. I've never voted before. Never. Just didn't see a reason to, being that we're all tiny little cogs in a big machine in the No-One-Fucking-Cares-About-Democracy-Anymore Factory. I've been so jaded and cynical about politics in the past, mostly because I simply didn't care enough to get involved in college when it was the cool thing to do, and afterward figured I'd rather spend the majority of my time drinking and watching anime and Hong Kong action trilogies with subtitles for several years.

And it was wonderful. I learned a lot about computers and building tech, and mobile communications, and being mega-crafty and making things do stuff. Oh, and video games. Yes. Now, I'm a little older, and while I still get soaked at the prospect of a fresh OS install (mmm, clean hard drives...), I seem to care about other things. Like these things on the tv box with the guys who talk about stuff.

And I have these really strong opinions all of a sudden, that were never there before. And I pay attention when I read things or hear about them. It's like something came over me a few months ago, and I suddenly came out of this weird, long, coma-like haze. Not that my vote matters, because well, we all know in the grand scheme of things, the old U.S. doesn't quite work so well anymore, and it looks worse. If it was a car, it would be a beat-up old Geo - the kind of thing that still gets you where you need to go (kind of), but in no way are you proud of it, and your friends (other countries in the world) just laugh at you and talk shit about you when you leave. But I registered to vote anyway. It just seemed like it was time. I got chills watching Obama accept his nomination at the DNC. It felt like a turning point in history. The kind of thing we'll talk about in a decade or two and remember fondly.

Or it will be a footnote on a Wikipedia article called: "WTF? The 2008 Presidential Election."

Some other things I'd like to mention while I'm here:

If I hear the words "maverick", "reform" or "nuc-u-lar" one more fucking time, I might go "nuc-u-lar" myself.

In spite of my hope for something good to happen to this country, I have a sneaking suspicion that it won't, and I will be living like Mad Max inside of 5 years, hoarding gasoline because our energy policy sucks more wang than a strung out prostitute, and walking around in leather because all the fabric for clothes comes from China and is treated with chemicals that kill us instantly. Also, there will be feral dogs and dirty children who don't speak properly. And I'm either Australian, or I move there.

And to David Blaine: Hey, David Blaine. Hi. Yeah. Ah, how do I say this politely?

NO ONE FUCKING CARES ANYMORE. Yes, we all thought it was cool when you would reach inside some dumb whore's mouth and pull out a kitten on the street a few years ago, but seriously? Hanging upside down for days? And then for the big finish, you came down! WOW! That's about the dumbest fucking "trick" I've ever heard of. I mean, really. It's like the end of an episode of Tom and Jerry, only without the zany climax and far less entertaining. I guess the trick part comes in when all the idiot news outlets cover this shit like it's actually NEWS. You sure got 'em! Great trick!

Now, back to our regularly scheduled drinking and catching up on shows I missed this week. Good night to all, and I once again apologize to the very small number of you who happen to read this for being off the map the last few weeks. You're all getting hugs.

Wasted?

2008-09-06T19:14:00.001-04:00

I spent my entire day sitting in front of the TV, watching whatever was on, catching up on blogs, and playing with my iPhone. Was it a total waste or the most well-crafted Saturday ever?

It is raining in like, biblical proportions. So I feel somewhat validated. And who are you to judge me anyway? What did you do today? I thought so.

I haven't had the energy to post anything lately. Be patient. Much stupidity is in store as the weather gets chilly again. That's when I ramp up the drinking and really start overthinking things. Yup, the check's in the mail.

Smell y'all later.

Posted with LifeCast

The Utter Indignity Of Defeat

2008-08-23T12:36:00.007-04:00

And by that, I simply mean the defeat of my attempt to have a totally rad summer. I am debating putting all of my stuff in a red bandanna and tying it to a small stick and running away, sitcom kid style. But I have way too much crap to fit in a bandanna, and as far as I know, hobos don't get the best wi-fi signals, so I may re-think that strategy. I did, however, succumb to the ego-crippling wonder that is the iPhone, even after ranting and raving about how sick of it I was last year. I just need to face facts - never say never, and I'm a big, fat hypocrite. What-evs. It's fucking awesome, even with all the shit wrong with it, so you can go and make a call on your crappy free cell phone that you've been rocking since 2002, because I am awesome.

And a sheep.

But an awesome sheep.

Anyway, here are some pictures I found this morning. Naturally, they're retarded.

No. 1:

Is she upset because of Barney himself, or because Barney just ate some unfortunate person whose terrified face, locked in death's icy grip is peering out from that purple bastard's gaping, evil maw?

No. 2:

You know, I did not know that Wayne Newton was actually a Vietnamese transsexual.

No.3:

Former Community College students "Shelly Switchblade" and "Alice Apocalypse" share a drink and talk about macroeconomics.

No. 4:

Note to self: remember that the best way to coax an unwilling animal into a river of sewage is to gain 85 pounds, strip completely naked, and entice it by yanking its face toward my exposed junk, while an assistant slaps its ass.

Well, Well.

2008-08-10T12:56:00.004-04:00

Well, it turns out I don't give up on everything because I have no desire to see things through. I just realized that the last thing I posted, with the silly pictures, and Barry, was my 100th post. Not like it matters, really, when people post 100s of things every day, all over the Internet, at every hour of the day, like there's nothing worth living for besides the Internet, (and really, is there anyway?) but I like to give myself a pat on the back when I stick with something for some unspecified amount of time, long enough to reflect on it.

So sorry, tennis, bay breezes, violin, certain television programs that showed promise but ultimately failed to deliver, girlfriends from 1996-1999, and myriad other things I have given up on preemptively... you just weren't good enough to hold my attention. Don't let that ruin your day. Especially you, tennis. You're a good egg. You just weren't as much fun as the beach on a boiling hot day. You understand.

And to celebrate, my friends are picking me up in a little while, and we're gonna grab us a tasty bite. Ba dup bup bup ba, bitches.

Some Photos I Saw Yesterday, Or The Day Before

2008-08-04T13:35:00.005-04:00

I can't figure this out. Is she about to faint, but needs to use the bathroom or she'll make a mess all over the court? Is the woman behind her hugging her or offering marionette-like assistance in her tenuous situation? Either way, that girl does not look pleased. I imagine because she had the opportunity to pee earlier, but was like, "nah, I'll be fine, what-ev" and now she's all about to pee all over herself. Or something. Yeah, looks like a case of Missed Pee Regret. Often seen on long car trips.

That is a ridiculously large fish. My question is, in going out for something like that, were sandals really the best footwear choice? I would think his feet are going to smell like fish ass for a while after that little trip. Seriously.

Hi. I'm grasping at whatever fleeting shards of fame's icy handshake I possibly can, because I don't want to disappear and become a Trivial Pursuit answer. My girlfriend (?!) "leaked" a "sex tape" recently, and boy was I "pissed"! See? I'm still relevant! All kinds of big (hey!) stars have sex tapes, right? Right? Also, I have little tiny sausage penis fingers.

I don't know what the hell this lady is so mad about, but the look on the girl's face says it all. Grandma, fuck right off before I take your AARP card and choke you with it.

Now this... this is really something. Where does one begin when asking questions about this picture? I honestly can't even form a single coherent thought because my brain is so busy trying to comprehend the fact that a picture like this actually exists with no sense of irony attached to it. This one can be like an open-ended question on a test: you look at the picture and provide the context for it. I'll get the ball rolling.

And in an instant, Barry knew that this might be his one and only moment to shine. He had meticulously applied his makeup that night, just as he always did, always to be passed over for more svelte, style-conscious roller dancers at the Sandusky Skateporium. But no one could have accounted for mass-pileup of twisted ankles and shattered hopes that occurred on the dance floor at the conclusion of Detroit Rock City. In the gleam of the ambulance lights, (that, really, sort of blended in to the flashing lights inside the rink anyway) Barry calmly and proudly strutted to the center of the floor and began his routine as the first, glistening guitar strands of Magic Man filled the room. Suddenly, he was alone, and knew what he had to do. It was time to show Downtown Sandusky just what Barry LeFevre had been up to all summer. It was time to make Linda sorry that she had ever left him for Brad and his T-Top. A single flashbulb erupted, and everything faded into a swirl of blond wig and legend...

Hmm...

2008-07-25T17:59:00.006-04:00

Have you seen Frances Bean lately?

She looks exactly like an anime character.

See?

That's Major Motoko Kusanagi from Ghost in the Shell. I should know. I'm an anime freak. It's an awesome movie. You should totally watch it, even if you don't like anime. The Matrix totally bit off of it like, so hard.

Of course, she has a kind of young Liz Phair thing happening too:

I don't know. I love Liz Phair. She's just adorable. I'm not so wild about every album she's released since Exile In Guyville, but that's for another post.

Anyway, I was thinking... If I were fifteen years old, I do believe I'd be in love with Frances, despite her terribly unfortunate pedigree. I mean, I miss Kurt as much as anyone, and Courtney is just a fucking embarrassment. What do you think it would be like to date FB? I think it might go something like this. Keep in mind, you're fifteen, and totally awkward as fuck already.

You arrive at her house.

You: Hey...

Frances Bean: Hey.

Y: So, what do you feel like doing?

FB: I don't know. Come in while I finish getting ready.

Y: Um, is your mom around?

FB: Ugh, yes. Just hang out. I'll be ready in like 5.

Y: Uh, ok.

[Frances runs to her room to finish getting ready. Courtney stumbles in a nearby room, and you begin sweating. She staggers in, and finding you in the entry way, stops, eyes you up and down, and coughs.]

Courtney (drunk, possibly loaded on pills, half-dressed, cigarette dangling): Who the fuck was at the door? Why did you get it? We have people to do that. Mexican people.

Y: Uh, hi Ms. Love.

C: Who the fuck are you? Are you here to get Frances? I bet you want to see her naked. You do, don't you? I mean, it's totally normal. You can tell me. It's cool.

Y: I... I... we're gonna...

C: Whatever. I know you want to, you little filth bag. You better not get her pregnant, fucker, or I'll put a shotgun in your mouth too! Ha ha ha [cough, sputter]! Oh, fuck, you know I'm only kidding. Where are you two lovebirds off to, anyway... where's that bottle of Valium?

Y: I was thinking we would just go down to the mall. Some people are there.

C: Who? Who's there? You know who's there? The fucking pappa... papra... papraNAZI! That's who! Those fucking bloodsuckers! Scum... they ruin everything! How many times have you had a tit fall out, completely by accident, and you weren't totally trashed? Like a million, right? Me too! But EVERY time, it's 'Courtney's off the wagon' or 'Courtney's breaking the terms of her probation' or 'Courtney's a complete trainwreck and is unfit to be the mother of anything short of a scorching case of syphilis'...

Y: [...]

C: Don't look at me like that, you little shit.

Y: I... just...

FB: Ok, let's get out of here. Mom, come on. You always do this!

C: Do WHAT?

FB: You know what. Let's go. I'll be back... later, I guess.

C: You better be! And you [gesturing woozily to you] - you remember what I said..

Y: Ok... which part?

C: [slumped over on the table, passed out, snoring]

FB: Never mind. Let's go.

Y: Is it always like that?

FB: Unfortunately...

I really hope she goes in the opposite direction. And I hope Courtney is sawed in half by a giant shard of metal that falls from a construction site as she walks underneath.

How Much Does Childhood Fascination Cost?

2008-07-25T15:14:00.007-04:00

Well, it starts at $30,000. At least that's what I gather. There's an auction on eBay for a prop hoverboard from Back To The Future II.

When I was a kid, all I ever wanted was for enough time to pass that hoverboards became a reality. I rode my skateboard and loved it like any other kid, but man, once I laid eyes on that marvel of fun and excitement, my totally awesome board looked like a wooden slab of stir-fried boring. I had one of the best boards at the time, and it still paled in comparison to a slick rocket powered by rare-earth magnets (as I later discovered were a possible explanation for how it was so kickass).

Robert Zemeckis even went so far to joke at the time that hoverboards were real and toy companies couldn't release them due to parental pressure! My tiny brain was bursting at the seams as I had not yet developed the scathing, razor-sharp sense of sarcasm I currently employ in every aspect of my personal and professional life. How could such an injustice continue? I was sure, at some point, if I managed to stay alive long enough, that I would have my vindication; that one day, I would cruise along just above the earth's surface, on a freaking awesome hoverboard.

And now, if I can wrangle up thirty large, I can get that much closer. Of course, I'd need a huge crew of people to tow me along on suspension cables and swing me around when I call out directions, which would increase the cost of this little venture substantially, but hey! If I have that much money to bid, plus the "buyer's premium" which apparently would be 20% of the final cost of the item (!), hiring a crew to support my insane desire to re-create a completely fabricated childhood fantasy is nothing, right?

And what the hell is with the buyer's premium, anyway? You win the auction, and then pay a shitload more money JUST to be able to get the item you won? Horseshit.

Oh, so close.

Fail Makes The Hurt Hurt A Little Less

2008-07-23T12:06:00.005-04:00

Since last time I was so moany and bitchy about how much pain I'm in, here are some more Fail Blog laughs, that I couldn't share the other day because it actually hurt too much to laugh.

And this awesome one is from today.

Sorry about all the FAIL posts, but it's just so good.

Fate's Cruel Hand

2008-07-21T18:21:00.005-04:00

So y'all know I loves my surfing. Almost as much as I love whiskey. Ok, maybe more depending on the season, because I would pass on whiskey to go surfing. In any event, last week I was reminded of what a hemorrhoid I am on the ass of the ocean, and I am healed just enough to share now, so on with it.

Last week, early on, some storm thingy (hurricane) was blowing around Bermuda or something. It was sending crazy waves all the way up the coast. Unfortunately, anytime there's crazy waves, there's crazy risk, because the ocean really doesn't get the whole "cooperation" thing. So you have to be willing to risk a little more to get the good rides, because the water's a little more unforgiving.

Sunday it was unrideable. I mean, really. I watched kids who were good get drop kicked off of waves in a most unpleasant way. And the water was frigid cold. Like not ball-shrinking cold, but ball shattering, like liquid nitrogen on a racquetball in your middle school auditorium during a "Science is Cool/Fun/etc" assembly.

Monday I decided to roll the dice because it looked like things had calmed down enough. And I was ok. Went in, got some action, came out. Tuesday, same deal, even a little better. Wednesday, I decided to go in late in the day, since I had some work to get done, and if you go in at low tide, it's so shallow that you can get paralyzed if you hit the sand bar the wrong way. (No joke. It happened to some guy that weekend.) So yeah, Wednesday, the water's really warm all of a sudden, and I go in with no suit, just shorts. Thinking, man, this is really nice, I decide to fool around.

Most of the waves are ok, but not great, but as I soon found out, some of the rougher cousins of the waves on Sunday were still hanging around, long after all the other respectable guests left the party. As I was about to get out, I figured I'd race one more wave, since you had to get your shit together pretty quick, as they were moving fast.

