Monday, January 31, 2005

Picking My Battles

All the Jews and all the Christians and all the blacks and all the whites and all the boys and all the girls had a big giant war to decide who was the best. When it was over they were all dead, so it was hard to declare a decisive winner, but I think it was boys.

Harry and Henry arm-wrestled to see who could be proven the strongest. Harry worked out at a gymnasium almost every day while Henry just sat on the couch and watched various cable programs that didn’t seem to have taken any effort to make. Still, Harry was nervous, because there was something about Henry that implied that buried within his lazy frame was an untold source of pure animal strength. These fears were quickly subdued when Harry roundly destroyed Henry at arm-wrestling.

Two women who have never met spy each other from across a crowded bar and know instantly that their concept of the ideal man is exactly the same. Concerned over what this could mean in terms of romantic competition, one of the women tries to figure out a way that she can, kindly, ensure that were the perfect man to enter the bar she would be the first to get his attention. While she is pondering her plan, the other woman walks up and throws a drink in the first woman’s face, totally fucking up her makeup and her hair, so that when the perfect man does walk in a few minutes later she looks like such shit that he elbows one of his friends’ arm to get his attention, and they both laugh a little bit in that mean, secretive laugh that you know is about you.

One afternoon at school, a thin, weak boy named Ian attempts to take the higher ground with a popular kid named Brian who is often extremely mean to Ian for no reason at all. While they are both sitting out during a game of crab soccer, in a surprisingly calm moment in which Ian does not feel any more threatened than the constant throb of immediate danger he regularly feels, and Brian has, surprisingly, no particular urge to draw attention to Ian (because he doesn’t like sitting out, and drawing attention to Ian will also show him, possibly, to be an inferior crab soccer player to Tim, with whom he is always in natural competition), and in this calm moment Ian tries to repeat a riposte to Brian’s attacks that his mom told him last night while they ate pizza: Life is not a popularity contest. “Yes it is,” Brian says with a snort, and years later Ian realizes this is true.

Bored in 60 Seconds

There is an article in the New York Times today about how these cryptography graduate students at Johns Hopkins University have cracked this uncrackable code. Basically, a bunch of car manufacturers have employed a Texas Instruments system that embeds a chip into the key, and the ignition will only start if the system recognizes the key. So, the car can't be stolen, or something. As if that weren't enough to earn a shout of "who cares?" take a look at this:

"All that would be required to steal a car, the researchers said, is a moment next to the car owner to extract data from the key, less than an hour of computing, and a few minutes to break in, feed the key code to the car and hot-wire it."
(New York Times)

Wow, that's all? So, like, I should be careful when someone's standing behind me in line to get a bagel because they could be trying to hotwire my car in about an hour and a half? Apparently, it is the cryptographers' belief that car thieves have the same interest in really obscure and super-nerdy algorithmic deciphering as they do. Which, incidentally, car thieves don't have.

To be safe, though, the scientists suggest wrapping your key in tinfoil, and then telling your imaginary girlfriend to do the same.

Take Me. Now.

I've got some real concerns right now, because I'm down to the final disc of season one of FOX's hit drama The O.C. This show has been a real emotional bedrock for me over the past month or so, and I'm just not sure what I'm going to do without it. I mentioned this to McCullen last night, adding that I was going to have to find something else to watch. "Pick something good this time," he said. Which, considering that he had just played Katamari Damacy for, like, ten hours straight seems a bit of the time-wasting-prince-of-the-cosmos calling the kettle black, where here black is trying-to-escape-the-hardships-and-emotional-trials-of-one's-life-through-reductive-and-manipulative-network-television.

Whatever.

This is what I have been reduced to.

Thursday, January 27, 2005

Look, You Own The Most Successful Topless Bar In New Jersey

I kind of wish that when I explain my problems to Clown Coffee, that he wouldn't just quote the Sopranos to me. Especially since he seems to get mad at me when I tell him it's not helping.

Stop! Ladies, Pray! A Man!

"It's like, you're waiting for a bus, okay, and you're just waiting and waiting and waiting, long past the point when you should stop. And by now you feel like a real asshole, and it's cold out, and you know the bus is probably not even coming because some woman threw up strawberries on it or something, but at this final juncture, when the decision is yours alone, you feel totally paralyzed, because if you walk away now then what was the point of all that waiting in the first place. Y'know?"
(Worker #3116, Age 14)

Did you watch Take My Wife, Please like I told you to? Well, you should have. I'm not going to recap it here, but suffice to say I've been speaking in a New Jersey accent all morning, and referring to myself in third person, like, "If I hed to say so raiet now, uh, no, no Worka numba tree won won sixah would neva do meditation agin." (That last part was supposed to read like a New Jersey accent. I don't know if it does. You are such a moron. Your rules are impossible.)

Also, and maybe this is just for Muttcatt, but what's up with Gwen Stefani's new "Pirates of Penzance" thing she's got going on? Is she trying to corner the female gay icon market or something, because I think the peroxide blonde hair, the lanky body, and the predilection for bondage-inspired clothing is really going to get her there fast, and this whole pirate theme is just the brown cherry on top of the faggot cake.

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

Venti Frappafuckyou

Someone at work has made a little money jar and put it next to the coffee maker, you know, like they think they're somebody. What the f? The whole point of that coffee maker is so I can have free coffee. If I wanted to give you money for coffee I'd make you wear a Starbucks apron and make "steamer" noises with your mouth. What kind of asshole do you think I am? Well, I'm not that kind of asshole.

Clown Coffee took the money jar and threw it in the trash. But then he had to pull it back out because it had real money in it.

Spice

Have you ever seen the movie Dune? You probably have because it has Sting in it. Do you remember the part where the guy played by Kyle MacLachlan has to stick his hand in the itchy-burny box and if he can keep it there for a long time he will become an ultimate fighter? That's what my life feels like right now. Like my whole body is stuck inside the itchy-burny box, but as long as I can hold out until my eyes turn a brilliant sky blue then I will be stronger than men.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Think of Pizza, Then Multiply It By 100

A SLEW of sloppy love letters from hotel hottie Paris Hilton to her ex-beau, Worker #3116, have fallen into the clutches of PAGE SIX. The mushy missives, scrawled in a childish, blocky hand, shed light on the relationship, which ended last July after Paris was photographed with bruises on her face and a fat lip. The letters from 2004 declare her undying love for Worker #3116, and in one she apologizes for lying to him.

One card signed, "Paris, AKA Le Bean," wishes Worker #3116 a happy birthday, and states: "I don't want you to ever worry because I would never [bleep] this up for anything in the world. It's been really hard for me these past couple of months and I'm so happy I found you. You are the [bleep] and I love you to death."

A Valentine's card — which features heart-shaped candies with slogans like, "Spoil me," "Tease Me," "Squeeze Me" and "Love Me" — reads: "Sometimes I forget you can't see my thoughts or into my heart . . . I really hope and believe this will last forever."

Another letter marking the couple's "4-month anniversary," says: "I know you probably wonder from time to time what you mean to me . . . you mean the world to me. Think of something you couldn't live without and multiply it by a hundred."

The sweet nothings were written inside sappy greeting cards with photos of puppies. Another missive was accompanied by photos the heiress had cut out of a magazine showing herself looking glum with the headline: "Paris feels real pain." "Dear Worker #3116, This is how I look and feel when I'm away from you," she wrote.

The dream appeared to sour by the time Paris wrote from "the plane back to L.A." having watched the movie, 50 First Dates.

Paris penned: "I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am for lying to you before and I want to let you know that it will never happen again. I can't explain the pain I felt when I thought I lost you. It was like half of me had been ripped from my soul. I never felt so alone and I never want to feel that way again. I never want to lose you. I never want to hurt you again . . . I'm so sorry for the pain that I have caused you. From now on things will be different, I promise."

