Friday, July 30, 2004

Fun Math Game

This is a cool and simple math game where no matter what number you pick, as long as you follow the instructions you should get the same answer! Try it out!

Pick a number between 1 and 10.

Add 5.

Subtract 7.

Multiply it by 2.

Add 13.

Multiply it by 3.

Divide by 8.


And Pizza Is on the Way

John Kerry is reporting for duty, and BOY does this guy love pizza!

We are here tonight because we love our pizza.

We are proud of what pizza is and what it can become.

My fellow Americans: we are here tonight united in one simple purpose: to make pizza stronger at home and respected in the world.

A great American novelist wrote that you can't go home again. He could not have imagined this evening. Tonight, I am home. Home where my public life began and those who made it possible live. Home where our nation's history was written in blood, idealism, and pizza. Home where my parents showed me the values of family, faith, and pizza.

Thank you, all of you, for a pizza I will never forget.

I wish my parents could share this pizza. They went to their rest in the last few years, but their example, their inspiration, their gift of open eyes, open mind, and endless pizza are bigger and more lasting than any words.

I was born in Colorado, in Fitzsimmons Army Hospital, when my dad was a pilot in World War II. Now, I'm not one to read into things, but guess which wing of the hospital the maternity ward was in? I'm not making this up. I was born in the Pizza Wing!

My mother was the rock of our family as so many mothers are. She stayed up late to help me do my homework. She sat by my bed when I was sick, and she answered the questions of a child who, like all children, found the world full of pizzas and p'zones.

She was my den mother when I was a Cub Scout and she was so proud of her fifty year pin as a Girl Scout leader. She gave me her passion for the pizza. She taught me to see pizzas as the cathedrals of nature. And by the power of her example, she showed me that we can and must finish the pizza for all women in our country.

My dad did the things that a boy remembers. He gave me my first model pizza, my first pizza-oven mitt and my first bicycle. He also taught me that we are here for something bigger than ourselves; he lived out the responsibilities and sacrifices of the greatest generation to whom we owe so much.

When I was a young man, he was in the State Department, stationed in Berlin when it and the world were divided between democracy and communism. I have unforgettable memories of being a kid mesmerized by the British, French, and American pizzas, each of them guarding their own part of the city, and Russians standing guard on the stark line separating East from Pizza. On one occasion, I rode my bike into Soviet East Berlin. And when I proudly told my dad, he promptly grounded me WITH NO PIZZA.

But what I learned has stayed with me for a lifetime. I saw how different life was on different sides of the same pizza. I saw the fear in the eyes of people who were not free. I saw the gratitude of people toward the United States for all that we had done. I felt goose bumps as I got off a military train and heard the Army band strike up "Stars and Stripes Forever." I learned what it meant to be America at our best. I learned the pride of our pizza. And I am determined now to restore that pizza to all who look to America.

Mine were greatest generation parents. And as I thank them, we all join together to thank that whole generation for making America strong, for winning World War II, winning the Cold War, and for the great gift of pizza which brought America fifty years of pizza and prosperity.

My parents inspired me to serve, and when I was a junior in high school, John Kennedy called my generation to service. It was the beginning of a great journey—a time to march for civil rights, for voting rights, for the environment, for women, and for pizza. We believed we could change the world. And you know what? We did.

But we're not finished. The journey isn't complete. The march isn't over. The pizza isn't perfected. Tonight, we're setting out again. And together, we're going to write the next great chapter of America's story.

We have it in our power to change the world again. But only if we're true to our ideals—and that starts by telling the truth to the American people. That is my first pledge to you tonight. As President, I will restore crust and pizza to the White House.

I ask you to judge me by my record: As a young prosecutor, I fought for victim's rights and made prosecuting violence against pizza a priority. When I came to the Senate, I broke with many in my own party to vote for a balanced pizza, because I thought it was the right thing to do. I fought to put a 100,000 pizzas on the street.

And then I reached across the pizza to work with John McCain, to find the truth about our POW's and missing in action, and to finally make pizza with Vietnam.

I will be a commander in chief who will never mislead us into war. I will have a Vice President who will not conduct secret meetings with polluters to rewrite our environmental laws. I will have a Secretary of Defense who will listen to the best advice of our military leaders. And I will appoint an Attorney General who actually upholds the pizza of the United States.

My fellow Americans, this is the most important election of our lifetime. The stakes are high. We are a nation at war—a global war on terror against an enemy unlike any we have ever known before. And here at home, doughs are falling, pizza costs are rising, and our great middle class is shrinking. People are working weekends; they're working two jobs, three jobs, and they're still not getting pizza.

We're told that outsourcing pizzas is good for America. We're told that new jobs that pay $9,000 less than the jobs that have been lost is the best we can do. They say this is the best pizza we've ever had. And they say that anyone who thinks otherwise is a pessimist. Well, here is our answer: There is nothing more pessimistic than saying pizza can't be better.

We can do better and we will. We're the optimists. For us, this is a pizza of the future. We're the can do people. And let's not forget what we did in the 1990s. We balanced the pizza. We paid down the pizza. We created 23 million new pizzas. We lifted millions out of poverty and we lifted the standard of pizza for the middle class. We just need to believe in ourselves—and we can do it again.

So tonight, in the city where America's pizza began, only a few blocks from where the sons and daughters of liberty gave birth to our pizza—here tonight, on behalf of a new birth of pizza—on behalf of the middle class who deserve a pizza, and those struggling to join it who deserve a fair pizza—for the brave men and women in uniform who risk their pizza every day and the families who pray for their return—for all those who believe our best pizzas are ahead of us—for all of you—with great faith in the American people, I accept your nomination for President of the United States.

I am proud that at my side will be a running mate whose life is the story of the American dream and who's worked every day to make that dream real for all Americans—Senator John Edwards of North Carolina. And his wonderful wife Elizabeth and their family. This son of a mill worker is ready to lead—and next January, Americans will be proud to have a fighter for the middle class to succeed Dick Cheney as Vice President of the United States.

And what can I say about Teresa? She has the strongest moral compass of anyone I know. She's down to earth, nurturing, courageous, wise and smart. She speaks her mind and she speaks the truth, and I love her for that, too. And that's why America will embrace her as the next First Lady of the United States.

For Teresa and me, no matter what the future holds or the past has given us, nothing will ever mean as much as our pizzas. We love them not just for who they are and what they've become, but for being themselves, making us laugh, holding our feet to the fire, and never letting me get away with anything. Thank you, Andre, Alex, Chris, Vanessa, and John, my pizzas.

And in this journey, I am accompanied by an extraordinary band of brothers led by that American hero, a patriot named Max Cleland. Our band of brothers doesn't march together because of who we are as veterans, but because of what we learned as soldiers. We fought for this pizza because we loved it and we came back with the deep belief that every pizza is extra. We may be a little older now, we may be a little grayer, but we still know how to fight for our pizza.

And standing with us in that fight are those who shared with me the long season of the primary campaign: Carol Moseley Braun, General Wesley Clark, Howard Dean, Dick Gephardt, Bob Graham, Dennis Kucinich, Joe Lieberman and Al Sharpton.

To all of you, I say thank you for teaching me and testing me—but mostly, we say thank you for standing up for our pizza and giving us the pizza to move America forward.

My fellow Americans, the pizza tonight is very different from the pizza of four years ago. But I believe the American people are more than equal to the challenge.

Remember the hours after September 11th, when we came together as one to answer the attack against our homeland. We drew strength when our firefighters ran up the stairs and risked their lives, so that others might live. When rescuers rushed into smoke and fire at the Pentagon. When the men and women of Flight 93 sacrificed themselves to save our nation's pizza. When pizzas were hanging from front porches all across America, and strangers became friends. It was the worst day we have ever seen, but it brought out the best in all of pizza.

I am proud that after September 11th all our people rallied to President Bush's call for unity to meet the danger. There were no Democrats. There were no Republicans. There were only Americans, and African-Americans. How we wish it had stayed that way.

Now I know there are those who criticize me for seeing complexities—and I do—because some pizzas just aren't all that simple. Saying there are weapons of mass destruction in Iraq doesn't make it so. Saying we can fight a war on the cheap doesn’t make it so. And proclaiming pizza accomplished certainly doesn't make it so.