It's always the last one that does it, right? It's always "one more job" for the criminal in the movie, where he gets shot or caught instead of spending his golden years sipping margaritas in Mexico. Think Blow, or Heat. Which are both magnificent, and if you haven't seen them, what the hell is your problem, anyway.

Well my "one more" decided right at the last second to not play fair, and I tried to kick my board away and jump over the back of the wave if I could, except that the wave was bigger than I was, and caught me in the curl and slammed me down instead of graciously letting me get by. I was hurled into the break, and in an instant had the fin of my board jammed into my ribcage two or three times. The force of the wave was throwing me around, and I couldn't push the board away, all I could do was lay there and take it. My arms got slammed too, as I would find later, when mystery bruises made their appearance.

I think I yelled underwater, and when I got up, I was convinced I would have a hole in the side of my body. I reached around expecting to feel exposed bone, but only felt a sharp pain instead. I limped up the beach, gasping and swearing, and made my way to the shower outside of my house, where I tried to get a better look at what was to make my week just perfect. I couldn't take full breaths because it felt like someone was jabbing a knife into my side. I say that, and as I have not been a victim of a stabbing, assume this is what a knife would might feel like. At this point, I am convinced I have broken ribs. I've never felt a pain like this in my entire life. I start to panic a little, because I can't get enough air in and all my muscles are tightening, preventing me from doing that any better than I can already. I had to relax just to get air in and keep myself from getting dizzy and passing out, because I was alone, and no one would find me for what I assumed would be hours.

I managed to get a ride to an urgent care clinic, where I had chest x-rays taken. They told me I was lucky, and actually hadn't broken anything, and my lung was not punctured. I had a soft-tissue contusion, and all my muscles in that area were spasming, and preventing me from breathing/relaxing. So they gave me a shot of some muscle relaxant in my butt cheek, and a prescription for some ibuprofen and painkillers. I hate taking stuff, so I avoided it as long as I could, but man, this weekend was a painful one.

Now, a few days later, the pain is still there, but not as severe (I can breathe properly) and I am starting to feel somewhat normal again. I don't know when I can get back in the water, but I'm hoping my Wolverine-like healing factor will assist in that regard. I would post a picture of the wound area, but I don't want anyone vomming on any computers. That would truly be a tragedy.

What a royal pain in the ass, though. I mean, seriously. Summer? Give me a friggin' break. What happened to you and me just kicking it and laughing at all the suckers? Let's do that again. Because this shit is totally lame.

Oh Yeah, I Almost Forgot.

2008-07-13T18:32:00.005-04:00

I was watching a little Food Network today.

AAAAAAAND, Rachael Ray can fucking die. In the course of describing what a great man she has, and how cultured she is, while making some kind of Spanish-themed shit, she pronounced Pedro Almodovar's name as "al-mah-DOE-ver" and then went on to say what a great movie "vahl-ver" was. As in RE-volver. As in I'd like to put one in her mouth. And teach her pronunciation.

I hate her SO much. God help me if I ever see her.

Not that I'm such a huge fan of Almodovar, but still. I have standards.

[...]

Ok, now I'm fucking furious. I just IMDB'd him, and it says she named a chicken dish after him.

And she can't even say his NAME correctly!

Am I crazy? Or should she be drawn and quartered?

Watch your back, you smiley little twit. Clearly you're a monster that needs to be brought down at all costs.

I Want Some, Don't You?

2008-07-13T18:28:00.001-04:00

From the always awesome Fail Blog.

Awesome.

2008-07-10T14:45:00.003-04:00

This is one of the cooler things I've seen this week. Really makes me want to get that passport stamped...

And tell people I'm from Canada.

You just end up smiling and sometimes laughing at the places where this guy does his thing. Quite enjoyable.

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

Discovered on BoingBoing

And...

2008-07-07T16:59:00.002-04:00

There are oh so many stupid freaking things I wanted to share, but let's start slow. Like two people estranged, willing to make another go of it. Because we can't remember what drove us apart, it's been so long. And because, well, when you get right down to it, I still think you're hot, and you're willing to look past a few things on my part, so let's do this.

From the Fail Blog.

Been Busy

2008-07-07T16:35:00.003-04:00

Oh, Lordy.

It's been months since I was over here. It was so long that I kept thinking about it, and not wanting to come back. It's not like I was on some extended awesome vacation of total fun radness. I had some shit to take care of, and that's that. And I'm finally starting my summer vacay right.

The Turkey's been flowin', the waves have been peelin', and the laptop's been hummin'.

Of course, I got info from the lifeguard at the beach today, as I was about to enter to water for a nice little surf that he went for a swim this morning and the water is completely polluted:

"Like, condoms, and needles (!) and a lot of garbage." (His words)

DAMN IT! What the hell? Needles? Is it 1987 and no one told me? I haven't heard of this much shit in the water, like, ever. Usually there's something going on, but it's like a minimal thing, and I'll just blow it off and maybe have The 'Rhea for a day, because I'm an idiot and can't be told not to enjoy the splendor of the ocean. But the last thing I need is to come up from a wave and get a jimmy hat in the mouth. I think I would vom right there in the water.

I mean, I did get some waves in over the last few days, but it's never enough for me, and this is no way to spend what turned out to be a decent day at the beach. I am thinking the only way to salvage it is to get really drunk and just pretend I'm somewhere else.

AND speaking of somewhere else, part of the reason I've been incommunicado lately, apart from having some hellacious family things to help out with is that I decided I was going to watch all four seasons of Lost in sequence on abc.com. Have you seen this show? I know people like it, because prior to my own exposure to it, all I knew was that fans of the show are like zealots in a cult.

And now I can count myself as one of them. Every episode is like a totally awesome freak-out on film that makes your brain melt and I can't seem to get the damned thing out of my head. I watched all 83 episodes over the course of about a month and a half, I guess, and I am feverishly chomping at the bit for next year.

I hate the fact that I have to wait like everyone else now for the next installments. But I have found something that helps with the hurt: Lostpedia.

Needless to say, it may be a while before we talk again.

Just kidding. But seriously. It might be. That site is sick.

Where's my whiskey...?

Oh Em F-ing GEE!

2008-05-12T13:14:00.003-04:00

Does anyone want to try this out with me? Apparently it works on every OS platform and would make my life TOTALLY FREAKING AWESOME.

I just read this on Lifehacker, and it may have made my life worth living again after the past week. Basically, for people who either don't care about technical things or don't have the attention span to read the links, Alliance connects a bunch of private PC users so that they can totally share cool crap with each other like music, and videos and whatever. WITHOUT all the badness of the scary parts. Like the RIAA and MPAA beating down your door with a staff of attack lawyers.

I'll look into it after work... if you want to test drive this with me, leave a note in the comments, and we'll chat.

Alliance P2P

Why Does God Hate Me?

2008-05-09T21:02:00.003-04:00

All I want to do is have a sweet setup with a computer hooked up to my TV. I can record and pause shows, burn them to DVDs, download stuff and watch it, a ton of cool crap. Some of you may have noticed the "blue screen of death" I posted the other day in the photos. Well, that little nugget of joy preceded about 30 hours of me freaking the fuck out, ripping parts out of one PC to put into another, frenzied Google searches for arcane error message decryption, and finally, utter disgust with both myself and my world.

The bottom line is, here's a lesson for you: the more complicated you make things (in the pursuit of fun) the harder the inevitable fall when things don't work out. I don't know why I'm such a friggin' geek! But I can't help it! It's written into my DNA. I've been tinkering with computers since I was about 6. And that's precisely the problem. I never know when to quit. And so this week has been a blur of swearing at the top of my lungs, followed by pacing around like a mental patient, throwing back shots in the hopes that I'll feel a little better, and basically questioning everything I've come to believe about my own knowledge and intestinal fortitude.

My place looks like a CompUSA traveling on a comet hit a Staples and a laundromat in one fell swoop, and then grazed a liquor store before grinding to a halt in the upper level of the Earth's crust. I feel like a degenerate, my brain hurts, and you know what I have to show for it?

NOTHING.

So I think to make myself feel better, I'm folding this hand, and tomorrow, I'm just buying a new fucking computer to run my crazy television empire, because my sanity is worth about 600-700 bucks, I figure.

I know this is essentially meaningless to everyone else but me, but it was cathartic. And anyone who actually knows me can at least understand. Those of you who can't, well, we should hang out, and then you'll see.

See Fry down there? He looks how my brain feels.

Brief Thoughts

2008-05-08T10:22:00.003-04:00

Bitch.

Damn it.

Feist.

End of the road.

Really?

Aww, Winona!

Pig.

Pretty.

Righteous.

Look at those tiny feet!

Summer's Coming...

2008-05-07T14:45:00.004-04:00

And so I decided I was going to try a new color palette for this here blog. I had this picture that I took last summer:

and so I wanted to work within those colors, so I spent a large portion of my workday (shhh) playing with Photoshop until I got them just right. And I'm still not convinced. But I do know it's a bit easier on the eyes, contrast wise, so I'm ok with that.

Ugh, it's been a few weeks since I was around here. Gotta sweep up a little.

I'm sure I'll remember something that made me pissed or shoot milk out of my nose soon enough.

Holy Christ, This Is Funny.

2008-04-19T15:08:00.003-04:00

I don't know if it's because kids are stupid, or because I like watching other people feel stupid, or because her brother keeps telling her why what she did was such a bad idea, but goddamn. I was crying watching this.

I present, courtesy of College Humor, Stupid Ass Girl Gets Yelled At By Mom While Hilarious Brother And Friend Film And Mock Her.

I might have to check this site out more often. They brought us the very entertaining slow-mo slap last week.

Oh Man, I Gotta Start Watching This Show.

2008-04-14T16:26:00.003-04:00

Not quite as elaborate as yesterday's post. But kind of funny.

Antiquities: The Rich History They Provide

2008-04-13T15:02:00.016-04:00

[This is a HUGE post. If you don't have time to read, come back later. It just got away from me. But it's kind of funny. So whatever, you're an adult, make up your own mind.]

Saturday the gf and I got up and decided we were gonna have a great old day, full of fun and surprises. Turns out, we did. It was totally rad, and involved the beach, ice cream, a great People Show, thunderstorms, the purchase of khakis, drinking, salad, laughing, more drinking, a rousing game of F-M-K, and finally blinding neck pain, as we fell asleep on the couch, and I had my neck half-on, half-off, leading to me waking up almost screaming, eyes watering as I tried to make my way to bed.

All that cool crap notwithstanding, it started with a simple trip to look at antiques, of which I'm not a fan. UNLESS those "antiques" happen to be some of the silliest crap I've ever seen. Now, when a person enters an establishment with a name on the front, one would assume that whatever is written on the facade of the building is what is actually for sale inside, no? I think that's probably something we do and all take for granted, as I did yesterday when I stumbled onto some of America's greatest hidden treasures.

Forget X-marks-the-spot, this shit was right out in the open, for all the world to see and in my case, bitterly comment on. So let's begin a little trip I like to call:

"Storied Pasts, Wasted Time"

Mellencamp Family Portrait

First up, as I wander through this purported antiquery, is this photo frame, with a touching picture of John (Cougar, I don't care if he doesn't use this anymore, he's always "Cougar" to me) Mellencamp, and his slightly attractive, if not slightly weird looking wife, Elaine Irwin. I almost picked this up, because I wanted people to come to my house and be like "hey - do you know Cougar?" And I would reply, "yeah, we go back a while, met him backstage at one of the SisterKisser shows" and smirk knowingly. Passed on it though, because I just got there, and I had a feeling there was other mirth in store. Oh boy, was there ever.

Filthy Old Phone

Now, I don't know exactly when old, banged-up electronics became antiques, but if they did, and no one told me, I'm officially rich as fuck, because I have a ton of this crap lying around at my house. I mean, mountains of it. So I'm looking at this phone, and as much as I'm sure the speed dial to "Ginger" that would magically transport me back to 1983 was worth the nineteen dollars they were asking for it, I had to pass, as I already have a ton of busted-ass phones at home, and it wasn't a financially viable idea.

Waterskiing Trick Board-a-roony

I am totally at home in the water. Everyone knows this, as I constantly talk about surfing, the ocean, blah blah blah. Well, I am half a retard on a pair of water skis, and it's just something I could never get the hang of, from the one time I tried it when I was like, 9. So I moved on. But if YOU haven't, get the hell down here and pick up this sweet daredevil trick board, with ankle bracing so apparently uncomfortable, chicks will want to make out with you simply based on the angle at which you've trapped your feet on this board. Actually, after looking at how you would have to put your feet in, I thought for a second that it was actually a late 80's torture device, something Trent Reznor would have used in the video for Closer, if Closer had been written in say, 1985. Still, not quite an "antique", although at this point, I was beginning to re-write that definition in my mind anyway.

VHS Copy Of "Wild America"

Now, I love anything starring one of the kids from Home Improvement as much as the next red-blooded American douchebag, but I was a little surprised to see this here. I mean, this movie came out in 1997. Does that make my copy of Winnie the Pooh: Tigger-ific Tales (also a 1997 release) ALSO an antique? Because if so, I'm going to stop lending it out to all my friends who want to watch it and keep it in a temperature and climate controlled environment, so as to preserve its delicate imagery for all time.

Nasty Old Can Of Thyme Leaves (1977)

WHO in the fuck(!) would actually buy (and presumably use) a can of spices from 1977? I mean, I suppose if you were throwing a Star Wars: A New Hope theme party, and you wanted the cheese fondue you were making to have that little extra kick of '77 authenticity, you could toss this in, but you also might have to explain to the police why you poisoned everyone in your wacky space cult and killed them with melted cheese. It's your choice.

Any Bitch Can Cook

Clearly not an antique, but I chuckled like a 12-year old as I walked by, and wanted to show someone else.

Porcelain Doll In Pre-Nose Pick Pose

A stunning replica of a small girl about to dig for some gold, and probably eat it or smear it on something nearby is always a fitting testament to the history contained in antiques, and this example is no different. Note the pleased expression on her face, as she knows she's about to enjoy one of life's great pleasures; grabbing a big snot bullet and rolling it around in your fingers until you think of something better to do with it.

Terrifying Portrait Of Small Children

In what I can only assume is a picture of Donny and Marie Osmond as white trash children, lovingly rendered by Satan himself, is trapped the soul of each previous owner of this hellish painting. If you fall prey to it, if you buy it, entranced by its demonic charms, you will be dead within a week, your soul being forever embedded in its horrible kitschy goodness. Also, it plays "I'm A Little Bit Country" for ALL OF ETERNITY.

Or is that Baby White Trash Elvis and Priscilla? Hmm...