Paris then promised to get a tattoo that read mi cubicle es su cubicle to mark a "new beginning" and, "to erase all the past bulls- -t we have done to each other." The note is signed, "Paris (your bunny forever.)"
(New York Post)

Dear Diary, It's Me, Moby

Challenges

Last night, as you know, was the finale of Real World Road World SuperFight! in which girls and boys from previous MTV shows compete for novelty-sized checks and novelty-sized travel vouchers. Did the boys win? The boys won. Do the boys always win? According to the boys always win. But there was a redeeming quality, which was the quality where the guy said "My whole body is just one big chill." I'm telling you, I don't know what kind of radiation treatments MTV gives the stars of its shows to ensure that they are at maximum retardation before they get on the air, but whatever it is, it is very powerful, and very effective. So powerful and effective, in fact, that it makes the viewer just a little bit retarded, too.

I also liked in this show where they were about to sit down to a nice dinner in Casa San Lucas or something and then all these guys busted in dressed in all black and screaming at them and jumping up on the table and smashing their wine glasses and kicking their steaks onto the floor and then they marched them into this "darkened" room and said "Welcome to Hell!" By hell they meant a room with only a little bit of light, and mats on the floor and sleeping bags and clean clothing all laid out and ready. But of course in typical RTV fashion, everyone has to do a "natural setting" interview where they're like "It was awful! Those mats were not very comfortable, and the tee-shirt they provided was a color that does not match my skin tone as well as I would have liked."

Meanwhile, in my own Real World Road World Challenge: I have to fight boredom while sitting on a stationary chair and drinking 32 oz of water from a Nalgene bottle as fast as I can so that I can get out of the chair and go fill the bottle up again! I must do this three times a day!

WAIT WAIT WAIT! I've got something more to say! I also liked when Eric Nies, who is approximately 137 years old today, wrapped up his experience of competing against women by saying "In situations like this, you know, the adrenaline's flying..."

Ha ha. Yeah, that's some of my "adrenaline" in your eye. Pow!

Monday, January 24, 2005

So Appropriate

Since, as both The Boroughs, who is interesting, and a boring guy at my work, who is not interesting, have both pointed out to me, today is officially the "most depressing day of the year" in England and perhaps the entire world (although I bet some people would argue Tsunami Day was worse), let's have some fun like they do in Highlights magazine.

1. Tell me your favorite Smiths song!

2. Tell me what you wear on the outside because that is what you feel on the inside!

3. Solve the following riddle:
[W + (D-d)] x TQ
M x NA


NOTE: The riddle is broken down into seven variables: (W) weather, (D) debt, (d) monthly salary, (T) time since Christmas, (Q) time since failed quit attempt, (M) low motivational levels and (NA) the need to take action.

I'm Gaining 500 Pounds and If You Don't LIke It You Can Go Fuck Yourself

I've got this tiny circular birthmark on my chest that looks a little bit like a triple-nipple. Today I noticed for the first time that when I look down I can no longer see it. It is hidden by my man-boobs.

This is basically a post that says that Worker #3116's New Year's resolution to gain five hundred pounds is going swimmingly, and if you don't like it you can go fuck yourself.

Let Me See It



In the meantime, I was listening to the radio yesterday and this girl called in:

DJ: Hey, what can I do for you?
Girl: Um, I have a question I need to ask you.
DJ: Okay, shoot.
Girl: Is Ciara a trans-sexual?
DJ: What? No!
Girl: Are you sure?
DJ: Look, I've met her. I hugged her, and I can promise you that she's not. Because I liked her, and if she was, then that would make me a freak. And I'm not a freak, so, no. Ha ha ha.
Girl: Well, okay, but I read somewhere that she was a man.

This morning "Let Me See You 1,2 Step" was on the televisions and , who had just woken up to fill his forty bottle with refreshing water before going back to sleep, and I remarked that in addition to being a man, Ciara just has so MUCH. Of everything. She has so much hair and so much thighs and so much face and so much backside. So much torso. Not just breasts, but torso. She's got broad shoulders. Her nose is big. Everything about her. That DJ is a freak. Do you get it? Just let me know if you get it.

Worker #3116: Let me see it.
McCullen: See what?
Worker #3116: You 1,2 step.
McCullen: No.

Thursday, January 20, 2005

The Bush

Did you watch The Bush's inauguration speech? At first, it was really fire-and-brimstomey à la itinerant ministry during the Second Great Awakening. He kept saying stuff about "America's period of sabbatical" and how we then suffered "a day of fire." I was all, "I got the ghost in me. Here comes the holy spirit. Praise be The Bush."

Later, though, on the fire theme, my favorite part happened, which was when he talked about "hope kindl[ing] hope" (look out, hope fire ablaze!) and then about how our hope fire gives poor brown people their own hope fires (while maybe we should be giving them food fires) and then my absolute favorite, which nearly made me lol while I jotted it down to Never Forget, but was when The Bush made reference to the "untamed fire of freedom."

We don't need no water, let the motherfucking untamed fire of freedom burn. Burn, untamed fire of freedom, burn.

Guess who's back. Back again. The Bush is back. Tell your friends.

Abusing Myself To Distraction

Sometimes at my lair, when you try to use the internet, it's all slow, like "Come on internet, do it!" But it won't, and you're like "What's wrong internet, why did you get sick?" The reason that the internet gets so slow is because SOMEONE likes to download pornography with homosexual themes and role playing games at extremely high bit-rates that eat up all the bits or something. I don't know about technology, okay. I'm not a scientist. My parents never sent me to Space Camp. I never accidentally got into a space shuttle that I thought was just a simulator and then pressed the wrong button and launched myself along with all my friends and my teacher who thought that Space Camp would teach us something about responsibility and the importance of education into orbit because NASA had somehow designed a space shuttle that could not have its system manually overwritten from ground control headquarters, and which they also left open in the middle of the night without any security and totally armed and ready to go. But anyway, I'm really really bored right now, and I thought of that.

Game on.

Terror Had A Face Last Night

Take My Wife, Please is the best new show in television. Somehow, they find two equally incompetent women, but from extremely different socio-economic backgrounds, and go make them see what it's like to be incompetent in different ways. At the end, all the husbands and wives get to tell each other how much they hated their house and their kids, and how they're so happy with the choices they've made in their own lives. Example: "You live in a filthy, smelly, awful hovel, and it's not fun, and it's not impressing anyone. It's stupid. You can't live like that. I'm sorry, but your house...I'm embarrassed for you." IN YOUR FACE HIPPIE MOM. Then Rich Mom is all like, "I'm going to finally go back to a civilized life where children are seen, not heard, and actually, not seen."

I think last week was still better, when the rich NJ mom went to live in Taylor, Michigan, with the daughters of a fat single mom. The 3 daughters were so straight up Taylor Trash, it was awesome. Here are some choice bits that don't even need context: "Go ahead and pick the flowers you ugly, rich, stupid, bitch." Later: "Aww, hellll no! Fuck that! Hell nooooooo" followed by an exit from the house and a slammed screen-door. Next week also looks like it will have some pretty choice moments when some fat kid goes "These rules are IMPOSSIBLE!" with his big fat face pressed into the lens, and then later "I can't take it! She's a moron!" The kid is, like, eight.

I have been watching way too much TV lately.

After Take My Wife, I Hate Her, though, we were thrilled to see a newscaster announce his story with "Terror has a face tonight." Ha ha ha. It sure did.

Wednesday, January 19, 2005

I Am The Diamond Duke And I Am Here To Steal!

For work-related-program-activities I did a google search for "the rarest jewel in the world" and this was the second hit:

Once upon a time there was a Bank Robber named Diamond Duke. He was in Jail for blowing up the Empire State Building. He was trying to get out of Jail. And he did.