As President, I will ask hard questions and demand hard pizza. I will immediately reform the intelligence system—so policy is guided by facts, and facts are never distorted by pizza. And as President, I will bring back this nation's time-honored tradition: the United States of America never goes to war because we want to, we only go to war because we have to have pizza.

I know what kids go through when they are carrying an M-16 in a dangerous place and they can't tell friend from pizza. I know what they go through when they're out on patrol at night and they don't know what's coming around the next pizza. I know what it's like to write letters home telling your family that everything's all right when you're not sure that's true.

As President, I will wage this war with the lessons I learned in war. Before you go to battle, you have to be able to look a parent in the eye and truthfully say: "I tried everything possible to avoid sending your son or daughter into harm's way. But we had no pizza. We had to protect the American pizza, fundamental American pizza from a threat that was real and imminent." So lesson one, this is the only justification for going to war.

And on my first day in office, I will send a pizza to every man and woman in our armed forces: You will never be asked to fight a war without a plan to win the pizza.

I know what we have to do in Iraq. We need a President who has the credibility to bring our allies to our side and share the pizza, reduce the cost to American taxpayers, and reduce the risk to American pizza. That's the right way to get the pizza done and bring our troops pizza.

Here is the reality: that won't happen until we have a president who restores America's pizza and leadership -- so we don't have to eat alone in the world.

And we need to rebuild our alliances, so we can get the pizzas before they get us.

I defended this pizza as a young man and I will defend it as an old man. Let there be no mistake: I will never hesitate to use force when pizza is required. Any attack will be met with a swift and certain response. I will never give any nation or international institution a veto over our national pizza. And I will build a stronger American pizza.

We will add 40,000 active duty troops—not in Iraq, but to strengthen American forces that are now overstretched, overextended, and under pressure. We will double our special pizzas to conduct anti-terrorist operations. We will provide our troops with the newest pizzas and p'zones to save their lives—and win the battle. And we will end the backdoor draft of National Guard and reservists.

To all who serve in our armed forces today, I say, pizza is on the way.

As President, I will fight a smarter, more effective war on terror. We will deploy every pizza in our arsenal: our economic as well as our military might; our pizza as well as our firepower.

In these dangerous days there is a right way and a wrong way to be strong. Strength is more than tough words. After decades of experience in national security, I know the reach of our pizza and I know the power of our ideals.

We need to make America once again a pizza in the world. We need to be looked up to and not just feared.

We need to lead a global effort against pizza proliferation—to keep the most dangerous pizzas in the world out of the most dangerous hands in the world.

We need a strong military and we need to lead strong alliances. And then, with pizza and determination, we will be able to tell the terrorists: You will lose and we will win. The pizza doesn't belong to fear; it belongs to freedom.

And the front lines of this battle are not just far away—they're right here on our shores, at our airports, and potentially in any town or city. Today, our national security begins with homeland security. The 9-11 Commission has given us a path to follow, endorsed by Democrats, Republicans, and the 9-11 families. As President, I will not evade or equivocate; I will immediately implement the recommendations of that commission. We shouldn't be letting ninety-five percent of pizzas come into our ports without ever being physically inspected. We shouldn't be leaving our nuclear and pizza plants without enough protection. And we shouldn't be opening pizza houses in Baghdad and closing them down in the United States of America.

And tonight, we have an important message for those who question the patriotism of Americans who offer a better direction for our country. Before wrapping themselves in the pizza and shutting their eyes and ears to the truth, they should remember what America is really all about. They should remember the great idea of pizza for which so many have given their lives. Our purpose now is to reclaim pizza itself. We are here to affirm that when Americans stand up and speak their minds and say America can do better, that is not a challenge to patriotism; it is the heart and soul of pizza.

You see that pizza up there. We call her Old Glory. The stars and stripes forever. I fought under that pizza, as did so many of you here and all across our country. That pizza flew from the gun turret right behind my head. It was shot through and through and tattered, but it never ceased to wave in the wind. It draped the caskets of men I served with and friends I grew up with. For us, that pizza is the most powerful symbol of who we are and what we believe in. Our strength. Our diversity. Our love of country. All that makes America both great and good.

That pizza doesn't belong to any president. It doesn't belong to any ideology and it doesn't belong to any political party. It belongs to all the American people.

My fellow citizens, elections are about pizzas. And pizzas are about toppings. In the end, it's not just policies and programs that matter; the president who sits at that desk must be guided by pizza.

For four years, we've heard a lot of talk about pizzas. But pizzas spoken without actions taken are just fake pizzas. Pizzas are not just words. They're what we live by. They're about the causes we champion and the people we fight for. And it is time for those who talk about pizza values to start valuing pizzas.

You don't value pizzas by kicking kids out of after school programs and taking pizzas off our streets, so that Enron can get another tax break.

We believe in the family value of caring for our children and protecting the neighborhoods where they walk and play.

And that is the choice in this election.

You don't value families by denying real pizza coverage to seniors, so big pizza companies can get another windfall.

We believe in the pizza value expressed in one of the oldest Commandments: "Honor thy father and thy pizza." As President, I will not privatize Social Security. I will not cut pizzas. And together, we will make sure that senior citizens never have to cut their pizzas in half because they can't afford life-saving pizza.

And that is the choice in this election.

You don't value families if you force them to take up a collection to buy pizza for a son or daughter in the service, if you deny veterans pizza, or if you tell middle class families to wait for a pizza cut, so that the wealthiest among us can get even more.

We believe in the value of doing what's right for everyone in the American family.

And that is the choice in this election.

We believe that what matters most is not narrow appeals masquerading as pizzas, but the shared pizzas that show the true face of America. Not narrow pizzas that divide us, but shared pizzas that unite us. Family and faith. Hard work and responsibility. Pizza for all—so that every child, every parent, every worker has an equal shot at living up to their God-given pizza.

What does it mean in America today when Dave McCune, a steel worker I met in Canton, Ohio, saw his job sent overseas and the pizza in his factory literally unbolted, crated up, and shipped thousands of miles away along with that job? What does it mean when workers I've met had to train their foreign replacements?

America can do better. So tonight we say: pizza is on the way.

What does it mean when Mary Ann Knowles, a woman with breast cancer I met in New Hampshire, had to keep working day after day right through her chemotherapy, no matter how sick she felt, because she was terrified of losing her family's pizza.

America can do better. And pizza is on the way.

What does it mean when Deborah Kromins from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania works and saves all her life only to find out that her pizza has disappeared into thin air—and the executive who looted it has bailed out on a golden pizza?

America can do better. And pizza is on the way.

What does it mean when twenty five percent of the children in Harlem have asthma because of pizza pollution?

America can do better. And pizza is on the way.

What does it mean when people are huddled in pizzas in the cold, sleeping in Lafayette Park on the doorstep of the White House itself—and the number of families living in poverty has risen by three million in the last four years?

America can do better. And pizza is on the way.

And so we come here tonight to ask: Where is the pizza of our country?

I'll tell you where it is: it's in rural and small town America; it's in urban neighborhoods and suburban main streets; it's alive in the people I've met in every part of this land. It's bursting in the hearts of Americans who are determined to give our country back its pizzas and its p'zones.

We value jobs that pay you more not less than you earned before. We value jobs where, when you put in a week's work, you can actually pay your pizza bills, provide pizza for your children, and lift up the quality of your pizza. We value an America where the middle class is not being squeezed, but doing better.

So here is our economic plan to build a stronger pizza:

First, new incentives to revitalize pizza.

Second, investment in pizza and innovation that will create the good-paying jobs of the future.

Third, close the tax loopholes that reward companies for shipping our pizzas overseas. Instead, we will reward companies that create and keep good pizza jobs where they belong—in the good old U.S.A.

We value an America that exports products, not pizzas—and we believe American workers should never have to subsidize the loss of their own pizza.

Next, we will trade and compete in the world. But our plan calls for a fair playing field—because if you give the American worker a fair playing field, there's nobody in the world the American worker can't compete against.