Depressing Clown Pictures, Depicting Financial Follies

There were two pictures, next to each other, celebrating the fact that clowns, in addition to creeping out various millions of people with their freaky faces and cannibalistic tendencies, are among the lowest paid professional entertainers in our culture. The first picture shows a clown looking into his wallet sadly, realizing that he gave up that job at Microsoft in 1978 a little bit too soon. Let us all laugh at his misfortune.

This second picture shows a clown, having finished a meal he obviously had no intention of paying for, animatedly looking at the bill and flipping out. He knew damn well he couldn't afford that food, why did he sit down? He should have eaten trash out of the dumpster like clowns are supposed to! Silly bastard, I hope that dog chews your ass half to death.

Perverted Doll Seemingly About To Reveal A Raging Erection

I don't know what the hell this is supposed to be, but there were two of these too, but I thought showing one was probably even too much. It looks like he's about to drop trou and blast everyone within striking distance with a big load of freaky plastic doll splatz. Unbeknownst to me, celebrating the rich heritage of public exhibitionism is considered an antique.

"Barbarino Goes To A Rave"

This guy was sitting next to the perv dolls. I looked at it, and tried for a second to come up with what exactly it was supposed to be. I got:

G.I. Joe's Gay Younger Brother Bruce

and

Vinnie Barbarino in "Party" Clothes.

Ultimately, I leave it up to you.

Novelty Giant Heineken Bottle Piggy Bank

Well, apparently, the kind of dreck you usually see not filled with coins, as was its original purpose, but instead fashioned into a mega-bong at a frat house is now considered a collectible piece of Americana. Who knew?

Abandoned Infant On Musty, Spooky Second Floor of Store

Someone brought a baby to the store, and clearly disturbed and horrified by the terrors within, ran out so quickly, that they left the giant plastic baby behind, to haunt the second floor of the store, and all of its smelly old furniture.

And finally,

Norman Rockwell Pornographic Female Subjugation Propaganda

Hmm... "An Orange Crush"... whatever could that mean? Oh, I get it! They're drinking Orange Crush soda! Oh, haha, Rockwell, you cad, where do you come up with them?

Oh, wait, her hair is orange too. Huh. You know it's just a hop, skip and a jump to the guy asking, "Does the carpet match the drapes? HAWHAWHAW!". Look at his expression! He may have already whispered it to her. And I could really do without the weird old guy in the back, gesturing wildly like he's either auctioning her off as a sex slave or trying to promote some radical dictator-y ideal. Or (more likely), he could be saying to the guy, "I assure you, young man, the carpet most certainly DOES match the drapes! Indubitably!"

Any way you slice it, a filthy, dirty piece of Americana Porn. Gross!

Well, there were seriously about a million other things I almost took pictures of too, but my head almost exploded from these right here, and I almost broke both my wrists trying to write all this. So if you made it this far, godblessya. I'm off to have a drink. And to try and forget about the utter horrors within the "antique" store.

Captcha Fun

2008-04-10T16:28:00.001-04:00

*giggle*

Sweet Jesus In A Birchbark Canoe.

2008-04-08T20:31:00.004-04:00

I am without words. Although I had a few in the comments section.

Geekologie via Zombie Fights Shark

In case you're lazy, like me, and don't click the link, here's what I said, and it bears repeating, because I can't remember the last time I was so enraged:

"quiet reverie"?

"be a hero"?

I love the guys during the "jam session". As though in your entire life you'd ever find anyone dumb enough to buy this with you, and then proclaim their stupidity by standing next to you and performing.

PS: the guy "shredding" the electric guitar looks like he's tickling someone's ballsack. And he looks like he's no stranger to THAT motion.

I feel like we need to atone for this. For humanity. Perhaps we should kill every person every associated with this idea in front of their children on Christmas. Or something.

Well, Earth was good while it lasted. I think I hear the sounds of the invasion...

Mission Accomplished! (And Look!)

2008-03-29T19:09:00.003-04:00

I got not only one pair of sweet sneaks, but TWO! A red-letter day to be sure, for old A-Dubs.

And look what I find when I get home! My love for cult-geek-masterpiece Tron is widely known among friends, so my smile got real wide when I saw this. Beautiful.

Tron
by freres-hueon

[!]

When Was The Robot Apocalypse Supposed To Start Again?

2008-03-29T13:11:00.003-04:00

From Bon Jour, Pee Wee: this is EXACTLY the reason why I started a blog about things that make me nuts.

I'd get into it, but I'm off to buy some new sneakers. Yay!

Totally AWESOME!

2008-03-24T19:37:00.007-04:00

(to be read, of course, in your best Spicoli)

I just read on Gizmodo that every single South Park episode is available online, streamed and sexy, direct from South Park Studios, the very people who have made me laugh so hard I snort and choke like a jackass for the last decade or so.

[!]

I knew if we waited long enough, this whole "Internet" thing would pay off.

Giz link here

Direct link here

Yay!

Basketball And Boy Crushes

2008-03-22T16:59:00.006-04:00

Don't ask me where this came from. Just look at it.

Have you ever seen anything like this? I stopped dead in my tracks because as I passed it, I actually did a sitcom-style double take, with head snap and mouth agape.

Maybe I'm reading into it. Let me take another look.

Nope. I was right. Those kids are douchebags.

First of all, I get it. They want kids to not be such sports-obsessed assclowns, like most of our country. Fine. Great sentiment. But they're actually putting kids in danger showing them images like this. You bring a book into a locker room at any level above 4th grade, and you're likely to get a beating. On general principle.

You add to that a little bit of latent "I-think-I-like-girls-but-I'm-not-sure-because-I'm-still-more-
comfortable-around-other-boys" and now you're walking into a hate crime. I mean, doesn't that kid with the glasses just remind you of a gay Lucas? Not that there's anything wrong with a young boy exploring himself with the help of some sweaty friends. Far from it. But what this poster ought to say is this:

There's A Time And A Place For Reading And Finding Out You're Gay. This Isn't It.

Now Get Out There And Kick Some Pimply Ass.

THAT would be a great poster.

And I'm sure someone could make the stupid-ass argument that they're reading a sports book. Well that's just dumb. And you're dumb. So shut up if you thought that, because you're dumb and dumb people shouldn't talk.

I'm just trying to look out for the kids.

The List

2008-03-22T00:03:00.013-04:00

"The List" basically refers to anything that bothers me to the point of repeated awareness. Not a momentary annoyance, or a passing perturbing, but something that on several occasions has proven itself to be a serious thorn in my side. As readers of SisterKissing may recall, one of these things is being woken up too early.

So as readers of this blog already know, I was graced with the arrival of a nephew this week. What readers of this blog don't already know is how this information came to be known to me.

My brother-in-law, fully understanding the person I am, and respectful of what little time I have to myself in the quietude of undisturbed slumber, brilliantly waited until he knew I was already awake to give me some pertinent information on the big day. We often talk early in the morning, but he knows when I usually get up, and while I am the furthest thing from a "morning person" (in fact the very idea of "morning people" makes me want to load up the nearest shotgun and start putting smoky, bloody holes in said individuals), I am fairly functional at some point, and as such, this is when he and I usually talk.

My own mother, on the other hand, has a God-given gift for rousing me in the most aggravating possible way, so that my rage is at full boil before I've even left my bed. She is so practiced at it, that I secretly suspect she saves up these moments and chooses to loose them on me when I am at my weakest, thus relieving her of my full retribution.

Though I have repeatedly, and on many occasions politely asked her to refrain from calling me before she knows I am awake to ask inane questions, here and there she will do so. Granted, the gravity of this particular situation is not lost on me. The birth of the first grandson, the first child for my sister, the first anything, is a big deal. I get it. Really I do. But the 20-minute window we're about to discuss would not have thrown the universe into upheaval, and I would have a few more intact blood vessels in my eyes/head than I do at the end of this week.

I usually get up at about 6-6:15 a.m. Which is WAAAAY earlier than I ought to be getting up, but it's what I have to do. It's not really fair; I have no crops to tend, nor am I a morning workout person (aka lunatic). I HATE getting up this early. In fact, the only thing I hate more than getting up this early is getting up even earlier, and not being able to fall asleep again, thus squandering beautiful sleep. I received said phone call, a phone call that could have easily waited 20 more minutes (as evidenced by the slightly later call from bro-in-law), to inform me that she and my dad were going to the hospital, and also served as an inquiry as to what I was doing. Barely alive, let alone able to form coherent thoughts and vocalize these thoughts, I barked some kind of answer, enough to quell her interest, and get me off the phone.

Of course, now, with just 20-25 minutes that I could be enjoying the warm embrace of my final moments of slumber, I am awake, tired, groggy, and cursing like a sailor who just slammed his thumb with a hammer. I am suddenly aware of every ache, pain, pore, and hair in/on my body. I am spitting bile and venom and would have eaten a newborn baby in front of its mother, despite the fact that I was about to celebrate just such an event. I mean, seriously, I was pissed. I don't care if I just won the friggin' Powerball. It can wait. I don't care if Jesus is fighting Godzilla on a meteor that's hurtling toward the Earth's surface on a perfect trajectory to destroy me in my bed where I lay, LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE WHEN I'M SLEEPING.

It's the only place I can really, truly, be happy, after all, where I can fly, and surf all the time, and drink all the whiskey in the world without so much as a slurred word, let alone alcohol poisoning. I'm charming, don't have love handles, speak perfect Japanese, and exact justice on no fewer than a billion evildoers each and every night. As Ralph Wiggum said once, famously, "Oh boy - sleep! That's where I'm a viking!".

Yes, Ralph. Yes.

I couldn't justify going back to sleep only to be furious when I had to get up moments later, and I REALLY did not want to get up having just looked at the clock. I was caught, locked in the eternal struggle between responsibility and sleep lust. I can't remember being that angry that early in the morning. Well, I can (it was when Elle almost ring-a-ding-dinged her way to a severe beating).

I mean, of course I forgot all about it when I got to the hospital and the excitement of the day finally sunk in, but seriously? My mom almost caught a steel toe in the cheek. She had no idea how close she came. Because nothing is cooler than beating up your mom.

Judgment Day Looms Ever Closer.

2008-03-18T16:34:00.001-04:00

Even on this most awesome of days, when my family welcomes a new tiny life into the world, we must remain ever vigilant against the rise of the machines.

Never surrender.

Awww... he's so cute, though!

I'm About To Become An Uncle

2008-03-17T12:53:00.001-04:00

From the most awesome XKCD.

Wow. Really.

2008-03-12T13:14:00.003-04:00

(note punctuation difference)

This may be the coolest thing I've ever seen. It's a mosaic of Star Wars images stitched together to create a totally ridiculous (read: insanely awesome) version of The Last Supper.

From Gizmodo, Star Wars fans may want to grab some towels or something. I know I wish I did.

Wow. Really?

2008-03-12T11:08:00.001-04:00

I'm An Ice Missile!

2008-03-07T08:28:00.022-05:00

Despite the yeti-genital undertones that some of you with dirty, filthy, little pervy minds would instantly jump to, this is not about mythical(?) snow creature wang. It's about snowboarding, and going fast in snow and ice and stuff like that. So for the love of all that's holy, get the picture of a giant frozen stiffy out of your head! Man, if all you can think about when I say "ice missile" is a throbbing, erect, skin saber made of winter wonder, then you my friend, may need to seek some psychological help.

That being said, y'all know I loves my surfing. Well, traditionally, in the winter, I turn into a complete hermit, hibernating, geeking out, playing video games, and slugging back Wild Turkey like Nick Cage in Leaving Las Vegas. This year, I'm spending my time with an awesome lady who is an avid snowboarder. A little coercing, a little suspension of my ordinary hatred of being outside in the winter, and about $400 bucks later, I'm ready to get into yet another expensive hobby.

Everyone told me, "Oh, you're a surfer! You'll pick it up in no time! It'll be so easy for you!"

[Liars.]

Well, not completely. I did in fact, pick it up super quickly, but that didn't happen until the second time out. The first time, we were at Mountain Creek, and I freaked out when I strapped my feet into the bindings. I'm used to having bare feet and warm water - at most, when the water's really cold, I throw on a wetsuit and some booties. But having the equivalent of NASA moon boots from the Gemini era swallowing my ankles and then locking them into a deal with the Snow Miser was a little too much. I got over it soon enough, but spent much of the first day falling on my knees on a sheet of ice. I bruised them so badly, I woke up the next day unsure as to whether I had attempted a new sport or spent the night servicing the entire crew of a battleship in a Hong Kong port like some exotic lady of the night.

I felt like such a horse's ass, because I was soooo sure I would be a natural at it, as I've been doing board sports pretty much my entire life. A humbling experience to be sure.

I promptly went back out and bought some knee pads for myself.

The next time I went out, I fared much better. We went out to Camelback in the Poconos and there was some snow-like material on the ground, which provided a little better traction for me. I went up the beginner hill, hopped on my board, and shot down the hill, only taking one little tumble. I turned back and forth, feeling like a champion, while other clumsy freaks were staggering around and landing in front of me. I got to the bottom of the baby-douche hill, and thought, "Well! That certainly was better!" Then gf slid up behind me and boosted my self-esteem a little more. "You're so good at this already!" So I felt less like Rain Man, and more like the Silver Surfer.

I've been going every Saturday, getting better and better on the nerd hill. Seeing tiny children going up on the lift all the way up to the top, I decided I had to go too. I finally got up the courage to attempt a real trail and go up the mountain.

As I ascended to the drop point, I started to get a little weird feeling. Now, to be clear, I'm not afraid of heights. However, I am afraid of FALLING from these same heights. So I decided to take it nice and easy all the way down, assuring myself I can ride the length of the mountain down on my ass if need be.

I hopped off the lift, strapped in, and jumped free of the drop area, immediately hurtling down the mountain like, yes, an ice missile. I fell a few times, rather spectacularly, but basically got to the bottom feeling pretty good about myself. I felt vindicated, and kept going back up and down successfully.

A few weeks pass, with no real injuries to speak of. My technique, while unconventional (I keep trying to surf on the snow, as opposed to how people actually ski/snowboard down the mountain, but I look totally rad) is improving, and I love going now. It's awesome to have something to look forward to in the winter now, because I was so sick of sitting inside. We start and end each session with a gulp of whiskey to warm up and down, and my weekends are fun again.

And now, for the coup de grace.

Last week, conditions were a little icy. I did well on the trails, though. I have learned how to better manage my edges, weight distribution and turning. Feeling good about myself, I start doing little things with my turns, finding my style. Gf comments "look at you, riding switch" as I traverse down a part of the hill rather deftly. She passes ahead of me, to the bottom, open straightaway section, which as I am about to find out, is really packed and icy. I am absolutely speeding through this flat section when I feel the edges of my board start to wiggle.

Now, when you're skateboarding and the edges of your board wiggle going down a hill quickly, it's known around my parts as the "speed wobbles" and usually, at least historically in my case, it means you're about to eat some serious asphalt. So when I feel the snowboard do the very same thing, you can imagine I'm a little suspicious. Well, no sooner does my brain make this connection than one of the edges catches hard in the packed snow and I go down, flat on my back/ass, so hard that it knocks the wind out of me, and pain radiates through my body like a bomb blast.