The first thing he did was rob a Jewel store! So he sat down to see what he got. "HA, HA, HA" he yelled. He had stolen the rarest jewel in the World! He was so Happy!

But suddenly out of nowhere a Police Officer caught him! So he went to court. & had to pay 900,000,000 Dollars! So he went back to Jail…. For now.


HA HA HA, I yell. I am so happy!

I Am The Diamond Duke And I Am Here To Steal!

For work-related-program-activities I did a google search for "the rarest jewel in the world" and this was the second hit:

Once upon a time there was a Bank Robber named Diamond Duke. He was in Jail for blowing up the Empire State Building. He was trying to get out of Jail. And he did.

The first thing he did was rob a Jewel store! So he sat down to see what he got. "HA, HA, HA" he yelled. He had stolen the rarest jewel in the World! He was so Happy!

But suddenly out of nowhere a Police Officer caught him! So he went to court. & had to pay 900,000,000 Dollars! So he went back to Jail…. For now.


HA HA HA, I yell. I am so happy!

Worker #3116 Kills Clown Coffees Dead

I just told Clown Coffee this story:

In the late 80's or early 90's Sebastian Bach appeared on TV wearing a tee-shirt that said "AIDS Kills Fags Dead". Later, when he had to give his apology, he said, "I guess I'm sorry about wearing that shirt. I didn't realize it would offend anybody. I just thought it was funny. But my grandma died of cancer, and if somebody wore a tee-shirt that said "Cancer Kills Grannies Dead" I'd probably be upset about it. But I still think the shirt is funny."

This is my favorite example of how to give an apology.

But anyway, I'm recounting that story for you because after I told it to Clown Coffee he said that he wanted to use it and I told him he couldn't because it was mine. "Well, actually, it's Sebastian Bach's," he said. "Well, it's also mine because I'm the only one who seems to remember it," I told him.

So I needed timed, dated proof that this was my story to keep YKW from using it. Timed, dated proof that, thanks to the Christmas miracle of my diary, I now have.

Trask Coffee: No Spoilers

Yesterday, Clown Coffee said "You know who you really remind me of? Keanu Reeves." I was like, "Um, what do you mean?" Clown Coffee said, "Like the way you act." I said, "I remind you of Keanu Reeves in real life, or the way Keanu Reeves is in his movies?" To which Clown Coffee responded, "I don't know him in real life, so I just assume that he acts the way he acts in his movies."

At first I was really offended that Clown Coffee was basically calling me a total idiot, but then I realized that he was probably just referring to how I always come into his cube and say "We need guns. Lots of guns," and "There is no spoon."

Also, in a FOX's hit drama The O.C. update, I have something to say, but I'm going to say it without any spoilers because I don't want to ruin it for any chigger-infested, FOX-less person who lives in a cave but hopes to get a DVD player for their birthday, but in reference to the Oliver Trask "Gun Episode," I cannot tell you how astonished I was to feel a giant weight lift from my shoulders and to realize, as (who, I might add, is not even in to the show, but was still giving me high-fives last night at crucial, high-five necessitating moments) cheered our victory, that I've been feeling kind of "off" and depressed for about a week, and it all vanished, which means that my emotions, even away from the television set, are now intrinsically linked to the adolescently turbulent ups and downs of one Ryan Atwood, and are particularly sensitive to his conflict with one Oliver Trask.

The thing we figured out is that sociopaths are the scariest characters because in large part they trade in regular human interaction (unlike, say, psychopaths). In fact, to a large extent they excel at the machinations of social interaction, but their craziness forces them to use and manipulate those machinations to ill intent. When you see a sociopath on television (and you can tell its a sociopath by the ominous lead-in music that plays whenever their smirking face enters the shot) you get the feeling that you might know that person, and that perhaps they want to kill you. That perhaps they work with you and hold a "hitting stick" whenever you talk to them in their cube. Sociopaths, it is known, often compare you to mindless actors that bear no actual resemblance to you, either physically or attitudinally. They think that they can just come over to you and say "you look really bad" and then ask for food and just walk away. But they always get theirs.

Always.

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

...

Clown Coffee: You need a haircut.
Worker #3116: I know. I'm getting one on Friday.
Clown Coffee: Good, because you look really bad.
Worker #3116: ...
Clown Coffee: Do you have any food?
Worker #3116: ...
Clown Coffee: Byeeee.

Lawyers, Rap Has Something To Tell You

By his early teens, Game said, he was dealing drugs and joined the Cedar Block Piru, a local chapter of the Bloods gang. In 2001, while at his "business" headquarters, he was ambushed by three rival gang members looking to rob him. He was shot seven times and left for dead.

Like in the movies, he said, his life flashed before his eyes. "I saw everything that had ever happened to me, from my mom teaching me how to ride a bicycle when I was 5 years old to graduating from high school and my grandmother's funeral."

While recovering, he began listening intently to music by N.W.A. and Kool G Rap and to classic hip-hop albums like Biggie Smalls's "Ready to Die," Jay-Z's "Reasonable Doubt," Snoop's "Doggystyle" and Tupac Shakur's "All Eyez on Me." And he taught himself to rap. "I studied those albums like someone who was studying for the bar," he said.
(New York Times)

I think Spaceham, Illiams, and the future Stevil can all relate to Mr. Game's story. Also! Lawyers! And future Lawyer! If you've studied as hard as Mr. Game, look what the future holds for you in all your success!:

"Rap [or in your cases, law] is the tree stump, and I'm definitely branching out," he said. He is working on a clothing line and fielding scripts. He has purchased several homes and a liquor store in Compton and is looking for more property.
(ibid)

"Who's Digging Up The Bodies Of America's Dead Celebrities?"

There's a lot of very good celebrity gossip on nypost.com/gossip/pagesix today. I didn't reprint it here because it wasn't that funny (I have a rigorous, mathematically formulated testing system for determining funnyness, a test that today's gossip failed), at least not the way Liz Smith or whoever the f wrote it. But it was informative, and I'll summarize my favorite parts here:

Tobey Maguire is a big fat ass fat pants, so fat that he couldn't go to the Golden Globes.

Mischa Barton smacked her boyfriend in the face and then they went home and did it.

Quentin Tarantino is dating Sofia Coppolla, which is really sick for about a billion reasons. I don't know Spike Jonze, so maybe he's a bad person who, like, put cigarettes out on her face while she was sleeping or something, but if you were married to Spike Jonze and the marriage fell apart and you started dating someone as fat (he's fat too now, I seen it on the TV) and pasty and creepynerdish as Quentin "Money Can Buy You All The Things You Never Had In High School" Tarantino, and I was related to you, I would do an intervention, and then I would medicate you, and then I would send you somewhere to "rest" for a couple months.

Shanon Dougherty and Nicky Hilton hate each other because Paris Hilton loves to do it on camera.

Zach Braff is apparently gay.

Usher is a big asshole, which is not news, unless you are Halle Berry and he tries to hit on you at the In-Style party, like he did this weekend, after the Golden Globes.

Quentin Tarantino is cheating on his girlfriend, Sofia Coppolla.

The Let Me See You 1,2 Step of Blame

FOX's hit drama, The O.C. must be destroyed. Look, I've been to advanced college, and I've weathered more than my fair share of cultural fads. In my less glorious moments I even consider myself "in-touch" with the world around me. I'm not speaking for my own well-being, I'll make it through this Perfect Storm of emotional manipulation, but I'm thinking of the kids. If FOX's hit drama, The O.C. can have the profound effect that it is having on me, what is it doing to the kids? Nothing good. I don't have a smart answer, I just know bad stuff when I see it, and bad stuff airs on FOX, Thursdays, 8/7c.