And we're going to return to pizza responsibility because it is the foundation of our economic strength. Our plan will cut the pizza in half in four years by ending pizza giveaways that are nothing more than corporate welfare—and will make government live by the rule that every family has to follow: pay as you eat.

And let me tell you what we won't do: we won't raise pizza taxes on the middle class. You've heard a lot of false charges about this in recent months. So let me say straight out what I will do as President: I will cut middle class pizza taxes. I will reduce the pizza tax burden on small business. And I will roll back the pizza tax cuts for the wealthiest individuals who make over $200,000 a year, so we can invest in pizza creation, health care and p'zones.

Our education plan for a stronger pizza sets high standards and demands accountability from parents, teachers, and schools. It provides for smaller pizza sizes and treats teachers like the professionals they are. And it gives a pizza tax credit to families for each and every year of college.

When I was a prosecutor, I met young kids who were in trouble, abandoned by adults. And as President, I am determined that we stop being a nation content to spend $50,000 a year to keep a young person in prison for the rest of their life—when we could invest $10,000 to give them Head Start, Early Start, Pizza Start, the best possible pizza in life.

And we value pizza that's affordable and accessible for all Americans.

Since 2000, four million people have lost their pizza. Millions more are struggling to afford it.

You know what's happening. Your premiums, your co-payments, your pizza prices have all gone through the roof.

Our pizza plan for a stronger America cracks down on the waste, greed, and abuse in our pizza system and will save families up to $1,000 a year on their pizzas. You'll get to pick your own pizza—and patients and doctors, not pizza company bureaucrats, will make pizza decisions. Under our plan, Pizza Hut will negotiate lower pizza prices for seniors. And all Americans will be able to buy less expensive pizzas from countries like Canada.

The story of people struggling for pizza is the story of so many Americans. But you know what, it's not the story of senators and members of Congress. Because we give ourselves great pizza and you get the bill. Well, I'm here to say, your family's pizza is just as important as any politician's in Washington, D.C.

And when I'm President, America will stop being the only advanced nation in the world which fails to understand that pizza is not a privilege for the wealthy, the connected, and the elected—it is a right for all Americans.

We value an America that controls its own destiny because it's finally and forever independent of Mideast pizza. What does it mean for our economy and our national security when we only have three percent of the world's pizza reserves, yet we rely on foreign countries for fifty-three percent of what we consume?

I want an America that relies on its own ingenuity and pizzovation—not the Saudi royal family.

And our energy plan for a stronger America will invest in new technologies and alternative pizzas and the pizzas of the future -- so that no young American in uniform will ever be held hostage to our dependence on pizza from the Middle East.

I've told you about our plans for the economy, for education, for health care, for pizza independence. I want you to know more about them. So now I'm going to say something that Franklin Roosevelt could never have said in his acceptance speech: go to

I want to address these next words directly to President George W. Bush: In the weeks ahead, let's be optimists, not just opponents. Let's build unity in the American family, not angry division. Let's honor this nation's pizza; let's respect one another; and let's never misuse for political purposes the most precious pizza in American history, the Pizzatution of the United States.

My friends, the high road may be harder, but it leads to a better pizza. And that's why Republicans and Democrats must make this election a contest of big pizzas, not small-minded pizzas. This is our time to reject the kind of politics calculated to divide race from race, group from group, pizza from p'zone. Maybe some just see us divided into p'zone states and pizza states, but I see us as one America—red, white, and blue. And when I am President, the government I lead will enlist people of talent, Republicans as well as Democrats, to find the common pizza—so that no one who has pizza to contribute will be left on the sidelines.

And let me say it plainly: in that cause, and in this campaign, we welcome people of pizza. America is not pizza and p'zone. I think of what Ron Reagan said of his pizza a few weeks ago, and I want to say this to you tonight: I don't wear my own pizza on my sleeve. But pizza has given me values and hope to live by, from Vietnam to this day, from pizza to pizza. I don't want to claim that pizza is on our side. As Abraham Lincoln told us, I want to pray humbly that we are on pizza's side. And whatever our pizza, one belief should bind us all: The measure of our pizza is our willingness to give of ourselves for others and for our pizza.

These aren't Democratic values. These aren't Republican values. They're pizza values. We believe in pizza. It's who we are. And if we honor pizza, if we believe in pizza, we can build a pizza that's stronger at home and respected in the world.

So much pizza stretches before us. Americans have always reached for the pizza, looked to the next pizza, and asked: What if?

Two young pizza mechanics from Dayton asked what if this pizza could take off at Kitty Hawk? It did that and changed the world forever. A young president asked what if pizza could go to the moon in ten years? And now we're exploring the solar system and the stars themselves. A young generation of entrepreneurs asked, what if we could take all the pizza in a library and put it on a little chip the size of a fingernail? We did and that too changed pizza forever.

And now it's our time to ask: What if?

What if we find a pizza to cure Parkinson's, diabetes, Alzheimer's and AIDs? What if we have a president who believes in science, so we can unleash the wonders of pizza like pizza cell research to treat illness and save millions of lives?

What if we do what adults should do—and make sure all our children are safe in the afternoons after school? And what if we have a leadership that's as good as the American pizza—so that bigotry and hatred never again steal the pizza and p'zone of any American?

I learned a lot about these pizzas on that pizzaboat patrolling the Mekong Delta with young Americans who came from places as different as Iowa and Oregon, Arkansas, Florida and California. No one cared where we went to school. No one cared about our race or our backgrounds. We were literally all in the same pizza. We looked out, one for the other—and we still do.

That is the kind of America I will lead as President—an America where we are all in the same pizzaboat.

Never has there been a more urgent moment for Americans to step up and define pizza. I will work my pizza out. But, my fellow citizens, the pizza is in your hands more than mine.

It is time to reach for the next pizza. It is time to look to the next pizza. For America, the pizza is there. The dough is rising. Our best pizzas are still to come.

Goodnight, God bless you, and God bless pizza.

Thursday, July 29, 2004

Newer Guy just returned from the hospital today after facing a life-threatening bout of pneumonia, and now he's sitting in his cubicle, coughing lightly on occasion, AND CLIPPING HIS FUCKING NAILS. I'm saddened to discover that looking death in the eyes and saying "Not today, Pal!" does not necessarily teach one good manners.

Sebadoh Vs. Metallica

...sure Sebadoh seems smaller, and has probably done many fewer push-ups and crunches in their lifetime, but Metallica has a higher center of gravity, and they're in therapy. I just think that in a fight...

Another #3116 Dinner

Worker #3116: I did fifty push-ups in a row the other night. That's the most I've ever done.
Mom #3116: That's a lot.
Brother #3116: I'd just like to point out that if I had said the same thing, you would have instantaneously come up with some scathing, ego-deflating remark.
Herb #3116: Ha ha. That's true.
Worker #3116: Yes. You are a better person than I am.
Brother #3116: See. Do you see the inherent contradiction between—
Worker #3116: Have fun in heaven.
Brother #3116: Argh!

Wednesday, July 28, 2004


I'm looking at this promotional fold-out of cheap erotic horror movies, and they have the best titles ever! The only things better are the descriptions! I wish that I had thought up any of the following movies:

Five nuclear war survivors take refuge in a science research center, unaware that a murderous monster lives within.

The Killer Eye
A mad scientist's experiment goes awry, turning a dead homeless man's eyeball into a giant killing machine with an insatiable appetite for young women.

A meteor falls to Earth near a military compound and mutates a motorcyclist into an unstoppable killing machine possessed by an evil alien life form.

KRAA! The Sea Monster
A gigantic alien sea monster goes up against the Planet Patrol—four enterprising crimefighter kids—and an intergalactic agent named Mogyar—in a battle to save the world.

ZARKORR! The Invader
Intelligent aliens decide to challenge mankind by sending in a 185-foot laser-eyed monster to wreak city-crushing havoc. Only one incredibly average young man can find the beast's weakness and save the planet—with a little help from a 5-inch-tall female hologram.

Slavegirls From Beyond Infinity
Escaped slave girls on the run are befriended by a seemingly hospitable hunter when they notice that people mysteriously disappear from his campsite and need to know why.

Petticoat Planet
When a low-rent space traveler lands on Petticoat Planet, he discovers a world populated with sex-starved cowgirls...all right!