I actually hit my ass so hard, I felt it internally, within the asscavern itself, as opposed to the tailbone, aka coccyx, that most people injure. Must have been the angle of entry or whatever, but my poor rectum was the victim here, and it was NOT happy about being the center of attention. I pulled myself up, got myself out of the bindings, and limped over to gf, who was all worried, because I looked like I had just been shot.

I sat down for a while and caught my breath, learning from her that this kind of injury was like a rite of passage, and everyone breaks their ass at some point. I suppose it's good it happened at that stage, when my confidence was high, because I could see someone never snowboarding again after something like that. After a little while, I felt better, and went down a few more runs. The rest of the following week it was sore, and the muscles in my lower back are still sore right now, but I'm pretty sure I didn't crack anything. Other than my crack, that is.

I decided that the injury was so magnificent, and the pain so specific, that I gave this type of fall/mishap a new name. I hereby refer to this occurrence as a "Rikers" because after that, I felt like I had just taken a shower in a prison.

All Right, I'm Easing Back Into It.

2008-03-06T11:49:00.003-05:00

I have soooo many things to write about and no time to do it. I really have to try to not do these epic posts that only come once in a while... I should try to edit myself and have more little things to say instead. But then I have people telling me that they like these diatribes, so, I don't know. Whatever.

In any event, I thought I'd warm up by mentioning BlogBackupOnline again. I talked about it last summer and the app is now coming out of beta and offering a whole mess of other options. You can still sign up for a basic free account though. If nothing else, you can set it up once, and let it run each day for you, backing up your precious rants and raves for all time. I just like knowing that it's not only residing on one set of servers... I like backing up, ask anyone who knows me. I'm like a zealot.

Anyway, more to come. I have a lot of annoying things to talk about. As usual.

Pathmark: Pathway To Style, Pathway To Depression

2008-01-27T18:41:00.000-05:00

While attempting to get work done today, it became apparent to me that I would have much better luck with odd errand-type activity completion, as I really didn't want to work at all. Then there were, let's say "server issues" that prevented me from actually working. Uh-oh. You know how THAT goes.

So I decided I had to pick up a few things today while "working" at the gf's house. I have a tendency to go through a ton of toilet paper while here, and not for the typical reasons. I find it to be the Swiss Army Knife of paper products, see? You can use it for the obvious reasons (I'll spare the 7th grade poop humor, although I really want to loose some of it on you), but you can also blow your nose with it, wipe up a slightly messy sink, clean some natty hair bombs out of the shower after you've washed your mop... the list goes on and on.

So I use a lot of toilet paper. And I promised to go get some more today. Among other things. I decided the target of my newfound consumer trap shooting would be the nearby Pathmark.

In entering the store, I noticed again that it is, actually, a pretty sweet supermarket. They really did a good job with hitting all the bases, and I'm not one to get all sweaty over supermarkets. There's a little cafe area I'll never sit in, although the free Wi-Fi could someday entice me if I falter and happen to have a laptop with me. The produce section looks like an open-air market. Real pretty like. But I actually like going here. I quickly found the few things I needed and then proceeded to wander and enjoy the many other splendors of this local cornucopia.

I found myself looking in this one aisle that had magazines, but also, as I turned around and got my bearings apparently had much more to offer. Directly behind me as I looked at the mags was this sweet and grocery-store appropriate item:

Is it just me or did it just get a whole lot more affordable to look like Fonzie and affect a cool guy posture? Seriously? Ten bucks for a new life? Yes, please! I can't believe I haven't been buying all my many leather goods (assless chaps, I'm looking in your direction) at the supermarket! Well, how was I to know such magnificent values were afoot just inches from the breakfast cereals and around the block from hemorrhoid cream? Lesson learned, people. For a quick style infusion, hit up your local food merchant corporate conglomerate. If you don't look good, they don't look good.

Of course, I'm completely not even getting into the presumably fabulous quality of the jacket in question. That could be a whole other post, although I will tell you that I have seen monastic hairshirts that looked more comfortable than that thing did.

Reeling from this new discovery, I moved down to the end of the aisle, where I noticed some CDs for sale. I don't think I've purchased a CD in person in about 3 years, because I am mounting a stand against physical media, and although it's slow going (800+ DVDs later, I'm still wondering where my allegiances are) I'm doing the best I can. I started perusing the rack to see what rock-tastic offerings the Pathmark has to go with my new sweet black leather cool magnifier.

I noticed the usual dredge. A Fixx "best of" disc. I'll save you the trouble - the tracklisting goes "One Thing Leads To Another" and then a bunch of crap you don't care about. I saw REM's Document, which was kind of weird, but ok, I guess so. Willie Nelson; I suppose. Jane's Addiction's Ritual De Lo Habitual.

[?!]

What the hell is this doing here? And with the "naughty" cover no less? In plain view of children who might ask why a man made of plaster is with two ladies made of plaster at the same time with no clothes covering his plaster peeny? All kidding aside, do you think Perry Farrell's head would explode if he saw this? Mine almost did.

Answer: no.

I don't know if you're aware of this, but the former icon of my youth and once-revered deity of the alterna-counter-culture has done some questionable things lately. Really. I was in a TGI Friday's this past summer. If you haven't eaten the Jack Daniel's Chicken Fingers there, you better stop reading, go eat a whole plate of them and come back.

Go. Now.

[Jeopardy music plays]

Delicious, right? Never doubt me again.

So Perry. Right. I'm in the Friday's and unfortunately, I'm under a TV within the viewing distance. And they're showing some kind of football-activity. College? I don't know. I see what looks like a commercial come on for a car company, like Cadillac or Pontiac. I think it was Pontiac. And there's 50 Cent, and some ass-shakery from a whore who recorded an album or something (ok, it was Kelly Rowland, but still, I think "whore" applies), and right in the fucking center of all that makes me wince stands Perry Farrell, dolled-up like a glammy-Wal-Mart version of his former self. It's starting to sink in.

Ok, it's some horrible mistake. I'm drunk, my eyes are lying, as they tend to do, after whiskey and a day of surfing... no, there he is, and he's promoting... COLLEGE FOOTBALL? Yes, it's a cross-pollination of two things I hate! Car commercials, and football! And Perry stands right in the center of it all!

Here it is in case you missed it.

I damn near fell out of the booth. Could this really be the same guy who (at least in my mind) single-handedly began the Lollapalooza phenomenon? The same guy who fronted what was one of the greatest and most influential bands of the 80s and early 90s? I've seen Porno For Pyros (twice) and I went when they re-formed Jane's in '97 with Flea on bass cuz Eric didn't want to do it or whatever. He rocked my face clean off every time, even though he was a little older and worse for the wear. I met him when I was in college, and he was a tiny little man, but cool as hell. Spacey, just the way you picture him being. But pleasant.

And now, there he was, sucking ass for all to see on this asinine commercial, hawking for the new college football season. Fast-forward back to this afternoon.

In recalling this, it came into view: mine was the only mind blown today, in that strangely sheltered Bermuda Triangle of pop culture at the Pathmark. I walked away from that grocery store feeling a little older, a little wiser, and a little hungry.

But mostly hungry. And older.

As Seen On... TV? No Wonder I Hate TV So Much...

2008-01-20T12:59:00.000-05:00

I found myself in a CVS the other day, waiting for a prescription to be filled, and had about 10 minutes on my hands. After a brief tour of the store in search of a good episode of The People Show, I found myself in the Crap Aisle. Giggling with glee at my good fortune, the wheels of blog post birth began turning, and I quickly snapped a few pics for later examination with my phone.

So here we go, all aboard the Garbage Train of Consumer Retardation.

Overly Gigantic Ridiculous Non-Party Gag Remote Control

This was the first item I came across, and I regret now not putting my hand in the picture for a sense of scale. Suffice to say, this thing was big. Without exaggeration, let's say each button was about the size of a half-dollar coin. Now look at all those buttons. Yeah, it was like a laptop with none of the functionality. I tried to think who would actually want this tabletop-sized remote. On the package it made some mention of "never lose your remote again!" and then it came into focus: the ideal customer for this product would be some dunderhead who constantly misplaces his/her remotes, and the reason this was so big was so that anyone in the room when that person says "where the hell's the remote?" could easily swing this thing with enough velocity to actually cave in the idiot's skull and then return to television watching immediately thereafter.

Annoying Voice Recorder Thingy

Then there's this piece of utter crap. I've seen a commercial for this where the people are so excited to remember that they need toilet paper in the supermarket that they nearly shit their britches with joy. Do you really think that any other shoppers need to hear your dumbass shopping list as you wander blindly around the store, oblivious to how stupid you actually look? Try a post-it note. You can write things on there, and then stick it to your moron head so you don't forget to bring it to the supermarket, because really, that's the trick - you forget your witless digital personal assistant, and you're right back to soiling yourself in the store - for the wrong reason.

Oh, it's also good for remembering where you parked your car in a crowded shopping center. No more crying while you wait for everyone else to leave so you can find your car! You children will never go hungry again as they wait for you to miss cooking dinner because you're a dumb shit and can't remember basic simple things! Your husband will never beat you again because he hates himself so much for marrying a functionally retarded adult!

Digital Photo Album for Losers

From the makers of Annoying Voice Recorder Thingy comes yet another wasteful use of circuit boards and AAA batteries! Yes, it's a small boxy item into which you can clumsily add digital pictures you took poorly with the camera your family got you that you haven't really figured out how to work yet! I hate to tell them, but their target market for this item is not the kind that deciphers instructions well, or deals with technology in general very comfortably. But don't let that stop you, the dim-bulb consumer from enjoying almost getting this little thing to kind of work. Bet you can't wait to impress your friends around the water cooler with this little doohickey, huh? By the way, I imagine the picture viewing quality of this "tool of the future" is tantamount to sticking a small picture into one of those clear acrylic keychains that allows you to do so, but then adding about 6 years of in-pocket weathering and dropping them in puddles of beer and Fritos.

Tater Mitts

If I start, I'll never stop.

Deliciously Packaged Hair Trimma-ma-bob

I'm assuming the magic and majesty of the Flowbee inspired this magnificent device, as well as the need to possibly give yourself a Supercuts-quality haircut anytime, anywhere. The seasoned gentleman on the package really looks like he's benefited from the introduction of this wonderful mini-appliance into his life, and who are we to argue? Clearly there's a financial motivator at play as well, as it loudly proclaims "saves money on haircuts!" right on the front of the package. I'll let you in on a little secret. Remember the Epilady shrieks of pain heard 'round the world way back when? Well, you'd better take the money you saved on haircuts and start investing in ear plugs if this thing catches on, because a battery-operated haircut is never a safe bet for painlessly maintaining one's appearance. And your own screams of agony are liable to deafen you as you struggle to drag those demon's teeth through your greasy mop of hair.

Ok, last one.

Push Up Rotaty Thing That Makes Your Prison Workout That Much More Effective

Now, I actually saw these on TV last week, and they seemed like something I'd be interested in. That is if every time I did a push up I didn't feel like my heart was going to explode out my neck hole, through my skull, splattering my hopes for sweet triceps and pecs all over my nerd-tastic anime wall hangings. I always feel like I should be doing more while doing as little as possible, and this kind of thing seemed like a few bucks spent in the right direction. Then I saw this:

[...]

I'll level with you. I don't want my breasts to have some cavernous space between them. Is this the net result of using this product? She looks like she's bound those things so tightly, they're being sucked back into her chest cavity just under her armpits. And if it's not the shirt making an optitcal (ha!) illusion occur before my eyes, and that's what I have to look forward to after a few weeks with the Amazing Push Up Twisty Things, well then, no thank you sir, count me out. I work hard enough at not getting little girl man-boobs all winter long to have them lifted and separated in some freaky-ass way like this poor unwitting victim. I'll just wait to start surfing again, let nature take its course, and hope the gf is none the wiser in the meantime.

Well, I'm off. Hope you enjoyed spending time with the latest and greatest American innovation has to offer. Is it any wonder that the rest of the world hates our freedom so much?

Best. Blog. Ever.

2008-01-12T19:39:00.000-05:00

This guy is a genius. I am unrepentant in that statement. He rules.

I LOL'd more than a few times at this. Enjoy... another great find from Boing Boing.

Earl May, RIP

2008-01-07T08:34:00.000-05:00

The strangest thing just happened...

I turned on the web stream of WBGO, which is a local jazz station in Newark, so I could listen to some music this morning while I worked. I haven't done this in probably almost a year. Just felt like doing it, out of the blue. Like something told me to do it.

Then I'm listening, and I hear the DJ say that Earl May passed away over the weekend, and I stopped what I was doing immediately. Earl May was a bass player who worked with Miles Davis, John Coltrane, and about a million other people. He was a jazz legend, and a super nice guy. He came to play a bunch of times at Shanghai Jazz, which is a Chinese sit-down restaurant and jazz club (where I used to work after college) and persuaded me to come up on stage with him and play guitar a few times. Just a really amazing guy, and a class act all the way. He knew so many famous people, and had done so much, been around the world, and made such a mark on the music world, he had every right to be a jerk, but he couldn't have been further from that.

Over the years since then, I thought about giving him a call, or just emailing him or something, you know, to say hello, or whatever, but never really did. I had his phone number, because he gave it to me, as he was really down-to-earth that way.

I don't know what made me turn the radio station on, but it was like I had to hear that, otherwise I never would have known.

Strange, right?

I'm a little sad now.

I could go on and on about how great he was, but you can read more about him here and here.

Goodbye, Earl. You're tops in my book.

(pic from Jazz Museum in Harlem page)

Do My Eyes Deceive Me?

2007-12-27T12:40:00.001-05:00

And while we're getting all reacquainted, here's a little something I came across and meant to talk about.

Now, I know that there's a lot of inherent humor built right into the title of this game. We could go on about that for days in and of itself. But what I love is that there's a big red fish on the cover that when observed quickly looks like a big disembodied boxing glove, especially when paired with the pained struck expression on the bear's face.

Doesn't it totally look like a ghost is fighting a bear? And winning?

And even if you think I'm crazy for thinking that, take a look at the fish's face. Let's just say there is no ghost. That is one pissed-off fish, and he looks like he's slapping the bear with his ass! Which is still pretty rad!

Perhaps it's a historical depiction of the millennial struggle between the hawk-beaked fish monster and the formidable bearmoose hybrid of the Alaskan wilderness. Either way, a stunning and inspiring picture. Certainly a topic worthy of an episode of high-definition gaming.

High Quality Office Supplies, And The People Who Use Them

2007-12-27T11:39:00.000-05:00

So I'm sitting at my desk the other day, and looking for a Sharpie. Anyone who knows me at all knows I loves me some Sharpies. I find a poop brown one (how this ever ended up in my desk, I will never know) and grab the CD I needed to ink up for a co-worker.