Also, I'd like to send a private message to McCullen through the very public forum of my diary: by living with you I have grown to understand the importance of keeping two entire pizzas in the refrigerator at any given time, but please, when making room for your GIGANTIC pizzas, try not to throw food away unless it is yours or you are absolutely positive that it is no good. This morning I found a head of lettuce in the garbage that I bought two days ago. As well as a tomato. HOW MANY TIMES ARE WE GOING TO DO THIS BLAME DANCE?!

Monday, January 17, 2005

We're More Than Horses, We're Also Lame Now

By the way, unicorns are out. They are doubly out if they're featured on a grid background. Just wanted to let you guys all know that, so that next time you're like "Check out this amazing poster I found of a unicorn soaring over a landscape of geometrical shapes on a black background with lightning in the distance" you'll say that to someone who is not me.

In case this is coming as a devastating blow to some of you, please know that I was once like you, I used to think that pictures of unicorns were cool and something to covet. Then I turned 21 and could buy booze and stuff.

FOX's Hit Series The O.C. Is Ruining My Life. Seriously.

In an effort to make this more like a real diary, and, like, talk about my feelings and stuff, can I just say that I'm kind of concerned about the way I've been reacting to FOX's hit series The O.C. lately. Every time I see that fucking Count Chocula sociopath, Oliver Trask, it makes me want to scream. I was literally punching the couch yesterday during the whole "I've done something really bad, I've taken a bunch of pills, come fuck me" episode. Literally. There's punch holes all over that f-ing couch now, because I'm such a strong puncher.

I'm Gonna Eat You Like a Pizza, It's Very Very Nice To Meet Ya

The Great Freeze of 2005 continues, and thus the locks on my car remain frozen even after emptying an entire canister of lock de-icer into them. I have to crawl in through the back door and over the seat, which was just annoying in a funny way on Saturday night, but has proved much less "funny" when I had to go to the grocery store, and in the workplace parking lot. If anyone asks, I'm going to say that I'm paying my respects to Martin Luther King Jr. by suffering some of the hardships his people went through. Never forget.

You will know I am not joking when I say that my ears are still ringing from Saturday's Saturday Looks Good To Me concert. Those were some of the loudest songs about candy and sleepovers I've ever heard. Did anyone notice the fat blonde hobbit that kept giving me the sex eyes during the show? I was like "Um, you will not be climbing the slopes of this Mount Doom, Frodette Baggins," and then I set my drink down on top of her head. Get it? Like a table? Then yesterday morning I had one of those in-between being asleep and getting up to pee dreams in which we had just returned from the after-party and it was ten in the morning and everyone was like "Jesus, I can't believe we stayed out so late. I've got to go crash," and was like "Um, I think...I think I'm going to go to the store and get another forty, does anyone need anything?"

In the meantime, this is Worker #3116 for "How's Your Weekend?"

Friday, January 14, 2005

This Is Worker #3116 Reporting for "How's Your Week?"

What is up with this week? I feel like this whole week has made about as much sense as Mountain Dew Code Black.

Early in the week I got a call from this girl I don't know who was like "Hey, this is Girl, I'm friends with IAmJamieSabuda's girlfriend. What are you doing?" And I was like "I'm eating dinner, what are you doing?" And she was like "Just hanging out, I ate some dinner earlier, too," and I was like, "That's cool," and she was like "Yeah," and I was like, "Cool," and she was like, "So, um, did you see my profile on friendster," and I was like, "Look, I don't really go on friendster, so, no," and she was like, "Oh," and then there was this really really long pause and I was like, "Are you okay?" and she was like, "Yeah, are you okay?" and I was like, "Uh, YEAH!" and she was like, "Well, I'm really embarrassed now, so I'm going to get off the phone, but here's my number and you can call me back sometime," and I was like "Okay. Byeeee."

So, I finally tracked down her profile on friendster and it is a god-damned horrorshow. It's like if you took all of my favorite things in the world and put them in the garbage and replaced them with some really boring things from three years ago, they would be her favorite things. And she's not hot. In that "About Me" section it said something to the effect of "I'm really silly, and if you want a crazy story I've got a bunch of them," and all her testimonials were like "Girl is so silly and crazy. She is the craziest person you will ever meet." Has IAmJamieSabuda ever even met me? What is he doing?

I've left two angry voicemail messages for IAmJamieSabuda telling him to stop trying to ruin my life. I'm sure that Girl is a very nice person, but I'd really like to never meet her, ever. IAmJamieSabuda has not called me back. But the main reason I'm telling you all of this is not to mock Girl, because honestly, and this may seem anathema to the whole Worker #3116 mythos, but I feel kind of bad for her, and I don't think she deserves to be mocked just because she is a terrible, boring person, but the story really does encapsulate my entire week. I've been taken by surprise by an unwelcome force of pure boredom that has rendered everything vaguely sad and decidedly unfunny and no one will return my phone calls, especially not the people who need to get over here and clean up their goddamn matchmaking messes.

In the meantime, this is Worker #3116 for "How's Your Week?"

Thursday, January 13, 2005

Heil Harry

Without any context, this is easily the most fascinating snap-poll I've ever read.

Ha ha. No? Did you answer no?

No, I Want To Come First

The world of p.r. is very fascinating, no?

"TOP-heavy teen queen Lindsay Lohan is taking New Orleans by storm. She recently hit town to film Just My Luck, a romantic comedy about a very fortunate 'sexy Manhattanite' whose luck takes a turn for the worse after an encounter with a character played by Princess Diaries 2 star Chris Pine. Our Big Easy spies report that Lohan has been spotted partying hard at a bar called The Boot, a Tulane University hangout. 'That's completely untrue,' says Lohan's rep. 'She was just there with some castmates checking out the local scene. There was no "partying." She had one cranberry and soda.'"
(New York Post)

If I'm not mistaken, Lohan's most recent project to be presented to a willing public, was a music video AT A PARTY. The whole thing is about how Lohan just WANTS TO BE LEFT ALONE TO PARTY. So...I mean...does she like to party or not? I'm just confused. Hollywood stop confusing me! "You are getting the wrong idea. Lohan does NOT like to party. I'm not sure why you think that just because she's always at bars and parties, and just because her first music video—music being Lohan's true passion, and the direction in which she is very EXCITED to be taking her career—features a partying Lohan, it's all make believe. Please end your vicious rumors, and enjoy Lohan's debut album Speak. Before you enjoy the album, though, I'd just like you to be careful not to misinterpret the following lyrics:

Cuz when I see you something inside me burn
And I realize I wanna come first
I wanna come first

("First," Track 1)

I just wanna live my life sedated
("Disconnected," Track 8)

And I'm drunk I want I'm seeing through these open eyes
("Very Last Moment in Time," Track #10)

Saturday steppin' into the club
And it makes me wanna tell the DJ
Turn It Up
I feel the energy all around
And my body can't stop moving to the sound

("Rumors," Track #11)


These songs are not about partying, and it's unfair of you to criticize Lohan for enjoying partying that she doesn't even do. Just stop even totally being ridiculous because everyone knows that she hates partying so much."

How do you even get work doing p.r.? Do you have to fail an intelligence test or something?

Won't You Do Me A Favor And Sing For Worker #3116

It's too bad I'm not into professional sports, because I'd be really good at it. Not only do I have ample brainspace available for names and stats (brainspace currently being taken up with Lohan gossip and Billboard Top 40 Hip Hop lyrics), but I'm also overly competitive, enjoy beer and snacks, and understand the fine art of homo-eroticism. Oh well. Back to "Page Six".

My pants smell like Last Friday Fun Times, so every time I shift in my chair it reminds me of being at an AWESOME NIGHTCLUB. But I'm not, I'm just in my cubicle. It's one of those "I wish Nina Sky were here right now" moments.