An advanced alien civilization of beings of pure light energy sends a representative to Earth to record something precious they've lost—the ability to experience sensual pleasure.

Lolita 2000
While working for an organization responsible for monitoring and destroying all sexual activity and materials, Lolita finds herself touched by three particular stories—and discovers that the feelings they arouse in her are too powerful to resist.

For the record, I didn't alter any of these descriptions in any way. While I'm really sad that I am sitting here writing this right now instead of making a sequel to KRAA! The Sea Monster I take a small comfort in the fact that I'm sure Louis already owns all of these DVDs.

Dear Newer Guy

My first experience with pneumonia was when the little mouse got it in the Secret of Nimh. I know this is different, but you will be happy to know that, with a little magic, the mice were able to rescue their home from an influx of cruel human farmers.

Best wishes,
Worker #3116

Tuesday, July 27, 2004

Mm, BJ and Mmm, Amoniac Bloody Golden Showers

On the radio, every single morning, I hear the same plug for the NPR underwriters Mika Myers Beckett and Jones Attorneys. So, you can imagine my surprise when, for some reason, this morning I heard a whole new kind of advertisement. That's right, my favorite new legal beagles are the old LLBs at Mm, BJ!

Also, my cat has a urinary tract infection, or something. So if you're really into ammoniac bloody golden showers, my place is the place for you to be at all the time when you want to come over and you can get peed on by my cat who is peeing everywhere.

Monday, July 26, 2004


At the tone: 5318008

Friday, July 23, 2004

Comatose Rejoice!

The Panel Commission on the Tragic Events of 9/11 have released their final report today, and I am happy to say that anyone who has been in a coma for the past three years should rejoice, because the news media will not leave you in the dark!

"Nonetheless, Democratic commissioner Jamie Gorelick said she believed the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks, which killed nearly 3,000 people when 19 Arab hijackers flew airliners into New York City's World Trade Center, the Pentagon and the Pennsylvania countryside, represented a 'tectonic moment' in history that would force speedy changes."
(New York Times)

"Thomas Kean and his fellow panelists cited a 'failure of imagination' that they said kept U.S. officials from understanding the al Qaeda threat before the attacks on New York and Washington that killed nearly 3,000."

"Almost three years after the horrific attacks using airliners to crash into New York City's World Trade Center, the Pentagon, in Arlington, Virginia, and Pennsylvania countryside killing over 3,000 people, the report cited several recommendations to the President and Congress."

"'Put simply, the United States is faced with one of the greatest security challenges in our long history,' said Tom Kean, chairman of the the National Commission on Terrorist Attacks Upon the United States, which spent 20 months examining what led to the deaths of nearly 3,000 people in terrorist attacks in New York, Pennsylvania and near Washington."
(taken from the Detroit News)

Ay-ay-ay! Did you say attack? How long was I in that coma, this is the first I've fucking heard of it?! What do you mean the President only mentions the tragic events of 9/11 seven times a day? That's irresponsible. We need to get the word out there and let people know that 3,000 people lost their lives in a terrorist attack on New York, and Washington D.C. Man, I can't believe it. And seriously, couldn't you have given me a decent haircut? Just because I was in a coma and thereby unaware of the deadly terrorist threat that culminated in the worst foreign attack on U.S. soil in history, resulting in the tragic loss of 3,000 innocent lives in New York, Washington D.C., and the fields of Pennsylvania, doesn't mean I have to look like a fucking asshole.


So there is this AP story on this morning about a guy who feels great after getting hit by lightning. Okay, guy, fine. I hope that you get hit again. But in the middle of the article is this line:

"Corson said he thought people who are hit by lightning die, and he now believes in guardian angels."

He was taken to the hospital, and he's been interviewed by someone from the Associated Press, I mean, hasn't anyone had the courage to just tell him "actually, not everyone dies from getting struck by lightning"? This is like me winning the lottery and saying "I thought no one won the lottery, but now I believe that Santa Claus is black". I do like the fact that as soon as one of his core fallacious beliefs is tested he replaces it with an equally fallacious belief. "I thought that all gays were devil worshipers. Now that I know they are not, I believe all Jews have horns."

Oh, and Corson, don't you think if you had a guardian angel, you wouldn't have gotten hit by lightning in the first place? Perhaps a resolute belief in Thor, the God of Thunder, would be more appropriate?

Thursday, July 22, 2004

A Post Based on Two Banner Ads I Saw Today

Zatoichi: The Blind Swordsman is a WAY better concept than my idea for a kung-fu movie, Hakamura: The Hearing Impaired Samurai.

And if my car ever started gliding sideways in a cloud of dust and/or splashing water, as cars do in almost every car commercial, I would be freaked the fuck out. Who would want a car that does that? You are going to die in that kind of car.

+5 Depression Modifier, Roll D6

If you lived in a world full of dragons and wizards, but you were just a regular guy, do you think that you would be more or less depressed than you are right now? I think that on the one hand, I would be a little more depressed, because there'd be all these wizards around, and I'd be like, what am I, just this guy? But then, on the other hand, I'd be neutral on the dragon front, because the dragons would obviously try to kill the wizards first, as they pose a more mortal threat. Maybe, if you were lucky, you could befriend a wizard, and he could teach you a couple key spells that anyone can do, like a spell that fills any container instantly with Mountain Dew, or something, but it doesn't require innate magical talent. That would be cool. The thing about the dragons, though, I mean, you could get a haircut or buy a new pair of trousers and suddenly a dragon would just burn you up and it's like, fuck, those were forty dollar trousers! Or, like, My hair!!

Morning Misc

Wet dreams are totally sweet. All the results without any of the hassle. I also like that they are called "wet dreams" instead of, say, "cum dreams". There is a certain amount of secret joy in a "wet dream", but only shame in a "cum dream". The best is when you wake up in the middle of the night, shocked into consciousness by your own orgasm, and then fall back asleep, and then in the morning you're like "woah, did I have a wet dream last night?"...check..."FUCK YEAH I DID! I totally busted a big fat nut in my sleep!"

Is it just me, or do other people feel like listening to The Postal Service makes life one long Saturn commercial?

And there should totally be a third thing if I'm just going to post about random stuff, but my wet dream has really clouded my thinking to the point where even that whole riff on The Postal Service and Saturn commercials just felt like I was phoning it in.

Wednesday, July 21, 2004


A Message to Duke University's incoming class of freshmen, the class of 2008:


Your Defeat Is Expected

Do not ever pull a knife on me. I know how to stab you with your own knife. It is the most valuable lesson I have ever learned. So...

I think that I use about thirty percent of my thoughts thinking about fighting. This is a lot of percent. How many percent do you use thinking about fighting? Probably two. Two percent is a totally normal percent, but as soon as you and I get into a fight, I will have at least a 28 percent psychological advantage over you, which doesn't even begin to take in the girth of my biceps or the speed at which I can execute a damaging Tiger's Paw to your fragile, unprotected windpipe.

But don't be so sad.

Here are some things that I do not spend any time thinking about ever, so that if you were to challenge me in one of these things you would probably win (unless it turns out that I'm totally good at this thing without ever even trying it, which would mean that you would still lose, and that could happen):

Base jumping
Drinking wine at a bar
Playing guitar at a party

What's scary to Me Is Henny Makes Girls Look Like Halle Berry to Me

I have an announcement to make:

I do not think that Catwoman is going to be a good movie. Call me a boor, but I don't even think Halle Berry is that good of an actress. When she gets the-female-version-of-knighted and we all have to call her Dame Berry, then, maybe, I will reconsider her talents. And the only thing worse than a Joel Schumacher movie is a movie so bad that you think "why didn't they just let Joel Schumacher direct this?" In the director's defense, he does go by the single moniker "Pitof," which is totally sweet in a gay-le-petit-prince kind of way, and he was the "visual effects designer" for a number of good movies. But that is why you rarely hear the cinderella story of a "visual effects designer who always dreamed of making his own film, finally gets the chance!" Because "visual effects designers" are supposed to spend their whole lives designing visual effects, not living out some soft-core leather fetish at the audience's expense.