And then my disgust bubbled up and spilled out on my desk.

How, pray tell, did this Sharpie's tip get so unqualified to write on shiny surfaces? I am quite sure the marker said "extra fine" or at least "fine" tip, as I will use nothing less than that. Upon closer inspection, I realize that someone had surreptitiously planted an imposter among my supplies. Then, after I was finished laughing out loud and shaking my head, I took a picture, because it was worth showing.

Did anyone really think this low-rent ink dribbler would pass for the majesty of America's greatest pen? Clearly the product of some evil Red Chinese plot, the "Hengbao Staunion", if you hadn't gathered by now, is patently unfit for marking anything, short of demeaning an enemy of yours while he/she sleeps, drawing some permutation of a penis and testicles on said recipient's forehead.

So perturbed was I, by this deception, that I decided it would mark my the end of my long absence from the blogosphere. That and I'm off from work for a few days, so I had some time at my desk, and my resolution for next year is to follow up on crap I start and don't stick with. (ha!)

It's nice to flex those blogging muscles again... missed y'all.

Long Weekend, Vol.2: Dinner At 8

2007-11-20T19:04:00.000-05:00

There's a place on a pier that we like to go to when we come to Florida, called Sharkey's. And no, sadly, it is not owned by venerated TV star Ray Sharkey. We could only have hoped. In any event, the food is great, the drinks are fast and generous, and being on the beach while you eat is usually a relatively pleasant experience.

On the other hand, they usually also have some majorly shitty cover bands doing their thing, while you try to enjoy the outdoor warm weather and booze... and this weekend was no different. The first night, there was some nitwit who thought he was the best parts of James Taylor and Jackson Browne mixed togtether, with a smidge of Van Morrison thrown in for good measure. Needless to say, the excrement from any one of those performers could put on a better show. And I'm not exactly a huge fan of either of them. So that's saying something.

The second night, there was a duo, basically doing karaoke to backing tracks. The lady was a dead ringer for Ann Wilson (chub-tastic) and sang pretty well actually, but I definitely could have done without her little surprise. While I was mid-conversation and mid-chew at one point, she came a-grinding up on me (since I was on the aisle) and attempted to intrigue me with her portly feminine wiles. Not working. She sauntered away, apparently disappointed that I didn't take her up on her wordless suggestion to suggestively dance with her in front of my family. Oh well, I only hope she didn't kill herself later from the disappointment.

There was a guy there, by the name of “Crazy Joe” who managed to dance like a retard on crack the whole night; he's apparently a regular, and hopefully satiated her need to see people other than her dance to her Heart-esque bleatings.

Although these older women were really getting down to the groove at some points too, they seemed a little shy. Perhaps Crazy Joe could have been the man to have brought them out of their shells? We'll never know.

We got take out the next night, but the last night we were there, the final band was actually musically pretty talented, but they made the mistake of sucking ass regardless. They had a steel drum, and it was like three older guys kind of doing a half-assed reggae, where they could have done with a whole-assed anything else. The guitar player was pretty good, but again, saddle it with suck, and the whole thing goes under quickly. I drank a lot, without really realizing it, so I probably was less scathing than I might have ordinarily been, had all my senses been as acute as they often are.

A special highlight to Sharkey's was enjoying the cell phone conversation of some jackass who worked there while I was using the bathroom on our first visit. It consisted of something like this:

“Yo – yeah, I'm at work. I don't know, like 9, or 10? Are you there? Are you THERE? Are you AT THE CONCERT? Are you THERE? Yes. No. Oh yeah. Cool. Is there free beer? Is there free beer? All you can drink? ALL YOU CAN DRINK? ALL YOU CAN DRINK?”

Something to that effect. Mmm hmm.

But the REAL highlight to the dinners was the DIRTY PIRATE HOOKER. As soon as she sat down, my sister, brother-in-law and I exchanged glances, and collectively muttered “well, you're just a dirty pirate hooker. Why don't you go back to your home on whore island” and then proceeded to laugh our collective asses off. This lady was a piece of work! Bopping to the mediocre music, wearing her half-shirt pirate blouse, while I can only assume her date was vacillating between thoughts of “I'm totally scoring with this nasty chick” and “What the hell is my problem? I should probably kill myself because I have obviously lost any sense of standards for the quality of my life”.

Check out these AWESOME pics. Oh yeah.

Yes, Sharkey's is a veritable goldmine of wacky folks. A real high water mark on The People Show, every time I'm there.

Long Weekend, Vol.1: Sunshine... On My Shoulder... Makes Me... Cranky?

2007-11-20T17:18:00.000-05:00

So I decided to join my family on a trip to Florida recently, as I desperately needed a change of scenery, as well as some massive bourbon intake and possibly a few rounds of golf. Also, it's nice to have some time to tinker with my Eee, as I've been busy lately. I'm actually writing this from my new BFF the Eee PC, which has absolutely changed the way I think about the world around me. It is seriously the most awesome thing I have ever owned, and that's saying a lot, because I have a lot of cool crap, and anyone who knows me also knows that this borders on heresy, as I love my Treo more than life itself. But I digress.

In entering the airport, I remembered I haven't flown in a long time, and my brother-in-law (who flies constantly for work) was running down “the rules” for me.

“Take out your laptop and have it ready.”

“Ok.”

“And your cell phone, and your DS.”

“Right.”

“And did you bring any lotions, or shampoos, or hair crap?”

“Well, some...”

“You have to have them ready, But don't worry, they probably won't check them anyway.”

I start to feel my face get hot, as the situation becomes more ridiculous...

[And this is why I don't fly often – it's security theater at its best. A bunch of trained apes, pretending to keep us safe. It's absolutely silly.]

I decided I would calm down, as opposed to getting hauled off by TSA goons, and in my flustered state, forgot to take a bunch of metal shit out of my pockets and off of me. So when I walked through the metal detector, I went off like the 4th of July. It was kind of awesome, actually. I made everyone wait longer. Ha.

So then we board the plane, and I notice that in the years since I have flown, things are different all over. Like for instance, those big old bland, boring jetways that you use to board your plane are now emblazoned with HSBC logos, because they want you to know that no matter what flight you're on, they're partly responsible for you being on it. Without them, you would have had to leap from the terminal gate to the plane, and you probably would have twisted an ankle at the very least. Thank God HSBC was there to provide a way for me to go on vacation. Without them, I'd be bloodied and broken on the runway in Newark, and in no way enjoying my time on vacation.

We decided to fly first class. Let me just say that if the difference between coach and first class is like a hundred bucks (which it was in this case), do not hesitate to do it. Within 5 minutes of boarding the plane, I had a whiskey in my hand as all the other shlubs glared at me enjoying my delicious JD and reading Electronic Gaming Monthly (nerd alert), as though I didn't have a care in the world. I felt like a king, and the realization that every time I was getting to the bottom of my glass another drink came was only reinforcing this fact. The dinner was freaking amazing, and I streched out in my seat like I was at home.

The lone downfall was the kindly old German businessman who COULD NOT STOP FARTING NASTY TOXIC FUMES as I tried to relax. Other than that, it was totally rad. It seemed to take no time at all, and suddenly I was in Florida, totally ready to rock.

Only problem was, we landed in Tampa, and our house is in Venice, an hour away.

[Hmm.]

Good thing I had like, a million whiskeys on the flight. I'm in a fantastic mood. We go to rent our car and on my way to the bathroom, Feist's 1-2-3-4 comes on, and I have two thoughts simultaneously:

1. She's completely penetrated the market in a way she probably didn't expect when she's being played in a car rental facility (as opposed to like Michael Bolton or Sheryl Crow or something)

2. I still freaking love this song, despite its complete and unmitigated market penetration. So I start stepping in time with it, on my way to get rid of all the whiskey I sloshed during the plane ride. And I see a completely messed-up physically disabled guy calmly and casually rocking out as I passed, obviously enjoying Feist as much as I was, and I had a third thought:

3. Rock on, dude.

We get to Venice, and I have one further thought: where am I going to buy more whiskey at this hour? Luckily for me, there is an Albertson's open, and I pick up a handle of JD. The old guy behind the counter at the liquor store mutters something about not having much time to browse, to which I reply we wouldn't need hardly any. Because I am on a mission at the liquor store – surgical strike. No questions asked. In and out.

I love how I can make borderline alcoholism seem like it's so cool. Kind of loserly, kind of awesome.

We drink, listen to some tunes, I sloppily shower, fall asleep on a pullout bed that's roughly as comfortable as a slab of concrete with rebar exposed. Oh, also, it's freezing in the room I'm sleeping in. Yeah, exactly. Freezing? Florida? DOES NOT COMPUTE. Totally. And what's the only thing I find to stay warm?

Pillow shams.

Unbelievable.

Yes, I Know. And I Don't Need It From You, Too.

2007-11-01T20:34:00.000-04:00

Despite the fact that I claim this is supposed to keep my brain active and writing, I find that it's been like, three weeks since my last post. Between Job 1 (which pays most un-handsomely, but offers health benefits) and Job 2 (which is a business that we're trying to grow into something better and more rewarding) I have almost no time to sleep, let alone sputter amusing observations into the cybervoid of the 'TuB3s.

For all two of you (you know who you are), sorry. One of you knows exactly why the drought occurred. Nothing I can do, save chastise myself into doing more posts. And with this kind of schedule, who can find time to berate oneself into creative endeavors?

So to recap: I'm a loser with no life, and I don't even have time to blog about having no life. Which makes the situation ultimately more depressing. Plus, it's getting cold, and surfing has kind of given way to sitting at my desk and eating things like huge eggplant parm subs for dinner, which is doing NOTHING good for my self-esteem.

Enough about that.

Things I have been doing - downloading TV shows I don't have time to watch and occasionally catching an episode here and there. Current faves include Dexter (great), Californication (pretty funny), Weeds (natch, although this season is kind of lacking, as any fan of the show will agree), and that new Bionic Woman (surprisingly entertaining).

Things I have found incredibly annoying - Earth. I just don't get it. Has anyone noticed we're rearing an entire nation of emotionally crippled, criminally self-entitled babies with superiority complexes?

Probably not, but I'll let you in on a little secret when we all get old: WE'RE FUCKED.

Yes, it's true, kids today are a mess. And not the way that Elvis shaking his ass made kids a mess, and how hippies made kids a mess, and how KISS made kids a mess, and how Madonna made kids a mess. I mean a real mess. They don't want to do anything for themselves and they don't have to. Mommy Self-Esteem Booster will do it. And Daddy-Shut-Up-And-Buy-Me-Those-Uggs will fall in line too. And these kids are like feral, Lord of the Flies kids. They don't see a reason why what you say or do makes any sense. If it's not insanely fun or benefits them in some way, they're done. They're obnoxious, they're spoiled, and they're taking over.

Granted, there are good kids, but they're harder to find. And it's not those kids who end up making decisions that affect kindly old cynical senior citizens who want nothing more than to while away their last remaining hours scouring the Blue Nowhere for gadget news from Asia. The mean kids are the ones that are going to cut our elderly funds short and leave us to die in the street like animals.

But tomorrow's Friday, right!?

Sorry. That wasn't very funny.

Ok. Close it out happy. Things I am excited about - seeing Coheed and Cambria at the end of the month; this awesome freaking thing; candy corn; bourbon (always); I think I may buy a Roomba, both to satisfy my hatred for vacuuming, and also because I think I will be less lonely.

Make of that what you will.

[slurps whiskey]

Sweet salvation.

All The Things I Saw And Didn't Share

2007-10-06T17:58:00.000-04:00

As some of my BFFs know, I have been retardedly busy lately. I read all my fave blogs and occasionally comment, but work has been just absolutely ridiculous. So I'm writing this weekend to apprise you, much as I did a few weeks back, of things I wanted to talk about but have been unable to, due to schedule constraints.

Really, and truly, this is a bunch of horseshit, because I could make time if I wanted to, and I really should, because what's the point of life if I'm not making time for the things I like doing? So I promise to try to make a commitment to myself to make more me-time in the future. And if you happen to reap the benefits of said me-time, so be it. And if you don't give a crap at all about any of this, which is totally understandable, that's fine too, because I am perfectly aware that the world doesn't revolve around me, blah blah blah.

So, let's get started.

Faces In Places - this blog is great. Just pictures of random stuff that happens to look like faces. Some of them are asinine, some of them are brilliant.

You already know about the free mustache rides.

The One Laptop Per Child project's XO laptop is making quite a splash in the world, and now you have an opportunity to do something good for a child, as well as procure yourself the coolest new gadget going. Being that I am a nerd gadget freak and also have recently discovered a philanthropic side of myself, the Give 1 Get 1 program is right up my alley. I like the idea that I will be helping some impoverished child in another country become a little more geeky and will be rewarded for my generosity in kind with said gadget. Whatever, I'm a dork, it's still nicer than anything you did this week.

Gizmodo reports on the Art Lebedev remote that's coming out. For those who don't know, Art Lebedev makes normal computer/home entertainment-type stuff, but really expensive and with really slick design/looks. This thing however, reminds me of those candy dots stuck on paper (you have to click the link for that to make any sense). Which are totally rad in their own right, but not as a medium for controlling a home theater. They're better for like, riding your bike around the neighborhood at the beach and biting off while avoiding the little paper flakes that invariably get stuck on them when you eat them. And then maybe you run into a girl you like, and you have rainbow mouth, with paper stuck to your lips, and she assumes you're a retard on acid.

BLADE RUNNER! BLADE RUNNER! BLADE RUNNER!

Probably my all-time favorite movie, and that's saying something, Blade Runner is being re-released to theaters and with the subtitle "The Final Cut". Needless to say, I almost pooped in my pants when I heard about this, and completely gives me something to look forward to, other than my birthday, and seeing Coheed and Cambria in November. If you don't like Blade Runner, I will fight you. Also, you may have mental problems, and should consult a doctor.

That's all I got for now. I will try to write more frequently, as these built-up explosions don't help any of us.

Now, to enjoy some delicious whiskey. I surfed today, in some sick-ass storm waves, and had my ass handed to me, but also snuck a few hits in against Poseidon in the process. Nothing gets me feeling more alive than being absolutely brutalized by nature and then drinking lots of whiskey.

Push Brooms For Everyone!

2007-10-03T18:16:00.000-04:00

I know, it's been like, almost two full weeks since I said anything at all. Sorry. Life sucks, what can I say.

BUT!

There's hope.

Look at THIS!

I feel like when I find little things like this, it makes my life that much more worth living.

And so many nerdy things have happened in the world, I don't even know where to start. Perhaps this weekend, I will force myself to make a few posts. In the meantime, enjoy what might be the sweetest blog ever.