Anyhow, have you seen the new Snoop video? It's like watching an animated issue of Architectural Digest. I kind of get the sense that anytime some shitty rapper gets Pharrell to appear on their track/in their video that they try to make things seem classier. "Oooh, Pharrell's coming over, I better tidy up before he gets here." He's like the supercool person in high school you always wanted to be friends with and then somehow, by some kind of Christmas miracle, that person eventually talked to you and you were kind of taken aback that it was even happening, and then you guys became friends of a sort and you were really proud whenever you were hanging out, and were secretly kind of excited that someone might see you guys together and know that you were friends (even though you would never say this out loud), although you never, ever actually felt like you were good enough. He's basically kind of like me.

A nigga wanna hump you and then just comfort you.

Wednesday, January 12, 2005

Paradiso

The first—and only—time I saw Belle and Sebastian in concert was at a club called the Paradiso in Amsterdam. There was lots of corduroy and tweed in the room, and the band itself was oversized and seemed to be completely hopped up on some kind of cold medication. Everyone, both in the crowd and on-stage, was very calm and appeared to be having a perfectly nice, perfectly good time. It was a group that could be described as "decent" and "nonthreatening."

I'm telling you this story because it is a pretty good analogy for the way I feel about my life right now. Everyone is relatively kind-hearted and happy enough to be where they are, but meanwhile, thousands of people all around us are smoking marijuana and visiting red light district brothels. They are actually living, and having drug-induced, sexually-corrupt fun. I'm basically standing still, boredly watching a neutered man-child sing songs about candy and sunshine, while real, virile adults live real, dangerous lives.

What TV show do you think I'll watch on DVD tonight?

Je Ne Get It Pas

Do you think the person who coined the phrase "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach" was a virgin?

Feel Me Feel You Feel Pain

Newer Guy is on the phone in his cube and he just said "For me to poop on!" really loudly.

I just thought I'd tell you so that I no longer suffer alone.

Sorry Babies, The Celebrities Are Sleeping. Shhhhh.

So I was all, "My life is so grim and boring this day, perhaps superhuman celebrities fair better?"

NO!

Celebrities are so boring today too. My guess is that everyone's laying low, knowing that even the most outrageous red-carpet behavior and Rain V.I.P. Section catfights will be drowned out by the megaroar of BP and JA's breakup.

I did see this totally amazing thing you won't believe just like I couldn't believe it, though:

"Those of you craving more speculation about what went wrong between Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt will be pleased to learn that all three big celebrity weeklies -- People, Us Weekly and In Touch Weekly -- have rushed out issues chock filled with just that. People deputy managing editor Larry Hackett called the breakup saga 'the sister, brother and mother-in-law of celebrity stories.' Speaking on behalf of Us Weekly, Wenner Media general manager Kent Brownridge put it this way: 'For a celebrity weekly, this is our tsunami. I can't think of anything bigger than the king and queen of Hollywood breaking up.' Meanwhile, somewhat mystifyingly, Star magazine did not move to knock last week's magazine, emblazoned with the coverline 'Brad & Jen Back On! IT'S BABY TIME!' off the stand early, though it did hire a new Hollywood reporter, Mark Coleman, from Life & Style Weekly, to help prevent more such black eyes. Says David Pecker, CEO of Star parent American Media, of the 'Back On!' snafu, 'It's a colossal embarrassment.'"
(salon.com)

In the words of Star Jones, "God blesses. He does. God blesses!"

Fuck Me

Today is not the best day ever. It's just been going all wrong, like, someone wrote down what was supposed to happen and then lost that piece of paper, and then they tried to remember how it was supposed to go but when they wrote it down again it came out all fucked up and stupid.

First of all, I cannot find my watch, so I have been in this big panic about how I lost my watch, which is totally retarded and unimportant, but I have no idea when this pointless stress will end because I have NO WAY TO TELL TIME ON MY WRIST. I feel like I had it on last night, but I JUST DON'T KNOW. So I went to the gym this morning to see if I left it there and if by a Christmas miracle someone decided to turn it in, but they didn't have it. And then I got to work late. Oh wait, I f-ed up. First of all, I could barely stay awake this morning and slept for forty five minutes in a plastic IKEA chair that's probably going to give me permanent back pain, THEN moved to my bed and slept there, all before losing my watch. Finally, late to work, I check my email to see that les grandparents have written me and are asking if I want to come visit them in March because Deadbeat Père will be there for his birthday. Oh, and what is that in the background of les grandparents' email? A rainbow patterned background. Hellooo! So, I'm like, well, let's think about it. Remember when we celebrated Deadbeat Père's birthday in NEW YORK CITY and we were at that really fancy restaurant and he got so drunk that he literally could not speak and we had to carry him out of the restaurant with the help of the Maitre-D? Do you remember that? He doesn't! That was back when things were GOOD!

My jaw is also making this really light creaking sound that no one else can hear, like the way leather creaks, or slippered-feet against floorboards. It's stupid. I hate it.

HELLO WORLD!

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

You Might Be A Typo If...

I'm Not A Chicken, You're A Turkey

Do you remember this advertisement that used to be on television?

Scene: A Junior High lunchroom. Two boys, both approximately aged 12, sit together at a table. As one of the boys begins to consume his lunch, the other turns in shock.
Boy 1: What are you drinking?
Boy 2: It's apple juice.
Boy 1: Apple juice?!!
Boy 2: Unh-hunh.
Boy 1: No man. This is Junior High. No one drinks apple juice anymore. That's kid's stuff. We drink orange juice now.

This ad basically sums up everything I know about adulthood. This, and a little film called Ultra Milkmaids 4.

WTFATTA

"When it comes to relationships, you're not up for anything even remotely resembling routine. This doesn't necessarily mean that you'll try to entice a current partner to dangle from the ceiling -- although you might be a bit more 'open' with someone new if you're single -- but it certainly does mean that you're in the mood to try something different. The good news is that you won't be at all afraid to mention this to whoever you're with -- oh, and you'll have an extremely receptive audience."
(astrology.yahoo.com)

Um...I know this is going to sound kind of wild, but, I was hoping...look, just, I don't want to weird you out, okay, but I feel really comfortable with you, like I can share anything, like I can finally be me for once. So, you know [deep breath] God, I didn't think it was going to be this hard...I've never asked anyo—Okay, okay. I'll just say it: do you think...could...could you dangle from the ceiling for me?

We've All Got Choices. We've All Got Voices.

Also, threshold number two has now been crossed. This morning I was almost late to work because I said, "Fuck it," and downloaded Avril's Under My Skin in its entirety. I'm no longer satisfied with just the "hits." I want more. Which is also why I've taken to wearing a necktie over a tank top, at least on days that I have a meeting to go to. What all the nay-sayers seem to overlook is that this is music that speaks to US! Take this Baudelaire-esque example:

This is when I start to bite my nails.
And clean my room when all else fails.
I think it's time for me to bail.
This point of view is getting stale.


Also, it's only a matter of time before she becomes the poet laureate of the United States. "But Worker #3116," you idiots cry out, "she's Canadian! She can't hold that title!" And I'm all, like, "You guys are dumb because we are obviously married by that point. Ever heard of a GREEN CARD!"

Also, are you guys totally excited for Stand Up And Lean By Me? McCullen is. He's a little sad, though, that they changed the name from the original working title: Dangerouser Minds.

Also, Boots is back from NEW YORK CITY! and he has a prediction of his own for 2005:
"Asian pussy will be highly sought after." ("And tighter than ever"--McCullen)

Monday, January 10, 2005

Smoothies

Clown Coffee: I made a smoothie this morning.
Worker #3116: I know. You told me seven times. What did it have in it?
Clown Coffee: All bran, strawberries, milk, honey—
Worker #3116: Pizza.
Clown Coffee: Banana.
Worker #3116: Chocolate cake.
Clown Coffee: Hair products.
Worker #3116: Gel.
Clown Coffee: Cholesterol. Did you know that if you go into the "ethnic hair-care" section they have a product called Cholesterol that you put in your hair?
Worker #3116: What were you doing in there?
Clown Coffee: Hey, that's my business!
Worker #3116: That is not a place for you.
Clown Coffee: I stole that from the Jerky Boys: "Hey, that's my business!"
Worker #3116: Well, I think you can have it. You don't need to credit them for it, it's kind of a normal thing to say.