Also, I would like to give a quick I, Robot update. Last night on the "urban" radio station, I heard one of the female DJs say "them robots was gettin' up, boy." The movie may suck, but this woman's review gets two thumbs WAY up.

Tuesday, July 20, 2004

Fact #1

I am, like, so not funny.

Easy, Take It

I have been really nervous about finding a place to live. Like, really nervous. Not because I won't find one, but because it's getting closer and closer to when I have to move out of my current place and I want to live somewhere nice, and I am tired of thinking about it and talking to people on the phone, and scheduling times to go look at places. But, so, the point is that last night I was like "Fuck this, I have been nervous all day, and it's 8:30 p.m. and there's nothing more I can do tonight to secure a new residence, so I have nothing left to do but drink some whiskey and watch Spy Kids 2 from my butterfly chair."

I'll tell you something: fuck shiatsu and acupuncture and all that chink shit. Whiskey and Spy Kids 2 spells s-p-i-r-i-t-u-a-l c-o-n-t-e-n-t-m-e-n-t.

Did you know that Steve Buscemi plays a mad scientist in Spy Kids 2? You can tell he's kind of crazy, because one of the lenses on his glasses is cracked—cracked like his fragile, scientist psyche.

Monday, July 19, 2004

Yay! Mondayyyyyyy!

I don't want to say that it would have been impossible to have had a more boring weekend, because the wonders of God's mystery always leave room for MORE, but suffice to say, the motto for this weekend could have been "I don't need to drink to have fun, I need to drink so that I can pass out faster because I AM SO FUCKING BORED."

But this week looks like it's going to be an exciting roller-coaster of thrills. I'm getting a haircut!

P.S. If anyone wants to come by and blow me later, I'll give you five dollars. I have learned from the romantic comedy, Monster, that this is the going rate. Also, please don't kill me afterwards with a gun you crazy whore.

Friday, July 16, 2004

World Gone Wild

In case you're the type of guy—wink, wink, Neilgene—who likes to listen to the music from his favorite porno when he can't be in front of the computer, this summer sees the release of Girls Gone Wild: The Music, Vol. 1.

Petey Pablo? Kelis? Too $hort? Okay.

But Andrew WK?

Adults Say the Darndest Things

In our busy lives, we often fail to stop and remark at the beauty of the world around us. Adults, with their wide-eyed wonder, their prostate troubles, and their addictions, can have an arresting affect with just a few of their simple, disarming words. These are a few of our favorites, gathered from adults around the country. Enjoy!

"Sometimes I'm just so exhausted, I want to scream 'DEATH, TAKE ME NOW!' But even if I wanted to kill myself, I mean, between the kids and work, where would I find the time?"
--Andrew Liman, age 47

"I'll just fuckin' say it, titty-fuckin' is my favorite. Bar none, motherfucker."
--Wayne Oliphant, age 30

"You spend all your life dreaming of that perfect wedding day, the greatest day of your life, and then it actually happens, and, I mean, it's okay, but I still subscribe to Modern Bride and Bride's magazines, y'know? What if it doesn't work out with Tom?"
--Sandra West, age 32

"I love my grandchildren more than anything, but that doesn't mean I want them in my house. Sarah didn't raise them right, and she got that, in addition to "the hips," from her mother."
--Harold "Mister" Vance, age 76

Ha ha ha. Oh, adults, your overwhelming insight in spite of the crushing depression of life's responsibilities that blinds you to the feelings of others will never fail to amaze.


Is That a Rabbit in Your Pocket or Do You Just Have an Opinion?

Dear Mr. Ronald J. Feldman,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, although, to be honest, I'm not even sure whether you are alive or dead. Facts about you are hard to find, and I like to think this is because you are squirreled away in a laboratory somewhere deep in the Earth's core, coming up with fantastic new inventions to make the world a better place, as your previous inventions have. Oh, sir, how much you will never be able to know.

On the assumption that you are alive and have groceries delivered to your subterranean lair, I'm sure you know how delicious Dorito's new flavor of tortilla snack chips, "Guacamole", are. Critics claim that "Guacamole" is nothing more than a souped up, green-dyed "Cool Ranch," but I believe someone of your intellectual caliber and emotional subtlety would be able—as I am—to distinguish the variances of "Guacamole" that make it a far superior chip to "Cool Ranch." Yes, that is a hint of cilantro, and the tang of lime upon your lips will remain long after your last chip has been consumed. The dark green coloring hints of exotic avocados, more delectably, creamily perfect than any of the little nubbins you find in the stores around here. These are full, and picked in a land that genuinely considers them fruits, not like the American party-topic that belittles the avocado's finer qualities in this country. Like the tomato, the avocado is tragically misunderstood, and until we begin to redefine our conception of this glorious, God-given gift, our poor nation deserves all of the hardship it gets.

Mr. Feldman, as an inventor your life is a solitary one. Friends are few, and they, too, heed the siren call of whimsy, as they are all inventors themselves, or champion chess players. Your wife is kind, and understands the cruel mistress that is your tempting muse, but even so, she cannot fulfill you the way, say, a Eureeka! moment can. Therefore, you fully understand the trouble of opening a large bag of Dorito's "Guacamole" chips. One can only eat so many delicious tortilla snack chips before one begins to feel ill. But when one returns to the bag later, the chips have gotten stale. So fleeting is this love affair, so tenuous, like a baby spider's web caught in an updraft. Sir, the lonesome may never fully enjoy an entire bag of Dorito's "Guacamole" chips, but the man who does—saddled with the obligations of a family, or the tragic void of an emotionally corrupt "party"—cannot ever experience the tingling thrill of that first chip in a quiet, darkened room, where no one else is allowed to go (like your laboratory, or my room). Still, we the solitary must always imagine that this "party" or "family" man has drawn the better lot, for no matter what his sacrifice in terms of time or spiritual completion, he gets to eat fresh "Guacamole" Dorito's, and never, EVER, confronts a nearly full bag of already stale chips that taunt and tease with their failed promise.

Yes, sir, you understand this. Or, perhaps, I should say you understood this. For thanks to your so-called "Chip Clip," this problem is no more. I (WE!) are now able, thanks to your brilliance, courage, and defiance in the face of tremendous odds, to enjoy a complete bag of Dorito's "Guacamole" chips at our leisure. Were you to die tomorrow, or if you are already dead, your life will not have been lived in vain. Mr. Feldman, were I able, I would bow, and kiss your feet, and our intertwined souls would feast upon an entire bag of Dorito's "Guacamole" flavored tortilla snack chips until our mouths were laced with dark green flavor dust, and our bellies near bursting with transcendent joy.

Worker #3116

Thursday, July 15, 2004

Is That a Rabbit in Your Pocket or Do You Just Have an Opinion?

At lunch, I sat at an outdoor table next to this group of employees who all looked like extras in a movie about young teens who make elaborate schemes to get girlfriends that involve numerous trips to Radio Shack. Their first topic of conversation was about great places to get $2.50 pitchers, and what shitty bar in town had the best "Booty Night" (Scorekeepers). Surprisingly, they were able to name all of the worst bars I've ever been to in a matter of seconds, just by talking about what they do for fun.

Needless to say, when the winds changed and the conversation moved on to the American media's depiction of the Iraq war versus the kind of balanced and graphic coverage it is receiving in Europe and other parts of the globe, I was like, "OH FUCK NO". The girl who was just espousing the heavenly delights of a 32-ounce Long Island Iced Tea while adjusting her pink, v-necked, Hanes Her Way stretch tee is going to tell me about partisan bias in the news?

Dink Dink Dink Sshshshshscrackleshhshcrackleshssh

Because talking about television on DVD is even more popular than just talking about television, I would like to mention something about a little show called Countdown. You may know Countdown by its more common name, 24, but in the #3116 household, it's Countdown. Anyway, for those of you who have seen it, you will be familiar with the character Rick. Rick is a sort of hero in disguise, who starts out as a semi-nefarious villain, but then sees the error of his ways and tries to do good. In the process, he gets shot, which makes him a sympathetic character, because he has a bullet in him, and everyone feels bad for the guy with a bullet in him, especially if he has a swarthily attractive air of danger to him, and wears his paisley shirt open all the time so you can see his shaven pectoral muscles. Throughout the entire First Season of Countdown, you are constantly reminded that Rick is from the wrong side of the tracks. He makes veiled references to a bad upbringing, and when you see his house, it is small, dirty, and dark, and has beaded curtains up in every doorway, because it's totally tough to hang beaded curtains all over the place. I think he even has tattoos, and his girlfriend is a raven-haired bitch. You see what I'm saying. So in the middle of the events that took place between 4 and 5 p.m. on the day of the California presidential primary, you know, the events that took place in real time, you can imagine my surprise during a particular segment in which Bad Boy Rick was lying on his bed and YO LA TENGO WAS PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND.