Such A Busy Little Bee

2007-09-21T18:52:00.000-04:00

Between my two jobs, and my affiliation with SisterKisser, I don't have a whole lot of down time anymore. Add in all the time I spend scouring the Int4Rw3Bs for cool things and freeware for my Treo, and I have even less. Then there's the drinking. I mean, it happens while those things are going on sometimes, but to be a professional, you have to really commit to it and make the time to train.

So to all four of you who actually read my crap, I apologize for not being as diligent as I could be. Work is a bitch right now, and I haven't hit my autumn stride yet. Give it time. So since it's the end of the week, I figured one big post to coverall my bases should suffice. Here we go. Things that that I found out this week:

Someone is making an ice cream machine that dispenses ice cream based on how depressed you sound. Well, let me tell you something. I can sound pretty goddamned sad when I want some ice cream and no one's giving it to me, so I'd probably put that thing through its paces far too quickly.

Weeds is a really awesome show. I never watched it before, and friends of mine tried to get me into it earlier this year to no avail (I don't have Showtime). But I found some episodes online and if you haven't seen it, check it out. It's pretty addictive, and that's not a pun because it's a show about drugs. I'm beyond that.

Whiskey is still delicious, and allows me to remain a person who does not feel the need to go on killing sprees because the world around him makes no sense and drives him to madness. Let's all say a silent prayer for that one.

And the bestest thing EVAR! Some absolute genius and my future BFF has created a home theater setup in a strikingly remarkable likeness of the control deck of the DEATH STAR. This is easily the coolest thing I have ever seen, and completely reaffirms my faith in humanity, also allowing me to avoid the aforementioned killing sprees.

I MUST know more about this. I'm thinking about sending fan mail, that's how much I love it.

Well, I'm off to the beach to hit the water tomorrow. Let's just hope Poseidon cooperates. But then again, it's supposed to be 80 degrees, and there's always the Turkey to keep me company...

Wii Are Freaking Old

2007-09-14T12:49:00.000-04:00

I'm all for Nintendo's phenomenal plan to undermine the recent trends in the videogame industry by creating a game platform that appeals to a wide variety of individuals, the most publicly notable ones being senior citizens with the Wii. But something about this picture is disturbing.

I know I should be like, "Oh, aren't they cute! Look how they swing that Wiimote around like they're 62 again!" but in all actuality, this image bothers me. Maybe it's the fact that they both look like they're seriously messed up. If these were young people, I'd assume something like they were drunk, but I know that is most likely not the case here, and I'm left with a strange mix of revulsion and pity. I just want to look away, whereas I should want to hug them and praise them for being so fun and willing to try new things.

Nope, just not happening.

Also, this just in, I'm going to hell. Big surprise.

Oh...

2007-09-13T13:04:00.000-04:00

And my MySpace page access has been restored, for those of you keeping score at home.

Strange Fantasies, Fulfilled By Old British People

2007-09-13T12:55:00.000-04:00

From BoingBoing:

A retired British couple has taken up permanent residence in a motorway-side Travelodge motel, consummating their love affair with the chain, which began when they stayed at one while looking after a sick relative.

"There is always something going on outside our window," said Mr Davidson, 79, a former Royal Navy sailor and war veteran, in the couple's room beside the A1.

"Our room looks out to the car park and a busy slip road where lorries pass by throughout the night.

"We have everything we need here - and the staff are like family now. We only have to walk across the car park for meals.

"There is just no reason why we'd want to go home."

When I was in college, I used to talk to my friends all the time about this weird fantasy I had where I lived in a Florida motel and just, well, watched. I would go buy beer at the Circle K nearby, as well as large amounts of beef jerky, take in a little midget wrestling on TV, wear only banged-up jeans and wifebeaters, grow nasty facial hair, and sport a mesh cap of some kind, presumably with John Deere or something like that on it.

I thought about this all the time. I convinced myself it was a valid sociological experiment, tantamount to Jane Goodall living among primates. It seemed like such a great idea, it became a focal point of my thoughts for a while.

I still think about it sometimes, just vanishing, and popping up again eventually in this way. Perhaps documenting it, writing, photographing things, or just living in that state for an extended amount of time.

On The Rocks

2007-09-10T19:19:00.000-04:00

You know what I love? Glitchy MySpace problems! I love love LOVE them. So yesterday, I am doing some things, whatever, responding to a message or two, log out.

Come back later, password does not work. Better yet, now I get sent to a screen with a captcha, which clicks back ON ITS OWN to the login page, that is still not working. So not only can I not log in, I can't even verify my account status, because the page is reloading itself too quickly.

Really MySpace?

Really?

Haven't we been getting along lately? I've been pleased with your subtle upgrades over time, and I really kind of figured we had an understanding. I wouldn't overuse you, and you would be there for me, when I need to feel like I'm not a monstrous hermit who alienates himself from everything around him because of deep-seated masochistic tendencies.

And now this.

*sigh*

"MySpace - A Place For Friends"...

I really thought we were. I guess I'm just stupid that way.

Summer '07, We Hardly Knew Ye.

2007-09-03T10:23:00.000-04:00

I am soooooo absolutely bummed that my super-rad summer filled with awesomeness is over. Labor Day always sounds the death knell for the carefree days of alcohol abuse at the beach and wearing short pants with nary a care in the world, and nothing will ever change that, until I start living on one of the islands I started looking at on The Private Islands Blog. On my private island, I will be shirtless and full of whiskey each and every day, as I capture my dinner from the sea and get so tan and deranged from the sun that I am unrecognizable to friends and visitors.

Now, I love the fall - I mean, really like maniacally love it - the crispness in the air, pumpkin picking, carefree days of alcohol abuse in the woods, wearing sweaters with nary a care in the world... but nothing lights me up like the arrival of summer.

And I will be surfing all through September and into October, and the waves usually get really good, thanks to the Atlantic hurricane season. So I really can't lament it too much. But I will. Because I am a baby. Of the highest order.

I can feel good, though, about setting out to top the Summer of '03, which, prior to this summer was the front-runner for BSE (Best Summer Ever), and doing so, in spades. Now this is discounting the fact that certain other summers, say, in college, could have been considered BSEs based on different criteria, such as not working myself half to death, and having fewer responsibilities. But also, I was a poor slob then, and couldn't do/buy many things, so it all balances out somehow.

All in all, as Lioux will tell you, we're both big fans of the fall, and I'm sure it'll kick much ass. But for today, I shed a tear for my good friend summer.

Hmm...

2007-08-31T18:25:00.000-04:00

Speaking of real estate away from everyone...

I added this blog to my roll because I stumbled onto it from of all places, BoingBoing (God bless ya), and in reading it a little bit, it gives me hope for something much more ambitious then just being here in America, getting things done.

I like getting things done. Seriously. I like freaking love it. But five minutes on The Private Islands Blog makes me think about all the times I wanted to run away and surf alone and fish for my dinner and just be... simple.

I think I could leave all my techno-addictions behind if I had a good reason. Like living in paradise, and basking in the glory of unspoiled beauty.

Thoughts?

Epilogue

2007-08-31T12:26:00.000-04:00

Starting at 9am this morning, I think between 9-12, I was on the phone for at least an hour, maybe more.

[!]

30% of my morning, spent mired in conversation on the telephone.

[grumble]

My Undying Hatred For Telephone Conversation

2007-08-30T16:11:00.000-04:00

Now, before I get started, let's clarify. There are certain people, those who I don't get a chance to speak to very often, who garner special moments on the phone with me. That also includes pretty ladies, immediate family, and a very small group of friends.

However, I cannot escape the fact that I simply detest having to be on the phone most of the time. In my world, email (and text communication in general) is quicker, easier, and makes better use of my time than a protracted, wholly unnecessary phone conversation.

Part of it is that I hate the implied social pressure of being on the phone in the first place. Someone, an acquaintance let's say, calls you. If you don't have time for them, they get pissy. Well, perhaps you should have emailed first (ha-HA!) to find out when I would have time to talk to you, because now, I just don't.

Then there's the clients for whom email just doesn't cut it. They absolutely NEED to speak to you on the phone and waste your time, because they feel like they can. I shudder to think how these people would have done business before Alexander Graham Bell came along to make sense of their world for them. Seriously? In business, time is money, and you're wasting mine. These are usually the same kinds of people who insist on face-to-face meetings which I have almost NO tolerance for at all in the first place other than for introductions. I live my entire life in a virtual space, and don't even like talking to you on the phone! Why in God's name would I want to sit near you?

Then you've got the people who just call because their own lives are so boring, it helps quiet the voices in their heads if they call and bother you for a while.

"Hey. What's up? Not much, you? Yeah, I guess..."

I don't need these kinds of conversations. Ever. Again.

I know people are trying to be nice, and I am a monster. I know all this. I don't really care. People will tell me I'm antisocial, and there's something wrong with me, and they may be right on many levels. However, I'm sticking to my guns on this.

The written word was the de facto standard for all Earthly communication for CENTURIES, PEOPLE. Just because we HAVE the phone doesn't mean we NEED to use it. I have an Ace bandage - I don't wear it every day just because I can. I wear it when I absolutely need to, because it then serves a purpose.

Email is so much more natural than talking on the phone. You can take time to craft and revise a statement (as opposed to hanging in blank silence while the other person does the same), think about what you want to say (instead of blurting something out that may be the wrong thing), and do all of this on your own time, when you are comfortable doing so. Phone talking is so forced and aggravating, I do everything in my power to avoid it.

And the fact that the world would rather continue along this asinine path to communicative retardation than look at things a different way speaks volumes about why I have to start looking for real estate on other planets, or at least remote islands.

[Discuss.]

Need. Now.

2007-08-28T13:18:00.000-04:00

This is probably the best take on a little baby computer I've seen yet. Almost makes me cry, thinking how close they are to actually getting it right.

I would love one of these bad boys. For reals. Then I could do... uh, so much more than I currently do. Or something.

Anyone For A Flashback?

2007-08-28T13:15:00.000-04:00

This should do it for most of us. Although I don't know some of these local ones. It's still pretty cool... Saturday morning shivers. It sucks getting old.

[There used to be a video here. I can't do it from work, but I'll try to re-embed later. Dunno what happened.]

Work Sucks. But These Don't.

2007-08-22T12:30:00.000-04:00

I have been inundated with work lately, so my blogging muscles haven't been flexed in a few days. I apologize to all three of you who may occasionally read my rantings. In any event, if you really cared, you wouldn't give me crap about it. No one is, actually, I'm just saying that in preparation of a time when someone might.

Enough about that. Wired news just made my day/week/month/life/eternity with this little bugger.

Ladies and gentlemen, science finally does something right. I give you... Pocket Shots. Liquor in a small squeezable container, perfect for hiding at work, putting in one's pants to attend a screening of whatever movie you feel like overpaying for, church, uncomfortable dinners with the gf's parents (or friends if they're lame too)... the list goes on and on.

God bless America. It's not often I say that kind of shit, so you know this means something.

And did you notice which one is front and center? You got it! Aged Kentucky Straight BOURBON!!! *tear*

I Fucking Hate Winnie Cooper

2007-08-14T20:48:00.000-04:00

Full disclosure: this is a long post, because I got a bit carried away, but if you want to read something interesting, rock on. If you don't, then go log on to disneychannel.com or something and continue being a moron.

I realize this may seem a little, well, crazy, to put it mildly, but you know what? It needs to be said. Winnie Cooper, Kevin Arnold's long-time off-again, on-again, once and future love on that awesome compendium of all things glorious and uncomfortable, The Wonder Years, is a walking piece of monkey shit.

It seems like a harsh judgment, but as a kid watching the show, almost exactly the same age as Kevin was supposed to be, I couldn't help but find myself fascinated with not only his misadventures, but also with her, the object of his misplaced affections. I mean, I reveled in his moments of triumph with her, and felt every stinging disappointment when his finely crafted plans to ensnare her fell apart time and time again. However, as an adult, I see this torturous relationship for what it is: an evil, malicious little girl twisting a foolish young boy into knots, simply because she can.

Now believe me when I tell you, while not exactly a point of pride with me, I think I've seen just about every episode of this show and could make a lengthy argument for what I'm about to say. However, I'm going to try to offer the abridged version, if only to keep reader interest as high as I possibly can while grandstanding about a show that's been off the air for 14 years.

So anyway, here we go.

As I said, as a kid, she was a wraith that haunted both my and Kevin's thoughts. A dark beauty, I could see why he liked her. She was a friend, familiar and close, and he grew into her, as often happens with young love. She was always close, and smelled so good (I'm taking his word for it), what wasn't to love? But she was with him for a while, then broke it off, and dated assholes (don't they all), only to come back to him, justifying his infatuation. Then they break up again, with her being hot and cold and hot again, all the while dating, you guessed it, assholes. Kirk McCray? Come on. That guy was a class-A douchebag, and everyone knew it. Yeah, they finally get back together near the end of the show and are together for a while, but even then, she's fucking with his head, and then she gets that job at the country club in the 2-part series finale and makes out with that lifeguard... Christ, I'm boiling just thinking about it.

It's been airing on this cable channel twice a night. I've been DVR'ing it and catching up. As an adult, I see so much more than I did as a kid. I have dated girls just like Winnie. Sweet, pretty, nice... and pure, unadulterated evil. Granted, Kevin didn't exactly play every hand like a Texas Hold 'Em champ either, but we're not talking about the folly of young male affection here. I have some choice words for him too, but that's for another post. We're talking about that black-hole-in-knee-socks Winnie Cooper.

Kevin had some serious babes ready to rock, but he kept passing them up time and time again to be disappointed. Yes, I know, he dated some of them, but he never enjoyed it as much as he could have, because the idea of Winnie was festering like an open sore in the back of his mind, each day at school like salt in a wound, her smiling fiendishly as she rubbed it all in. I was watching an episode the other day, where I think they were in 9th grade, and this superfox Madeleine wanted Kevin for like 6 episodes in a row, and he kept blowing her off, and believe me, she was out of control. He could have been King Pimp if he succumbed to her feminine wiles, but NOOOO, he had to pine away for some ice queen who couldn't even admit she liked him. Finally something happened where he foolishly tried to make her jealous by dancing with this other girl and Winnie runs out of a party all upset, and Madeleine says something about "I don't know what the big deal with Winnie is anyway" and this idiot blows his stack and leaves, instead of being like, "Seriously, babe... wanna make out?", which he was absolutely in a position to say, with no fear of retribution or rejection.

I could go on for hours, (sadly) but that's the gist of it. I think some of you may see where I was headed with this, and before you recommend psychiatric help in the comments section, think about just how prescient that show was when it came to understanding relationships... if you were in an age group close to mine and watched it.

Bitch.

Let go, Kev. Let go.

Of course, as an adult, I can see things differently.

Ummm...

I guess I can't harbor those feelings forever, right?

And One More Thing...