What happened next is for real.

Clown Coffee: Hey! Someday this week after work we should really go for facials.

Exit Worker #3116.

He Found This Himself

Mmmm! Weekend!

Yesterday I drank the Muscle Milk for the first time (I had some old protein shakes to finish before I could pop open my canister of SUPERSHAKE, because, see, I was actually already drinking protein shakes, you a-wads) and it was DELICIOUS! Seriously, it was like the most delicious milk shake. Who knew getting totally ripped would be such a taste sensation? Now, even McCullen says he's going to order some "just for tastes".

Speaking of McCullen, I highly recommend not coming home drunk on a Saturday night and deciding that the two of you should talk about your innermost feelings on the couch because I woke up Sunday with the worst depression hangover I've ever had. Seriously, I could barely move. Seriously. I was all, "oh man, what happened? My head...how much did I talk last night?"

F-day was a good day. Despite almost being sent to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, as an enemy combatant, I got to hear ALL of my favorite songs, like Modest Mouse AND Franz Ferdinand AND the Killers AND the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, if you can believe it. And I didn't even have to pay Jeremy "Steeler" 6 dollars to do so! But then the guy at Canadian Pizza was a total asshole. He said that Isaac Brock had died in a plane crash and I cried the whole way home only to find out he was lying. OMG! It was like when Kurt died. You know, KURT COBAIN! From NIRVANA!

Ha ha. R.I.P. Kurt Cobain. R.I.P. Isaac Brock. R.I.P. Aaliyah.

Friday, January 07, 2005

Check Your Local Listings

I'm REALLY excited (nnn...IT'S EXCITING!) to announce that Clown Coffee and I will be producing our own weekly half-hour comedy showcase for television, currently titled Got Laffs?

Our very first skit opens with Clown Coffee and I sitting at a table piled high with balled-up papers and empty coffee cups where we've obviously been working tirelessly through the night "brainstorming."

Clown Coffee: How about the word "Laffs", that's always good.
Worker #3116: We could call the show Got Laffs? You know, like "Got Milk?" but instead of milk, it's laffs.
Clown Coffee: Perfect.
Worker #3116: We could both have laff moustaches, like instead of milk moustaches. Laff moustaches.
Clown Coffee: No. How about scheduling?
Worker #3116: It'll probably have to be on late night, at least when we're first starting out.
Clown Coffee: But no one's going to watch it if it's on late night.
Worker #3116: I will!
Clown Coffee: [Rolls his eyes and throws his hands up in the air in frustration] Of course you will, Worker #3116. You're in it!

Cue laff-track. Cut To: opening credits.

And scene.

Ice Breaker

If you were Maroon 5'ed on a desert island, which three songs of theirs would you take with you to the grave because they make you want to kill yourself?

Humans can't drink salt water because the kidneys can only make urine that is less salty than salt water. Therefore, to get rid of all the excess salt taken in by drinking salt water—water is considered highly saline if it contains anywhere from 10,000-35,000 ppm of dissolved salts—you have to urinate more water than you drank, so you die of dehydration. There is one case in which humans can drink salt water, which is when they are stuck on a desert island with the pop band Maroon 5. While this will still cause one to die of dehydration, it is considered preferable by most health professionals to spending any more time with these insufferable a-holes.
(ask.yahoo.com)

Grafiti and Mosturizer: The End Days Are Here

Premise: My hands are really dry.

Background: This guy I knew in high school got caught tagging once. He and a bunch of kids were tagging under a bridge or something and the cops came and everyone ran and he was the only one who got caught. So the cop takes him to his parents' house, and he has to sit in the hallway while the cop talks to his parents and he overhears the cop telling his parents that he was caught huffing paint, so he bursts in and is like "that's bullshit!" Then some other stuff happens I don't remember, and then after the cop leaves, his dad is talking to him, and I wish you could hear the impression he did of his dad's voice, but anyway, his dad is like "Do you like graffiti, Matt?" and Matt's like, "Well, dad, actually I do. I think it looks cool, and I think when it's done in a creative way it's art." Then his dad takes this deep breath and says, "Well I don't. I hate it. I HATE THE WAY IT FUCKS UP THE WORRRRRLLLLDDD!"

Conclusion: I put moisturizer on my dry hands, but I feel the same way about moisturizer that Matt's dad feels about graffiti. There's greasy smears all over everything now, it's disgusting. I hate the way that moisturizer fucks up the world.

No, Not Skyler, My Other Girlfriend, You Know, Manohla Dargis!

All of you read the New York Times movie reviews written by my girlfriend, Manohla Dargis, because I told you to. You all find my girlfriend, Manohla Dargis, to be surprisingly witty and subversive for a print publication that you usually think of as staid and overly attentive to the archaically formal sensibility of traditional newspaper journalism. But, if you still haven't found yourself checking nytimes.com on a daily basis to see if Worker #3116's girlfriend, Manohla Dargis, has written a new review, let me show you just the tiniest example of my girlfriend's estimable magic:

As you know, because you are not retarded, because retards don't read my diary, at the end of each film review, the New York Times publishes a short paragraph of pertinent, supposedly unbiased information, like what it's rated, who directed it, etc. Take a look at what my fabulously successful, superhot, totally smart girlfriend, Manohla Dargis, can do with just such a simple, seemingly innocuous bit of information:

"White Noise" is rated PG-13 (Some material may be inappropriate for children under 13). Actually, most of this is inappropriate for anyone of any age with half a brain.

BAM! June wedding!

Bling Bling, Coming Thursdays to FX

I'm more than a little worried for the futures of some of today's hottest hip-hop artists. Remember when the Top 40 was populated by the likes of LL Cool J, DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, and Queen Latifah? What did they all go on to do once, to quote Mr. Cool J himself, "their six packs was faded and their raps was outdated"? They starred in their own nationally beloved syndicated sitcoms. Their era of hip hop was, in large part, about having a good time, rhyming, beatboxing, wearing oversized clocks around the neck, etc. If you look at some of the more "morally outrageous" acts of the time, they're still pretty mild. Granted, some of it is obviously not radio friendly, but even the harsh political bombast of Public Enemy and some of N.W.A.'s less oversexed songs would be considered tame by today's standards. What I'm getting at is it's really hard for me to imagine Lil' Wayne with his own WB show. Same for new G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-Unit member, The Game, who I just saw on TV this morning, and who looks kind of like Sloth from The Goonies. Did you ever see a little movie called The Terminator? Do you remember when the Governor of California's head gets crushed by a metal press in a factory? That's what The Game's face looks like. I'm not saying that he's incapable of siring children, but it's going to be hard to believe that he is the stay-at-home father of five wacky daughters just trying to make it through high school alive.

I would, incidentally, love to see Lil John (with or without his Boyz) do a sitcom. If you get some really top-notch talent from the Ivies I bet they could come up with a lot of side-splittingly hilarious situations in which John's grunted "Whaattt!"s and "Okaaayy!"s get him into some real hot water.

Thursday, January 06, 2005

MTV3116

John Mayer was in this MTV2 commercial this morning, giving what he called "John Mayer's Rules of Electronic Etiquette," with little maxims about cell-phone usage and stuff. Then he said "Rule 3: Don't start shuffling before you're at least halfway through the progress bar. Part of the fun of listening to music is having to make it through some bad songs before you get to the really good ones," and I thought Wow, this is perhaps the most honest, clear-eyed assessment any popular musician has ever made of his own work. Brava, John Mayer.