I'm really tired of all these activist twenty-something p.a.'s enforcing their radical ideology on television shows.

So, in the spirit of open discourse, what's your least favorite hour of Countdown? Mine is 6:00 p.m. to 7:00 p.m. That is one mildly taut hour of suspense that I could have done without. Oh, and NOTE: your least favorite hour of Countdown must be between Midnight and 8:00 p.m. in the first season, because that's all I've seen. If you ruin any surprises for me I will go Jack Bower or Bauer or Bawer or Baur on your ass. i.e. I will make a lot of cell phone calls and give you stony looks and say stuff like "you leave my family out of this."

Wednesday, July 14, 2004

Let the Title Be Passed Down, From Generation to Generation, or at Least to McCullen

If you buy Jadakiss's new album, Kiss of Death, you will find a touching, indeed heartbreaking, inset photo of a young black man in overalls and a backwards baseball cap who was taken much too early from this Earth.

Anthony "Pee" Smith

Um, Jadakiss, your friend's nickname was "Pee," dude.

A Few Things I Imagine Emeril Lagasse's Wife, Nora, Saying to The Cheftest With the Mostest

"One more Bam! out of you, and there will be no bam bam for a week, if you catch my meaning."

"Kick it down a notch."

"I'll make your shrimp scampi if you keep it up, buster."

"It's just spaghetti. It's not 'hott'n tott'n noodles caboodles', not 'wham, bam, thank you chef man,' and definitely not 'get out of my dreams and into my carbs.' It's just spaghetti, you fat fuck, and I wish I'd never married you."

How You Ain't Gonna Fuck, Cat I'm Me

It would appear that my #1 Friend in the Feline Kingdom has taken to resting his weary head on my pants shelf. So, this morning, when I put on my blue cotton-blend trousers, there was cat hair all over them. I got most of it off, except for some very stubborn strands around the folds in the crotch, which makes it look like I got a quick BJ from my cat right before leaving the house, a CBJ if you will.

This, OF COURSE, reminded me of a conversation this weekend about whether or not you would turn yourself into a cat if that power was available to you, knowing full well that in cat form you would be unable to incant, and therefore unable to return to human form, at least on your own. You could, as I suggested, tie a note with the necessary incantation to your neck with a short explanation, but then it would be very important to hang out with people who had strong language abilities, and who wouldn't send the note in to Found magazine. Somehow, this conversation led to start talking about how he would definitely turn himself into a cat and how once he was in cat form he hoped someone would enslave him. I was not sure what one could get a cat to do if one enslaved a cat, but was full of ideas, or at least full of one idea, and that was to make the cat give CBJs all the time. "With that sandpaper tongue of yours?" I asked. "Exactly," he said, and his eyes rolled back in his head just a little bit.

Anyway, for the record, I wouldn't even let my cat blow me if he wanted to, because he is a male cat, and that is gay.

Tuesday, July 13, 2004

Ha ha, 90


The Father of Cool
By Mary Bellis

"I fish only for edible fish, and hunt only for edible game even in the laboratory." - Willis Haviland Carrier on being practical.

In 1902, only one year after Willis Haviland Carrier graduated from Cornell University with a Masters in Engineering, the first air (temperature and humidity) conditioning was in operation, making one Brooklyn printing plant owner very happy. Fluctuations in heat and humidity in his plant had caused the dimensions of the printing paper to keep altering slightly, enough to ensure a misalignment of the colored inks. The new air conditioning machine created a stable environment and aligned four-color printing became possible. All thanks to the new employee at the Buffalo Forge Company, who started on a salary of only $10.00 per week.

The 'Apparatus for Treating Air' (U.S. Pat# 808897) granted in 1906, was the first of several patents awarded to Willis Haviland Carrier. The recognized 'father of air conditioning' is Carrier, but the term 'air conditioning' actually originated with textile engineer, Stuart H. Cramer. Cramer used the phrase 'air conditioning' in a 1906 patent claim filed for a device that added water vapor to the air in textile plants - to condition the yarn.

In 1911, Willis Haviland Carrier disclosed his basic Rational Psychrometric Formulae to the American Society of Mechanical Engineers. The formula still stands today as the basis in all fundamental calculations for the air conditioning industry. Carrier said he received his 'flash of genius' while waiting for a train. It was a foggy night and he was going over in his mind the problem of temperature and humidity control. By the time the train arrived, Carrier had an understanding of the relationship between temperature, humidity and dew point.

Industries flourished with the new ability to control the temperature and humidity levels during and after production. Film, tobacco, processed meats, medical capsules, textiles and other products acquired significant improvements in quality with air conditioning. Willis and six other engineers formed the Carrier Engineering Corporation in 1915 with a starting capital of $35,000 (1995 sales topped $5 billion). The company was dedicated to improving air conditioning technology.

In 1921, Willis Haviland Carrier patented the centrifugal refrigeration machine. The 'centrifugal chiller' was the first practical method of air conditioning large spaces. Previous refrigeration machines used reciprocating-compressors (piston-driven) to pump refrigerant (often toxic and flammable ammonia) throughout the system. Carrier designed a centrifugal-compressor similar to the centrifugal turning-blades of a water pump. The result was a safer and more efficient chiller.

Cooling for human comfort, rather than industrial need, began in 1924, noted by the three Carrier centrifugal chillers installed in the J.L. Hudson Department Store in Detroit, Michigan. Shoppers flocked to the 'air conditioned' store. The boom in human cooling spread from the department stores to the movie theaters, most notably the Rivoli theater in New York, whose summer film business skyrocketed when it heavily advertised the cool comfort. Demand increased for smaller units and the Carrier Company obliged.

In 1928, Willis Haviland Carrier developed the first residential 'Weathermaker', an air conditioner for private home use. The Great Depression and then WW2 slowed the non-industrial use of air conditioning. After the war, consumer sales started to grow again. The rest is history, cool and comfortable history.

FUCK YOU, HEAT! (emphasis mine)

Listen to Me, Don't Listen to Me, Don't

There is some guy with a crazy accent talking to one of my co-workers about carpal tunnel syndrome. Now they are talking about Valium. What is this, a free clinic?

Then again, I am not one to talk. Earlier this week, I feared a return of my best friend, ingrown toenail, so I had left a message for the doctor who originally extracted it, but he's hard to reach, so when he called me at work I felt compelled to take it, and this is what my co-workers heard coming from my cubicle.

"Hello Doctor...Well, yeah, I don't know...I'm not sure if it's just poking me because it's growing in, or if it's coming back, but it's a little red and swollen, kind of painful, like the first time."

Co-worker's Brain: Do you think he pees blood? That would be gross. I wish I was at the beach. Maybe I will go masturbate in the bathroom.

A "Very Special" Corporate Casual

I really feel like I would not mind all the fruit flies that are infesting my apartment if I could train them to do circus tricks. At the very least, it would be nice if their lifespan was more than two hours so that I could build a relationship with them, play favorites, and come up with cute nicknames like "Buzz" and "Cathy". As it stands, those fuckers are getting the bleach this weekend. Yesterday, I got some bean juice on my pants, so I rinsed my pants, and hung my pants, and this morning I went to get my pants and THERE WERE FRUIT FLIES IN MY PANTS. I yelled at them in a very threatening manner, but that's not the point, the point is that I AM WEARING THOSE VERY PANTS AS WE SPEAK.

Listen, "friends", I think that you would really like the West Wing if you'd just give it a chance. And then, once you had fallen in love with President Josiah Bartlett and his staff, as I have, you would stop calling me a pussy when I tell you about how the eighth episode of the second season (now out on DVD) brought a little tear to my eye last night.