2007-08-10T12:20:00.000-04:00

Did I miss the announcement that today was National Drive-Like-A-Total-Fucktard Day? Coming home from Jersey City (where I finally crashed out after playing some guitar and having some late night beersies), I almost got into about a million accidents and burst no fewer than 37 blood vessels in my eyes and head from screaming at morons who somehow received permission to operate motor vehicles in dangerously unsafe manners.

I can't wait to get back to the beach. I'm outta here. North Jersey can suck it.

Oh, also, I fell asleep in my sleeping bag on the floor, and I think I strained the intercostal muscles between my ribs, because it hurts to breathe. Yay!

40 Miles Of Bad Road (and Other Children's Stories)

2007-08-10T12:00:00.000-04:00

I have been spending most of my time at the beach, and since I can surf and drink whiskey at the beach, and ride a happy little bicycle around to do things, I have not been feeling very bloggy lately. But I had a meeting in North Jersey, so I had to come back up. While here, I dropped in on a very old friend of mine who was performing at a bar in Bayonne for some special b-day surprisery (his, not mine). It was great seeing him again and catching up.

Not so great? Having to watch the derailment of civilization that took human form at the bar. There was a woman there, and I say woman in the LOOSEST possible terms, only because there was what I assume was a skirt involved. It looked more like a denim prison for her disgusting fat body. And I thank God for the Chinese children who stitched it together with such care that it did not burst forth with the horror contained therein. I seriously think to see this person naked would cause instantaneous and uncontrollable vomiting fits, ended only when you put a gun barrel in your own mouth, looking forward to the searing hot taste of gunpowder to make it all go away.

Anywho, my friend, who is a lights-out guitarist, is trying to please the rabble in the pit by playing some covers, having told me this is a pretty good gig for some extra scratch. He's in the middle of his second set, when The Darkness (this is how I'll be referring to her from now on) starts whooping and slapping her knees, covered in layers of cellulite and evil, screaming:

"Playy shum BEEEETLES!"

He's already played some Beatles, you filthy drunk pig. He played "I'm Looking Through You" like a million years ago. Go back to your dirty pig whore planet.

Being a professional, he says, ok, I'm gonna do one or two more and then we'll do some Beatles too. Every time she looks around the bar, I grab my phone and start pressing buttons wildly in the hope that I look so busy she won't even consider coming anywhere near me.

So he goes into "Blackbird" which is a lovely song, and she's outside the door, sucking on a lung rocket (natch), when she comes staggering in, yelling.

"I know vfthis one! You were waiting... dark... arise!!!"

Yes. Those are the lyrics, fatty disgusto sauce. Thanks for sharing your gift with us. I think John probably shot himself again immediately after this. Just to be sure.

Now, I ask you. Is it really wrong of me to pray for alien overlords to seize control of our planet enslaving all but the most reverent to their whims? Really? I'd love to see this walking piece of human excrement fall at the hands of a vicious alien. Then he would turn to me and we'd laugh and drink much space whiskey while we talk about torturing all the people who watched American Idol and made it into the juggernaut of a talent vacuum that it is.

God, I Love The Internet

2007-08-03T12:44:00.000-04:00

Awesome (I love 2001. It makes my head hurt to think of how awesome it is.)

And this is just ridiculously awesome. I almost want to have kids just to send them to school with this. Once.

It's Shark Week Again!

2007-08-02T12:57:00.001-04:00

And my undying love of relentless killing machines who may rake several thousand razor-sharp teeth along my femur is bolstered by graphic footage of those very moments! As a person who engages in several ocean activities, some more extreme than others, I am always thinking about the rogue that may wander into my lineup, finding me unawares. Granted, we really don't have those kinds of problems where I spend most of my time in the water, but I've been in with sharks swimming nearby, and the largest one we've seen here was at least 10 feet long.

Now, I'll be the first to admit that this animal was a bit of an anomaly, but still. I have seen a few others, probably 4-6 feet, REALLY close to me. And usually, I just poop in my pants a little, and try to inconspicuously leave the water without splashing around, and then they leave and I regulate my adrenaline and go back in the water. And I love surfing so much that I could never give it up, no matter how many sharks I see.

But people always ask about it. And I always think about it. Just can't help it.

But if I have to listen to one more Aussie scientist praise them for being "hoighley eevulved killeng machaines" or "pehrfect predatahs", I may just lose it. Yet I keep on watching, even though I never seem to learn anything new, year after year. Shark Week just does that to me.

She's Leaving Home...

2007-07-30T19:46:00.001-04:00

I was casually flipping through the pages of PC World, or some other nerd-lication recently, when I found a most amusing advertisement. It was for a company that sells pre-configured computers the way Dell or Gateway would, but they cater to a slightly more PC-enthusiast crowd. I don't know or care how their machines are, but I'll tell you what, the person doing the ads is brilliant. Check out this picture of the ad:

Now I don't know if you noticed, but what makes this picture so freaking awesome is the girl. She is positively DISGUSTED with her boyfriend. And from the look of it, it could be any number of things that's causing her to be so perturbed.

First, he's wearing the same color shirt as her. That's gotta be pissing her off on some level, so he's got one strike for that. Then take a look at his hair. Obviously a satisfied Flowbee user, or perhaps he allows his blind retarded cousin in cosmetology school to practice on him. Who knows. But his vacant ass-tard expression may be the thing that's killing her, because it's indicative of his mental acuity, and frankly, after the brief examination thus far, he's not doing well there.

PS - she's actually kind of hot, so she has to be asking herself, what am I still doing with this buttnut? I mean, seriously. He looks like the kind of guy for whom Spike TV was invented, and she looks like she'd like to drive a spike into his brainstem. We all know where this is going. This picture is actually an amazing glimpse into the tiny black hole in every failed relationship the moment it begins to implode and one of the people says, "You know what? I can't do this."

The fact that so much of the ad is so red that it hurts is not really doing anything for me, but I'd still like to shake the hand of the photographer for capturing the painful final death rattles of this jackass effectively losing the hottest gf he's ever likely to have because he's so butt-tarded. In fact, the only problem I have with all of this is that she's with him in the first place, but we all know women make bad choices. Christ, coming to that realization took some agonizing time in the early years, but that's neither here nor there.

Ok. Zach Made Me Feel Better. I Love Him.

2007-07-25T17:50:00.001-04:00

Nuff said.

OMFG.

2007-07-25T17:34:00.000-04:00

This was almost enough to shake my post-tour, dead computer funk. Those of you who know me are aware that I love love LOVE Zach Galifianakis. Kanye West asked him to make a video. If you don't like Kanye, I don't give a crap. But PLEASE watch this video. I think if I drink a bit and then come watch it again, I may forget all about my problems.

Thank you, Jesus.

Zach doing Kanye

Goodbye, Old Friend

2007-07-25T16:20:00.000-04:00

It's official. My G4 is gone. It's only been like 4 years and change, and the way I babied that thing, I thought we'd be together forever. It sucks. I didn't want to buy a new computer. I had talked myself out of it so many times to remain loyal to the old girl, but then she just up and left.

Typical. Women always leave when you need 'em to stay. You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille.

Ugh.

2007-07-24T15:18:00.000-04:00

As those of you who have been keeping up with SisterKissing already know, we're back from our tour. And I am bummed out. I had so much fun while we were away, I just keep sitting here, unable to re-adjust to my work landscape. I'm already planning other small trips for the rest of the summer to keep the buzz. I'm bored.

And cranky.

And a little sweaty. But that doesn't mean anything, because I was sweaty all through the trip.

I met new people and had an awesome time, and now I come home, and my Mac is dead.

So I can't even sit and reminisce in a good mood, because I have a dead computer sitting here.

I'm so uber-pissed, I may start drinking now.

Road tripping...

2007-07-15T15:40:00.000-04:00

We'll be away, as everyone knows by now, and if you don't, well, who cares about you anyway.

Check out our road blog here at SisterKissing.

Check back on the 23rd or thereafter for more crap here...

Friendly reminder

2007-07-13T15:13:00.000-04:00

No sex in the woods tonight, guys. And definitely don't investigate any strange noises.

Road Warriors

2007-07-13T12:07:00.001-04:00

As many of you already know, Lioux and I will be leaving tomorrow morning for SisterKisser's summer tour. I am bringing my sweet laptop, so we will be posting whenever we can. It's a busy time for us, but I convinced him we can write during long spells in the car and then just upload when we get someplace with a wireless connection.

However, I don't want anyone to get upset if it takes us longer than usual to post. It doesn't mean we don't love you. It just means we need space to do "our" things, you know? It shouldn't be a reflection of our feelings for you. If you had enough self-esteem, I wouldn't even have to say this, but your last bf really messed with your head. God, if I run into that guy, forget about it.

OMG! OMG! OMG!

2007-07-13T12:04:00.000-04:00

I can't WAIT for Halloween this year!!!!

I mean, I'm not really buying it, but can you imagine how SICK it would be?

See the rest of the info here.

Lexicon

2007-07-13T10:24:00.000-04:00

whorbit [hawr-bit]

-noun; the path a slutty girl takes around a room of people at a bar or other meeting place to determine the recipient of her morally questionable affections for that particular evening.

Did you see the girl with the Strokes t-shirt in the corner?

Yeah, she passed by me a little while ago when I crossed her path of whorbit.

Just a lil' help for y'all.

2007-07-09T11:55:00.001-04:00

This really only applies to fellow blogonauts. So everyone else, go back to your lives. Pretend I never got your attention in the first place. Go. Now.

Ok, now that they're gone... I was reading about a backup service called BlogBackupOnline, and decided to try it, because I figured I ought to have all this crap saved somewhere, just in case, and it works pretty well. If you want to take a look, go here. And it's free. There's desktop clients you can run too, but I tried this first, and it seems rather full-bodied. Haven't needed to call on its restorative powers yet, but it's intuitive enough to figure out. I think.

If this is old news to everyone but me, feel free to pepper me with obnoxious comments. Keep in mind, however, that I am still a bit of a noob to most of this bloggy silliness, although not to computery ephemera.

That is all.

The Sodomizing of Childhood

2007-07-09T09:45:00.000-04:00

Yes, I'm of course speaking about the Transformers movie. What the hell did your depraved mind assume? Some kind of damp basement, creepy down-the-street neighbor kid moment? Sick bastard. He wasn't creepy. We were friends. At least we were before it got all "weird" and he started dating Tiffany. But I digress.

Any nerd kid worth his salt craps his pants at the mere mention of the legendary Transformers property. And any nerd kid grown-up who has a blog can extol the virtues of the Transformers and rip apart the new movie. Truth is, it wasn't half bad. I guess I got exactly what I assumed I would get. Giant robots beating the snot out of each other, humans scrambling to get out of the way, typical Michael Bay-level ass-drama complete with stupid jackass dialogue. And a retardedly hot girl I've never seen until yesterday. I mean, she was ridiculous. Her presence totally bumped the movie up another couple pegs easily.

So let's see what we can take away from this.

Things that were cool:

- Mega-hottie Megan Fox (holy crap)
- John Turturro's in it, which is kinda cool, although his character was rather douchy
- Giant robot combat (of course)
- Bazillion dollar explosions and special effect sequences that almost make your brain hurt, that's how over the top they are
- Guy who originally did Optimus Prime's voice returned (nice)

Things that can suck it:

- RAMPANT product placement

I get it, but it's so far gone now. It used to be kind of funny to be like "ooh - he's drinking a can of Coke! Ha!" but now it's out of control. Every time I was able to re-focus my eyes after a brain-melting action sequence, someone was whacking away on an HP laptop, while driving a Chevy vehicle, and enjoying some iPod action... and so on.

- Actual Transformer dialogue

I mean the bots themselves. It sounded at times like the stuff coming out of their mouths was written by the staff of some ass-tastic MTV reality show. Who ever heard a giant alien robot mutter "My bad" when he crushes a fountain in someone's front yard? What ever happened to robots just saying sorry? Or, for that matter, not saying anything because when you're trying to save a planet, does a garden decoration really matter? Really?

- Everyone else's dialogue

I know we're all supposed to be cheeky and witty while we perform our duties and save the world at every turn, but everyone in this movie spoke as though they (the characters themselves) knew they were in a summer blockbuster. Kids, parents, adults, robots, dogs, cats, cars, trucks, Ding Dong snack treats (zing! product placement!). For instance, Jon Voight is in this movie. JV is a total badass in most things. He's good at it (think cold-blooded NSA dude from Enemy Of The State). Yet here he was delivering lines that someone in his position (Secretary Of Defense, as it were) would have been strung up for. It just doesn't work; you gotta have the gov't dudes be really stodgy and mean and the young upstart kid be all snarky. Which he is, but that's a given.

Well, I could go on and on about this, but that's what the rest of the INtarW3bs are for. And certainly some bigger nerds than me have given it a good rake over the coals already. But if you like watching big things blow up and hot girls escaping the things blowing up, you may want to check it out. Just don't get your hopes up for it to unseat (insert-name-of-your-favorite-movie-here) in your life.

And for God's sake, buy something, or all that product placement was a total waste.

The Spirit of America - Explosives and Liquor

2007-07-05T12:08:00.000-04:00

Well, I had a fan-fricking-tastic 4th of July at the beach, in spite of the fact that the weather suuucked. I was in such a cranky mood early on because I had that feeling like, I don't know what to do, but I don't really want to do anything, but I can't start drinking yet, because it's too early, and I'm bored, but I don't want to watch a movie... you know the feeling. So I had a delicious lunch at Taco Bell, which is not my first choice for Mexican fare, but was there and beckoning me. One Crunchwrap Supreme later, I was ready to take on the day with renewed vigor.

I got back to the beach and decided, hey, I know I'll be disappointed, but let me take a look at the water anyway. I really wanted to go surfing, and I was feeling stubborn. I went in anyway, and caught some rad waves but got tossed around like a sock in a dryer because it was really windy and rough and the swell was building. Tired, but satisfied, I left the water, victorious over nature once again.

Then came the shower. Then came the drinking. Then came the party, the friends, and the exploding of the fireworks. Then the lethargy, the uncomfortable notion that I drank a bit too much, and finally sleep. The fireworks were awesome. I've never been on the beach actually under fireworks, and a lot of people were going crazy blowing them off. I totally thought at some point a child would wander into the fray and get something blasted clear off his/her small body, but no such harm befell the evening. It was cool though, because a friend of ours brought a trunk full of military-grade stuff that proved to be pretty freaking fun.

And the best part was that there were so many people doing it, the cops didn't even bother showing up! It was super cool. Quite a spectacle, indeed.

Is there anything more indicative of a freedom celebration than drinking a lot and blowing things up? I seriously doubt it. And if there is, I'd like to see it.

Whiskey, whiskey, yum yum yum.