Meanwhile, Pootie Tang was on HBO from 6-7:30 AM. I can't tell you what I wouldn't give to have a drink or something with the four other people who were watching Pootie Tang on television at 6:30 in the morning on a Thursday. We'd probably have to get the drink right when I got out of work, though, because they all go to bed early so as to be fresh-faced when the good shows start at, what, 5?

New Year, Same Sabuda

Worker #3116: I hear you're getting married.
IAmJamieSabuda: Ha ha. Yeah.
Worker #3116: To your internet girlfriend.
IAmJamieSabuda: Yes.
Worker #3116: So, she responded positively to your e-card proposal?
IAmJamieSabuda: Ha ha. You need to get a woman. Otherwise, it's a waste of a perfectly good guy.
Worker #3116: Okay.
IAmJamieSabuda: Listen, I'm going to forward you a friendster profile for this girl. I've never met her, but she's a nurse, and she's cute, and someone told me she's looking to hook up with someone.
Worker #3116: Ha ha ha. Friendster profile. Ha ha.
IAmJamieSabuda: There's just one reason that she might be unattractive.
Worker #3116: Besides using friendster to hook up?
IAmJamieSabuda: She's kind of obsessed with the White Stripes.
Worker #3116: Great.
IAmJamieSabuda: You might have to listen to her talk about the White Stripes all the time, and go to bars looking for Jack White.
Worker #3116: Perfect.
IAmJamieSabuda: But that's it.
Worker #3116: Remember how you used to live here, and you used to hang out with me, and how THAT IS OBVIOUSLY SOMETHING THAT I WOULD TOTALLY LOVE.
IAmJamieSabuda: Maybe it's a part of your life that you never told me about.
Worker #3116: Ha ha.
IAmJamieSabuda: I remember you were often very hard to find, we'd try to call you but you were gone. Maybe that's what you were doing. Anyway, I'll send you her profile, just take it easy. And you're going to visit me when?
Worker #3116: I don't know yet.
IAmJamieSabuda: But it's probably not going to be this weekend, right?
Worker #3116: Um, it's definitely not going to be this weekend.
IAmJamieSabuda: And you probably won't come to visit in, like, the next two weeks.
Worker #3116: No.
IAmJamieSabuda: The next month?
Worker #3116: No, look, I don't have plans made to visit you yet.
IAmJamieSabuda: God damn it. Well, give me at least two weeks notice.
Worker #3116: I promise I'll give you more than that.
IAmJamieSabuda: Okay.

[N.B.: IAmJamieSabuda now goes into a long diatribe about how we are going to move to New York together, and asking me what neighborhoods I like to live in in Brooklyn, and how he thinks that Williamsburg is over-rated. Then something about pizza.]

Worker #3116: Yeah, I think we were going to go there for dinner the last time I was there, but I never really ate out in Dumbo that much.
IAmJamieSabuda: How often do you go out there?
Worker #3116: This was the first time since I'd moved.
IAmJamieSabuda: When are you going back?
Worker #3116: Jesus Christ, I don't know. I don't have plans. It's expensive.
IAmJamieSabuda: It's not expensive.
Worker #3116: In transportation alone it's 300 bucks for a weekend.
IAmJamieSabuda: No. Ebay. I'm telling you.
Worker #3116: [Derisive snort] Ebay!
IAmJamieSabuda: Ebay! Ebay! Ebay! Ebay! Ebay! Ebay! Ebay! I'm telling you.
Worker #3116: What are you telling me, you just keep saying Ebay!
IAmJamieSabuda: You can get round-trip airfare for like, 20 bucks.
Worker #3116: That sounds like a scam.
IAmJamieSabuda: No.
Worker #3116: Have you ever done it?
IAmJamieSabuda: No.
Worker #3116: Well, I'm glad that you haven't changed for 2005. I'm glad that you still speak with complete authority about things that you know almost nothing about.
IAmJamieSabuda: Ha ha.
Worker #3116: Anyway, the internet scares me.
IAmJamieSabuda: Me, too. That's why I like it. I like to keep my edge.

Fortune

Mom #3116: "You will have an exciting experience tomorrow..."
Worker #3116: WAIT!
Mom #3116: "in..."
Worker #3116: DON'T!
Mom #3116: "bed. Heh heh."
Worker #3116: GOD DAMN IT, MOM. I told you not to do that. I told you that that joke is totally out for 2005. Just like it was out for 2004, and 2003, and all the other years since you started doing it.
Mom #3116: But it's funny.
Worker #3116: No. It's not.
Mom #3116: Well, what should I do.
Worker #3116: You can say "at work."
Mom #3116: At work?
Worker #3116: Yeah.
Mom #3116: "You will have an exciting experience tomorrow, at work."
Worker #3116: See. That's a good fortune. You spend a lot of time at work, it will be nice to have an exciting experience there.
Mom #3116: I thought "in bed" was funnier.
Worker #3116: Yeah, and you thought Meet the Fokkers was "a laugh riot."
Mom #3116: What does your fortune say?
Worker #3116: "The path to success is often a lonely one."

LONG PAUSE

Worker #3116: [Sighs]. Well, then I must be on it.
Herb #3116: HA!

Your Mom Is So Poor, or: How Cancer Can Be Funny

Last night I dreamt that I was in an episode of FOX's hit drama, the O.C.. I don't remember much about what happened in the episode, except at one point Sandy Cohen filled his mouth with grain alcohol, pulled a cigarette lighter from his pocket, and blew a fireball into Julie Cooper-Nichol's face. Her entire upper-body and head burst into flames, and she ran screaming into this deadwood forest that, upon waking, I found myself capable of comparing only to the Swamp of Sorrow from the Neverending Story.

NOTES: As I was writing this post I did a quick google search for Neverending Story, just for some basic fact-checking, and the first thing that I came across was this item:

"It is with sadness and regret that I must inform the Neverending Story community that Jonathan Brandis died on Wednesday, November 12, 2003. He has touched so many of our lives, and he will surely be missed. Our thoughts reach out to his family and friends."

So, Bastian is dead. Um, and more importantly, there is A NEVERENDING STORY COMMUNITY.

Then I found this item in a "Did You Know?" fun-facts section:

"The Neverending Story is one of the highest-selling books in Germany, second only to the Bible."

Also, Kenny Morrisson, a.k.a. Atreyu, recently had a role as a date-rapist DJ in a movie called L.A. DJ, whose tag-line is the whimsically phrased "People Who Live in Trailer Parks Have Dreams Too."

Finally, I looked up Neverending Story on imdb.com and THERE IS NO ENTRY! Is this because the cast and crew is constantly changing because the story never ends? They've got entries for Neverending Story II: The Next Chapter as well as Neverending Story III: Escape From Fantasia. What's up with you, imdb? Are you drunk? Are you and Germany drunk?

Wednesday, January 05, 2005

Your Mom Is So Poor, or: How Cancer Can Be Funny

My left armpit always sweats a lot more than my right. Like any discerning child of the information age, I did a webMD search to see if my problem was fatal, or would require surgery. A search for "left armpit sweats more than right" only pulled up one result. I'm sorry to say, I have breast cancer.