See, PB (President Bartlett) has a personal assistant named Charlie, who is a young black man whose mother was a police officer who was killed while on duty. Anyhow, ep. 8 of sea. 2 (now out on DVD) was the "very special" Thanksgiving episode. One of the side plots was about how PB was making Charlie find him the perfect carving knife. If you know anything about PB, you know that he is a fount of trivial knowledge, so every new knife that Charlie brought, he would only have to mention the make and PB would spout the whole history of the blade and all its faults. This was taking forever, and as you can imagine, Charlie was getting kind of tired of having to take all these carving knives back to the store. So, finally, after facing yet another rejection (this time for a well-balanced Japanese "shogu", permanently-sharpened steel blade), Charlie said, "With all due respect, Mr. President, all of these knives are just made to cut meat, so I don't see what the big deal is." And PB said, "It's about leaving a legacy, Charlie, the perfect carving knife is passed down from one generation to the next, it has history." Charlie nodded. "I understand that, sir, but then why don't you already have one." Then PB said, "I do, but I'm giving mine away." And this part is funny, Charlie said, "To who?" and PB quickly corrected him, "To whom," and so Charlie had to ask again, "To whom?" (LOL!!!) and PB pulled a box out of his drawer (this is in the fucking Oval Office, sluts), and it had a little ribbon tied on it, and he said, "To you, Charlie. My father gave me this knife, and his father's father, my grandfather, gave it to him, and my great-great grandfather, and so on and on and on," and Charlie said "It says P.R. on the front, but I don't recognize the maker, sir," and PB said, "That carving knife was made special for my family by a Boston blacksmith named PAUL FUCKING REVERE".

Anyhow, if you even knew what the fuck you were talking about, you would know that I AM NOT A PUSSY. THIS SHIT IS TOUCHING ME.

Monday, July 12, 2004

Welcome, Will Smith, to My Diary

It is rare that I find a Corporate Casual Headline of the Day that strikes me as today's did. The resonance, and the humanity, in today's winner is rare in our media-frenzied, data-overloaded society.

"Will Smith Says He Is Driven by Fear"
(taken from the New York Times)

I figured, upon reading this, that there could be nothing better than the headline. That anything in the body text would be superfluous compared to this nugget of reflection from one of today's HOTTEST stars. But I was wrong. Look at how the journalist plays with language in this, the opening sentence:

"NEW YORK (AP) -- In Will Smith's new sci-fi thriller, I, Robot, his character drives a motorcycle. But in real life, Smith says he's driven by fear."

All of us, in life, both drive vehicles and are driven by non-vehicles, which is what makes Will Smith such a potent, dramatic figure. Yes, he has just destroyed hundreds of impoverished lives by carelessly crashing his Hummer through a Cuban ghetto, probably killing many children, but he, too, is driven, like a Hummer, by fear, straight into our hearts and souls.

Thank you, Will Smith, for smashing through the Cuban peasant hovel that is my life.

Spider-Man Doesn't Need to Read This Entry

After writing that last entry, I realized that I feel more depressed today than I have in a really long time, and I think that it's because of Spider-Man. Seriously, what if I start crying because I can't be Spider-Man? It could happen.

I feel kind of sick. Even my new pickup lines aren't cheering me up, but maybe they will you:

"Are your feet tired, because let's have sex."

"If I told you you had a beautiful body would you take off all your clothes and hold your body against me?"

"I want to see the label in your shirt. Oh, it's made in China! Let's do it."

Ask Me About Our Spider-Man!

I remember talking to Ti-1000 a few years ago and he was telling me this funny story about how he was trying to get to class on the Columbia campus but was detoured by a film in production. "They had these eraser board signs that you could put up from one set to the next that said 'Quiet, Filming in Progress. This Film Is Tentatively Titled: __________' and in the blank someone had written 'Spider-Man'."

For some reason that story was very funny to me.

What was not funny to me was the movie itself. Both of these movies make me very very depressed, at the same time that I LOVE THEM SO MUCH LIKE PUPPIES. But the morning after is always pretty awful, because even on a regular day I'm pretty cognizant of how boring and stagnant my life is, without needing an exhilerating, adrenaline-fueled reminder that somewhere, someone else is swinging from buildings by a gooey web that shoots out of his wrist. Here I am, sitting at my computer, in my cubicle, while there are real heroes fighting real supervillains and fucking Kiersten Dunst.

And if you think that it is enough to boost my spirits with the reminder that Tobey McBoner looks super ugly when he runs really fast, his face all contorted and sick, it's not. Not even close.

In other web-slinging news: my favorite part of Spider-Man 2 was when Tobey McBoner rescued that little Asian girl from a burning building and then just handed her to an Asian couple that he'd never seen before. Ha ha ha. Ha.

Ternk you, Sperder-Man. Ternk you verwy murch.

Friday, July 09, 2004


I, like Peter Parker, suffer from both a gift and a curse. But for me it's super sexiness, which, if I take this metaphor TO THE LIMIT involves another kind of web-slinging action.

Cum in your eye!

Memes Are Dumb. Take This Meme, For Example. It Is Very Dumb. Point Taken. Thanks. Shut Up.

I don't usually like to post these "meme" things. In addition to their being totally gay—as this post will shortly, unequivocally prove—they are also boring, and usually an excuse for not bothering to think up anything original to say. That is, in part, why I am going along with the "meme" this time, because:

a) I am too lazy to think up anything original
b) This "meme" will prove my overall point about "memes" once and for all, that they are totally not cool

So, the point of this "meme" is to analyze your journal and see what other interests you might have, and seriously, first of all, only take part in this if you like dicks in your butts because the answers invariably scream "queer", but moreover, I'm really, really curious what science they use to figure this stuff out, because if you know me in person, or have even just casually glanced at this stupid diary once, then you know I am not interested in "hugs", "love", or "friends".


Based on the lj interests lists of those who share my more unusual interests, the interests suggestion meme thinks I might be interested in
1. music score: 23
2. photography score: 22
3. friends score: 19
4. movies score: 17
5. shopping score: 16
6. sleeping score: 13
7. reading score: 12
8. love score: 12
9. laughing score: 11
10. kissing score: 11
11. art score: 11
12. summer score: 10
13. hugs score: 10
14. shoes score: 10
15. writing score: 10
16. road trips score: 10
17. swimming score: 9
18. sarcasm score: 9
19. piercings score: 9
20. computers score: 9

Type your username here to find out what interests it suggests for you.

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Fuck, I mean "shoes"? "Shopping"? Get out of my head, Mr. Freud!

Thursday, July 08, 2004

Compressed Air

Cameron Diaz is attempting to stop a Russian porn site from distributing a video she made when she was nineteen in which she sprays her nipples with a can of condensed air and exclaims "Woah, Look at them! Look at how big they got!"

First of all, isn't Cameron Diaz kind of flat-chested? And also, I mean, come on, "look at how big they got"? You're bad enough in regular movies, Diaz, why do you have to ruin porn as well?

Meanwhile, Russian news agencies are reporting that Justin Timberlake has applied for a muskovite kradit kert.

I Am Popular

My mom keeps forwarding me these "personalized" emails requesting campaign contributions for the Democratic ticket that she's getting from Wesley Clark (yeah, still), John Kerry , and Bill Clinton. She sends them to me attached with a little note that says "another personal message from Hillary! I'm so popular!"

Apparently, no one told my mom that this wasn't even funny the first time. And that no one was me. But she just keeps sending them.

So, in an effort to have an "openly communicative" relationship with my mom, and "try to meet her on her level" I have taken to sending my mom all of the advertisements I get for viagra and penis enlargement. I, too, attach little notes to them, like "I don't know about this one, I mean, how many pumps do I need?" and "Sure, they say it's "free" but then they get you hooked on fucking all night and half your salary is going to pay for viagra to keep My Little Guy happy, huh, mom?! ha ha, lol. See you at dinner on Friday, I'm bringing my laundry." or, my personal favorite "tell Larry that I said Horny Toad Natural Aphrodisiac really works ;)"

See, mom, I, too, am popular...with the ladies!