2007-07-03T17:00:00.000-04:00

As some of you already know, my go-to day-to-day BFF whiskey is Wild Turkey, for its sippability as well as perfect price point. Sure, I like the fancy stuff, and have been known to drop plenty of the really fancy stuff at holidays (ask me sometime about Glenlivet 21-year old single malt at Christmas time and you'll see a wiiide grin creep across my face). But by and large, as I said, it's all about the Bird. Sometimes, though, I scan the rest of the shelf, just to see who he's keeping company with. The last time I picked up some 5-minute-mood-changer at my favorite neighborhood spirits distributor, I noticed some odd neighbors.

Old Overholt Straight Rye Whiskey. The dude on the label looks very much like that most awesome of awesome forefathers, G-Dub. (BTW, please click this link, because it is one of the most piss-your-pants worthy things I've seen in a long while.) I mean, we all know this guy was a serious badass, so it stands to reason that any beverage kind of sort of almost bearing his resemblance must be pretty rad too, right? The guy had teeth made of WOOD, people. Wood. He made a tree go in his mouth. Pretty awesome by my standards.

Rebel Yell. The pride of the piece of our country that never really wanted to be a piece of our country. I didn't even think it was legal to sell this north of the ass-end of Virginia, but here it is, in all its Dixie-lovin' glory. I wonder, if you drink enough of this, do you begin hating blacks and gays? Do female family members begin looking just a bit more... tasty... than before? Perhaps we'll do a controlled experiment sometime.

My personal favorite, Fighting Cock. Any whiskey that slaps a warbird like this on its label deserves a taste. Tired after a long day at work? Feel like kicking back with some organized animal slaughter? Do you just like watching birds peck the shit out of each other? FIGHTING COCK. Fighting Cock is life - everything else is just details.

I really should get a buddy of mine to have a tasting with me. Perhaps in the spirit of the day we should make sure we have a busted-ass car on blocks, and one of us should convince a hot cousin to saunter by in shorts. Or something.

The Five-Point Plan

2007-07-02T15:51:00.000-04:00

First of all Rat, you never let on how much you like a girl. "Oh, Debbie. Hi."

Two, you always call the shots. "Kiss me. You won't regret it."

Now three, act like wherever you are, that's the place to be. "Isn't this great?"

Four, when ordering food, you find out what she wants, then order for the both of you. It's a classy move. "Now, the lady will have the linguini and white clam sauce, and a Coke with no ice."

And five, now this is the most important, Rat. When it comes down to making out, whenever possible, put on side one of Led Zeppelin IV.

Do not question.

2007-06-29T12:11:00.000-04:00

Just please please please click this.

Hehe

2007-06-29T11:51:00.000-04:00

Not too shabby, and it being iDay and all, at least someone isn't absolutely FAWNING over this thing.

I heart XKCD!

2007-06-29T10:22:00.000-04:00

This webcomic is one of the greatest things I have ever seen. It is so good, and so often hits the mark as far as what it's trying to do. XKCD is, from its site, "A webcomic of romance, sarcasm, math, and language" and I don't even remember when I found it, but I LOL almost every time. You really have to be a hardcore geek to get some of it. But some of it is really honest and funny and cool. Today's just struck my fancy, and you only need a BA in Geek Studies with a minor in Movie Nerdisms to understand it. Oh, and a heart, which in my case, depending on the day is a tougher thing to come by. I lucked out today.

I split it into two panels for better blog-splayin' - visit xkcd.com for more goodness...

Birth of a word

2007-06-28T18:29:00.001-04:00

I went to leave a comment on Colleen's totally awesome blog, and she's got verification set up there, to keep the evil comment-bots at bay. I almost LOL'd because sometimes the words are utter nonsense, and then again, occasionally, one will randomly generate and be almost a real word. Just now I got this:

Now, I pose the question... what should "smenita" be? I can think of a few things.

1. n. A drink, although probably a gross one

"Hey - we were in Guadalajara, and some dude made me drink a smenita. The next morning was NOT pretty."

2. adj. Some kind of slang a Latino street tough mutters as his gang corners an unwitting target

"Smenitaaaa... you in the wrong neighborhood, ese..."

That's if you're pronouncing it "smeh-nee-tah" - if you say "smeh-n-EYE-tah"...

3. n. A condition of the rectum, commonly known among sufferers as "swampass" (that could work, right? It almost sounds legit!)...

"There's really no need to worry, ma'am. As soon as Derek gets home from soccer practice, just have him get right in the shower and afterward, remind him to dry well and use powder, preferably something cornstarch-based. That should alleviate the smenita, at least in the interim."

Wow, that last one kind of got away from me... hehe. That's what happens when I start talking about butts.

Now - let's really flesh this out. Give me some other ones. This has some potential, but I'm tired, and I already thought of three. Go! Be prolific!

Saturday morning, it'll all be over.

2007-06-28T16:43:00.001-04:00

This iPhone hysteria is reaching fever pitch. I can't read a single tech blog without it utterly dominating everything. It's just so tiring. I want to sleep when I hear about the thing now. It's like an environmentally-triggered narcoleptic fit. And this guy is the #1 in line in NYC.

It's really time for this to stop. Feeling sleepy just looking at his fat, sweaty, hairiness.

OMG!

2007-06-28T09:40:00.000-04:00

Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy crap.

I am super busy today, but I saw this and HAD to share it. Mostly because I'm a total nerd, but MOSTLY 'cause it's AWESOME!

HOLY CRAP!

In case you don't know what you're actually looking at, I'll help. It's not just R2-D2. That would be silly. This is a DVD player/wall projector that looks like R2-D2! You can park him in your living room, stick a DVD into his little head, and he'll show you a movie!

Here's the link to look at it, but everything's in some crazy language made of nonsense shapes or something. I think it might be British.

And if I am correct, THE FREAKING MILLENNIUM FALCON IS A REMOTE CONTROL!

I need a shower.

Let's get physical.

2007-06-25T18:24:00.000-04:00

I have been trying to whip myself back into shape this spring after spending the winter becoming a shapeless, sedentary sackworth (yay alliteration!) and feeling the net results of such disregard for myself, namely crushing depression and weak, soft laziness. I have, thus far, had fairly respectable results in the 6-8 weeks since I started. Here are some discoveries about exercise that I have made recently, and that may save you some aggravation in the future. Maybe not.

1. Running kind of sucks.

It's true. I started running again because the day I snapped and finally decided enough was enough, all I could do was lace up and run like I had velociraptors chasing my lazy ass to make myself feel better. I soon realized, however, that the sneaky feeling of abdominal muzzle blast creeping up my esophagus would put me in my place rather quickly. Yes, that was the first day, and I eventually got my mileage and endurance where they should be, but even that has a downside. My lower back and knees hurt after I run, because in order to get better, I had to run more, and running more makes those things hurt. So I can't get excited about it anymore. I knew this, but I fought it for a few weeks. Running is definitely for people who like short shorts, too, and that is sooo not happening.

2. No matter how much you want it to be, Wii Sports is not really a great workout.

Sure, you sweat a little. And it's super rad and fun to play. But seriously? I got all fired up this winter when I saw that guy from Philly losing weight with his Wii, and when I was finally lucky enough to stumble onto one, I learned that it's not really that easy, unless you have The Metabolism of The Gods. And I don't. I tone up real fast, but that's it. No muscle building, and not much fat-burning after that. It's fun, though. And making yourself a Mii is freaking addictive. I spent more time doing that, seeing if I could accurately represent people with a series of hyper-exaggerated animated features, than actually playing the game itself. Now I have my whole family and modest group of friends created and trotting around the system. I'm a loser.

3. Billy Blanks is a crazy bastard.

I thought, ok, I'm sick of running, let me think... Cardio workout, something I can do around the house... TAE-BO! I made the mistake of Netflixing a Tae-Bo cardio workout. I kept up for about 7-8 minutes, and then these people started freaking the hell out! They were kicking and moving around like a bunch of infected people from 28 Days Later! This one girl next to Billy HAD to be jacked up on crystal meth. She was out of control. Screaming, sweating, kicking, saluting, the whole deal. It was scary. I stopped a few times and just stared at her, slack-jawed, that's how good it was.

I'm a pretty agile person - surfing pretty much makes that a prerequisite - but this was ridiculous. I suppose there's a learning curve and you need to practice the routine, but I felt like a fat kid doing a Bruce Lee impression for a bunch of really tight, fit people, who would presumably laugh their incredibly toned asses off if they didn't live in my TV.

(My sister informed me that I was crazy to try that particular workout and that there were others that were easier to start with - read: I'm a stupid, uncoordinated jackass with balance issues. She didn't mean it that way, but I made it that way to motivate myself to find something else.)

4. Treadmills give me motion sickness.

Running on the treadmill felt so good at first, because it's got a softer feel when your feet hit it. I ran and ran. And ran some more, thinking, pssh, I got this wired now. I'm awesome. I'm Forrest Gump. After about a half hour at a good pace, I stepped off the treadmill onto flat ground, and felt like my head had become unattached and was bouncing back and forth. I thought I might throw up, but no, just felt nasty instead. I tried this again another time, with similar results. You know, for scientific reasons. I wondered how many other people experience this phenomenon, and how many of them just don't care, because they'd rather look good than not feel like someone just shoved a turd sandwich in their mouth.

You know, 'cause a turd sandwich would totally make you gag and maybe barf.

Now I'm moving on. I picked up the Xbox 360 Dance Dance Revolution Universe the other day. I poo-pooed this game for years, because, well, dancing is dumb. But it's pretty fun, and there's some sucky music mixed with some good music, and it's good enough for fatties in West Virginia schools, so it must be good enough for me. But it's a hard game, and being a drummer and musician in general, the way they count the beats is counterintuitive to how I would in my head. So it's been a bit of an uphill battle. But that's an ongoing experiment. I'll report back later.

In the meantime, I think I'll go reward myself for getting sweaty with a delicious drinky poo. Because I have yet to work out my liver today.

Sweeeeet.

2007-06-24T23:55:00.000-04:00

Not that it would actually even be playable, but just looking at this guitar makes me salivate. It's like the best of rock-kickassness, coupled with Highlander.

GODS OF ROCK! HEAR MY CRY! ALLOW ME TO SMITE MINE ENEMIES!

Ok, it's been a long weekend. I'm done being a jackass.

Well, there you have it.

2007-06-22T09:18:00.000-04:00

There are certain questions the world will never be able to answer. How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll pop? Who left the cake out in the rain? Why does Carrot Top have a career (and who allowed him to get juiced up and lift - I mean have you seen his crazy ass lately)? How many shotgun blasts would it take to get rid of all the stupid in the world? And now we can add one more.

WHY THE HELL ARE WE REWARDING DECISIONS THAT WOULD HAVE MADE DARWIN CRY?

If the "Survival of the Fittest" theory had any truth to it, and believe me, for a while there, in certain ecosystems and among certain species, I thought it might have, then what I am about to tell you would not make any sense. And since what I am about to tell you is true, prepare to dismiss many other ideas/theorems/treatises/etc. you previously held to be true.

Microsoft, makers of that meh-p3 player, the Zune, have finally "caught wind" of the Tattooed Walrus and his efforts to ingratiate himself with these completely retarded publicity stunts. In a perfect world, and we all know what a Utopian wonderland that would be, MS would have already filed suit against this crime against humanity and hauled his badly-inked up "guns" into court under some kind of wacky trademark infringement nonsense.

Now, I just LOVE LOVE LOVE hearing about corporations completely bending the laws of our country to protect things like intellectual property, wishes, hopes, magic, and whatever else they think they own. Normally it makes me retch, because it speaks volumes about what we actually value around here. HOWEVER, in this case, I would have probably laughed so hard that both hemispheres of my ass would have fallen clear off, and I would have been fine with that.

But they're flying him out to HQ to meet the Zune team, walk around, be treated like some kind of asshat celebrity, and generally take credit and be praised for one of the worst goddamned decisions ever.

THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. Sending the wrong message, over and over again. Let's make this guy famous for doing nothing. He was uncreative enough to take someone else's boring artwork (term used liberally) and get it on his body. Corporate "artwork" no less. He might as well have gotten the Golden Arches on his fatty fatty fat fat somewhere, so he could enjoy the spoils of his efforts when McD's offers him all the trans fat and hydrogenated oils he can spill down his gullet.

I don't get it. I really don't. I suppose I should just learn to laugh and say "oh well, that's silly" and walk away. BUT I CAN'T. Instead, as it always has, it makes me angry. I can't help it. My brain doesn't work any other way. I'm going to go look at that picture of the cool baby stroller again and try to forget about this whole thing. I haven't even had my coffee yet.

Coolest Daddy EVAR.

2007-06-21T10:55:00.000-04:00

I saw this on Boing Boing, but Thingamababy (WTF?) is doing the detective work to get to the totally awesome bottom of this mystery. Who loves a little baby so much that they not only take it to Star Wars Celebration IV, but then do this to its little carriage-car thingy that it goes around in? The COOLEST DAD EVAR, that's who!

I had an AT-AT as a kid, and believe me, I played with that thing in every possible way, creating scenarios that could have fueled at least six more rad Star Wars movies. To have cruised in a sweet vehicle like this, while I crapped in my pants, well, I doubt my life could have even improved from that point. I guess I owe my parents a debt of gratitude, as I didn't peak in life at 14 months.

So apparently, they're trying to deduce the identity of the guy who did the work, and if I know the IntarrTub3s, we're going to have an answer shortly.

Sweet, creamy Christ.

2007-06-20T10:46:00.001-04:00

It's as though the new barometer for human achievement in our world is not success, or talent, or any other measurable positive attribute, but rather the lengths one will go to in order to socially whore oneself out. You do remember our fat jackass friend with the Zune tattoo, right? Well, as any of us who have tattoos know, it's really addictive. You get one, you love it, you look at it from every possible angle, and then immediately after it heals, you start thinking about what else you can get...

(thanks, endgaget)

Now, most of the time, your next tattoo surpasses the first one in a lot of different categories, because now that you've gotten the thing started, you're less hesitant to say, go bigger with the next one, or spend a little more to get something insane. Generally, and I am speaking in the most nebulous terms, of course, your next thought isn't "how can I make myself look like even more of an douchebag?", no matter HOW drunk you may be at that point. I'm pretty sure about this, because a lot of my friends have tattoos as well, and I'm always super jealous when they get new ones, because they always seem to go bigger and better.

I really can't remember a time when I looked at something one of them got and thought, "You dumb bastard. You're going to hate that in like, two years". But were I friends with this brainless piece of human excrement, I would, at this point, promptly declare that:

a) we are no longer friends, in any sense of the word,

b) that he is probably the dumbest person I know

and likely

c) at some point in the future, when our alien overlords finally exert their unmitigated wrath on our pissant of a planet, I will not only welcome the change and thank them, but immediately point them in his general direction, so that their extermination of the species can start with the absolute biggest asshole I know.

Holy crap

2007-06-19T14:12:00.000-04:00

This is really quite simple. These are the coolest drums ever, and I need them.

Lioux, let's make this happen.