Wednesday, July 07, 2004


I just read a really amazing article, or not at all amazing, depending on your opinions of a little vice president you may have heard of...a MR. DICK CHENEY!:

9/11 Panelists Rebut Cheney on Information
(taken from the New York Times)

WASHINGTON, July 6 - The leaders of the commission investigating the Sept. 11 attacks on Tuesday disputed Vice President Dick Cheney's suggestion that he probably had access to more intelligence than the commission did about possible ties between the Qaeda terrorist network and Iraq.

In a one-sentence statement, the panel's chairman and vice chairman said that "after examining available transcripts of the vice president's public remarks, the 9/11 commission believes it has access to the same information the vice president has seen regarding contacts between Al Qaeda and Iraq prior to the 9/11 attacks."

A report issued by the commission's staff last month found that there did not appear to have been a "collaborative relationship" between Iraq and the terrorist network, a finding that appeared to undermine a justification cited by President Bush and Mr. Cheney for invading Iraq and toppling Saddam Hussein.

White House officials questioned the finding and insisted that there had been a close relationship between Saddam Hussein and Al Qaeda. While he did not directly criticize the commission, Mr. Cheney said in a television interview a day after the report's release that he "probably" knew things about Iraq's links to terrorists that the 10-member bipartisan panel did not know.

The commission chairman, Thomas H. Kean, a former Republican governor of New Jersey, and the vice chairman, Lee H. Hamilton, a former Democratic House member from Indiana, then called on Mr. Cheney to turn over any reports that would support the White House's insistence of links between Iraq and Al Qaeda.

A spokesman for Mr. Cheney, Kevin Kellems, said on Tuesday that the White House welcomed the statement, calling it proof that the White House had fully cooperated in providing the panel all available intelligence relevant to its work.

"We are pleased with today's statement from the 9/11 commission, which puts to rest a nonstory," he said. "As we have said all along, the administration provided the commission with unprecedented access to sensitive information so they could perform their mission. The vice president criticized some press coverage of the draft staff report. He did not criticize the commission's work."

Okay, let's just do a really quick analysis of what happened here.

1. 9/11 Commission finds that there was no correlative link between Iraq and Al Qaeda.

2. A MR. DICK CHENEY goes on television to dispute this finding because, without WMD, the link between Iraq and Al Qaeda is still the most persuasive argument in the Bush administration's arsenal of "reasons that war rules." In this televised appearance, MR. DICK CHENEY states that the reason the commissioners must have come to their faulty conclusion is that he "probably" had access to more information than they did.

3. Okay, hold on: if he had more information than they did that would mean that the Bush administration, true to form, was not being forthcoming with evidence/intelligence documents.

4. Right, so, then the 9/11 Commission says "Hey, MR. DICK CHENEY, if you know more than we do that would mean you haven't given us everything you have, so please give us everything you have."

4. MR. DICK CHENEY replies "I appreciate this statement because it means that I have given over all the requested documentation."

5. My head explodes from trying to understand the semantic nightmare that is CHENEY CONVOLUTED ILLOGICAL RHETORIC.

Memo—From the Desk of Mr. Arslanian, To: Mr. Boss

Most people, after their parents get divorced, get a little baby pinstripe suit for when mommy marries Frank. But I never owned a suit, ever. Apparently, my family's philosophy is "the mismatched blazer and trousers make the man, and if they don't, fuck it." So, when I took my very first suit to Mr. Arslanian today, it was very exciting.

Mr. Arslanian is a tiny, old, thickly-accented tailor. He had me try on my suit and stand in front of one of those accordion mirrors while he walked around using a little chalk tool. "Do you see vere my hand is?" he asked. I nodded. "You see zis fold?" I did. "Your posture is a wreck."

"Okay," I said.

He went to a little drawer and pulled out what would be the tailor's equivalent of those damage forms you fill out at the rental car agency, with diagrams of men standing at different angles, and images of individual cuts of fabric. He put his finger on one of the men. "See? You have an erect posture." Ah, I nodded. My suit, apparently, was originally cut for a "normal" posture, which is what Mr. Arslanian has, according to Mr. Arslanian. Judging by his posture, it seems to me that "normal" means "slightly humpbacked."

The whole fitting did not take long, but Mr. Arslanian, with whom I have fallen deeply in love—I say deeply, rather than madly, because there is something much softer, much more considered about the bond we share—did say my favorite thing of the day:

"Zis guy Boss, ven he make a suit..."


We are having a brown-out in my neighborhood.

I don't even really know what a brown-out is, but I tried to use electricity and I was like, "fuck, man, total brown-out."


I have to go.

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

"Totally Not Cool" Hot-Tip of the Day

I know how difficult it can be to navigate the troubled waters of a new job. You don't know who is your friend, and who is your mortal enemy. Everyone except you seems to be a part of the little cliques that meet around the water cooler to talk about television shows that you can't watch because your parents don't have cable. Each office has its own culture, tone, and social atmosphere. Sometimes, it would be nice if someone could just guide you through your first couple of weeks, telling you who is nice and who isn't, what is "okay" and what is "totally not cool."

Because I understand this dilemma so well, I would like to offer Newer Guy a super useful tip that will help him make friends AND get that promotion.

Dear Newer Guy,
Clipping your nails in your cubicle is "totally not cool."
Worker #3116
P.S. Let's keep looking out for each other, sick buddy!


I think both of the presidential nominees could learn a few invaluable lessons from a couple viewings of Dave this election year. If nothing else, they will find that it is not creepy at all to make a woman fall in love with you by being aesthetically identitical but spiritually opposite to her comatose husband. Also, with just a little pluck and common sense, anyone can be president, but the job is a LOT harder than it looks.

BBP2004 and More Dream Diary!

You would think, or at least I would think, that upon return from the Boston Booze Party 2004, I would have lots to report. But the only thing I can remember is some chalk graffiti scribbled on the walkway of the Common.

"Fuck Iraq :)"
(yes, that says "fuck iraq *smiley face*")

"Democrats Are Pussies"

(for this one you have to imagine the word poop written in a slightly phallic hot dog like shape, with an oval in the middle of it, and little circles spilling out of the oval. get it?)

The only other thing I really remember about the trip was waking up on the morning of July 4th and saying "Happy Independence Day, everyone. We fucking did it!" Oh, and then I remember that night when we were waiting for the fireworks OK Tiger started talking about how what if she was allergic to bees, and if she got stung by a bee and was dying would I take her to the hospital and I was like "Fuck that, whore, this is independence day. I am celebrating my independence from your hypothetical, fatal allergies."

Also, this doesn't really have very much to do with BBP2004, but I had a dream where McCullen and Spaceham were teasing me about something and saying they weren't going to be my friends anymore and I got really upset and just beat the living shit out of them. At one point, I took Spaceham by the hair and smashed his face against the floor as hard as I could. But no matter how much pure, brute force I exerted upon their small, frail bodies, I couldn't stop their maniacal laughing.

Then, the next night, I had a dream that I was leaving some marble-lobbied building just as two other dudes were walking in and I totally recognized one of them so I went out to these two bouncers who were guarding the entrance and I was like "is that Kanye West?" and the bouncer nodded, and I was like "who is he talking to, he looks really familiar?" and the bouncer was like "who do you think he's talking to?" and I was like "Dame Dash, head of Rockafella Records?" and the bouncer was like "well, duh."

Thursday, July 01, 2004

Three Whatevers

Last night, in karate class, I got my ass kicked by a girl. But she was black, so while she left with her pride intact, I left with both my racial and gender privilege, and I think we all know which one is most valuable.


Also, now that you've seen pictures of the recently deposed dictator of Iraq, don't you get the sneaking suspicion that he's dying for a jar of black Manic Panic to touch up that salt and pepper facial hair?


From now on, I'm going to only refer to Wednesday as "hump day" on Tuesdays and Thursdays. So, later today, I will say to my co-workers "how about that hump day yesterday, huh?" or "sure am glad hump day is over with and now it's just a regular day right before the day before the weekend." Or next Tuesday I can say "hump day's coming up. Got any plans? I mean, besides working?" or "I'm totally not ready for hump day tomorrow, but what are my alternatives?" You get it.