I'm not going to make a bunch of cancer jokes, though, because the the Brown Cap'n already developed a whole stand-up routine about the time that his mom got cancer and he had to go home and help his dad take care of her. It involved a lot of "Your momma's so poor..." jokes. So, you know, it's bad form to bite off someone else's schtick. One time, before the Great Silence of 2002-2004, when Worker #3116 and the Brown Cap'n were on Unspeaking Terms, and programmed to physically annihilate each other should they come face-to-face, I was visiting the Brown Cap'n at his parents' house. While Brown Cap'n Sr. and Mrs. Brown Cap'n Sr. (aka Cancer Mom) slept upstairs, the Brown Cap'n took me down to the rumpus room and showed me a video of his "stand-up comedy party". I call it a video, but it was taped with, like, a walkman that someone had glued a lens onto, down in a darkened basement, so you couldn't actually see anything, just the sound worked, kinda. The idea behind a "stand-up comedy" party was that everyone was supposed to create and develop their own five to ten-minute stand-up routine, which they would then perform before a live basement audience. Originally, of course, the Brown Cap'n had planned on holding the party somewhere with a brick wall, but that never panned out. Anyhow, while we "listened" to his video on TV, the Brown Cap'n explained how before he performed his routine he was really nervous, so he drank a fifth of vodka, two beers, and took four diet pills. The next day was his first day on the job working as a temporary employee for the United States Postal Service. He was scheduled to work at 11 AM, but was so completely trashed when he woke up, that he didn't get out of bed until 1 PM. Then his car wouldn't start, and the bus wasn't running. But he decided that it would be better if he got some fresh air anyway, so he walked. Slowly. It took him almost an hour. But before he got there, he decided he needed some food, so he went into a party store and bought a Big Grab bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos, which he ate behind a dumpster in the parking lot of a dollar store. He hadn't changed clothes from the night before (slept in them, also), so there was still vomit on his shirt, jeans, and shoes. Finally, he got to the USPS, almost four hours late, on his first day, with Flamin' Hot Cheetos dust all over his mouth, and vomit on his clothing. At which point he was sent out to deliver mail.

It is stories like these that quickly ended the Great Silence in the summer of 2004. Stories like these, drawings of Jesus masturbating through the nail hole in his hand, and some of the finest jokes about your mom having cancer that anyone has ever heard on a television that for all purposes didn't seem to be working. Seriously, the video quality was shit.

Who Loves You, Ashlee?

No one.

Why won't you just stay dead?

Alpha Dog

If you're looking for something insipid to ring in the new year, you can't do much blander than Britney's new letter to fans. It lacks much of the verbal whimsy and laborious intellectualism of her previous missives, but rest assured, "dumb" is apparently still totally "in" for 05. Anyhow, here is a curious excerpt:

On a different note, I have a new dog named Lucky and I just bought her a new dresser for her room. Yes, she has a room, which she shares with Bit Bit. For Christmas, they got a baby chandelier to go in it. It's the cutest thing in the world!

I have to go now because my other dog, Lacy, has been sick for a little while and I need to go give her medicine.

Love, Brit


What a dog needs with a dresser, I don't know, because how many little doggy-cowboy outfits and perfect doggy-rhinestone studded leather chaps can there be in the world? Brit seems a little apologetic about the whole dog getting its own room thing, since a lot of her fans live in their mom's car while she's pulling a double at Mickey-D's. But, she explains, the dog actually shares its room with Bit Bit, which, I'm assuming, is another dog. At least a pet of some sort. So it's weird when she goes on in the next paragraph to talk about Lacy, another dog, because Lucky shares a room with Bit Bit, no mention of Lacy. Which means Lacy has her own room. There is more than one room in Brit's house exclusively designed and decorated for the habitation of a dog or dogs. Each with its own Prada doggy bed and Waterford crystal water dish. Do you think Lucky and Bit Bit are jealous of Lacy? Do you think mom will pull any cheeseburgers from the dumpster for dinner before she comes "home"?

A Trivia

Give me a competition, and I'm satisfied. Even just the slightest chance that I can defeat—correction: DESTROY—you, and I'll play along, but exercise for exercise sake is so boring, it just makes me want to take my ball and go home. Nevertheless, I do it, and it is always uneventful. That is, until yesterday.

The gym is super crowded now because of everyone trying out their new New Year's resolutions. Usually you can get a parking spot by the door, but yesterday I had to park across the street behind a diving equipment store. So, I'm getting out of the car and this elderly woman is getting out of another car, and we both have our little gym bags.

"Boy is it crowded," she says.
"Yeah," I say, "I've never seen it like this."
"They must have started some new classes or something."
"You know what I think it is, I think everyone's trying out their New Year's resolutions. We'll see how long that lasts."

Then I felt really bad, because I don't know this woman from Eve, and maybe she's trying out her New Year's resolution and she's taken what I've said as a cynical declaration of her impending failure before she's even begun. We walked in silence, and I'm feeling worse and worse, and then she crossed the parking lot away from me. Should I apologize? But then we met up again near the door where you could see this overcrowded kickboxing class through the window.

"That's what it is right there, I bet," she said.
"Yeah, that's a big class."
"Maybe they'll hurt themselves."

Then I took it all back, because making a conspiratorial joke to someone you've just met that they take the wrong way is still way less cruel than wishing physical injury upon an entire room of people. Later, in the locker room, I saw this little Asian boy and an Asian man changing into swimsuits. I do not think that it was out of line for me to assume they were father and son, but then I heard this conversation:

"December 21 is the shortest day of the year, and I think June 14 is the longest," the little boy said.
"Really?" the man said.
"Yeah. I was born on the shortest day of the year! I WAS BORN ON THE SHORTEST DAY OF THE YEAR!"
"You were?" the man asked.
"Some people are probably born on Halloween, and some maybe even on NEW YEAR'S! Then you get a new year and a new birthday year!"

So, this is getting kind of strange, because the older man doesn't know the kid's birthday and so is obviously a kidnapper who has taken an Asian boy so as not to draw suspicion and then is forcing him to go swimming. Moreover, he's probably regretting his decision, as the boy he's chosen seems kind of retarded.

"How many years 1 have there been?" the boy asked.
"How many years 1?"
"Yeah, it's a trivia. How many times has there been the year 1?"
"I would guess 1," the man said, either playing along, or also retarded.
"No, ha ha! I tricked you. There's been 2! 1 B.C. and 1 A.D."

At this point I'd had enough.

"Look," I told the kid, "your so-called 'a trivia' doesn't even make any sense. Time is a human construct, you idiot, it doesn't actually exist as a natural entity. So, when you ask how many years 1 have there been, there are three possible answers. You could say that there have been no years 1 as years do not exist in the natural world, and each supposed 'year' is actually a fraction of a second different in length from one 'year' to the next. You could say that there was one year 1, as in the very first quote-unquote 'year' in which the Earth completed its full rotation of the sun, long before man existed. And finally, your little snot-nosed answer of two, which is theoretically correct as long as we're looking at things within the specific framework in which this is the exclusive answer. I suggest that next time you try out your little ruse, you save yourself some face by rephrasing the question as such: 'How many times have humans called the year in which they were living year 1?' That way your game, which is honestly childish, retains its intellectual integrity, while chances are the adults you are talking to will still play along because you are so easily amused by something so silly that it's almost embarrassing. And just FYI, June 21st is the longest day of the year. June 14th is NOTHING. Have fun swimming with your kidnapper, a-hole."

DESTROY!

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Technical Specifications: You Must Have Windows Media Player To Read This Post

But The Album, It Turns Out, Is Not As Bad As I Thought, Is My Point

I decided today to give the Fiery Furnaces another chance after previously banning them to the realm of bands that annoy the fuck out of me. So I'm listening and thinking about when we went to see them last summer and how it was a relatively decent night, although I did not particularly like FF or The Ponies, who opened for them, despite the Ponies' drummer's haircut, which can only be described as "totally bodacious". That was the night that we went to a house party afterward and IAmJamieSabuda kept telling us that Renee Zellweger was going to be there, but she wasn't, it was just a bunch of people (no more than fifteen) in too-tight clothing who used hair products to make their hair look like it didn't have any hair products in it, giving us looks because we were obviously only there in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the Chicago star and her undead boyfriend.

But all night IAmJamieSabuda kept talking about how the girl from Fiery Furnaces was so hot, and I remember thinking during the show that there was an outside chance her speech impediment was remotely charming, and I'm sure she had on a very decent tee-shirt, but beyond that she wasn't really doing much for me downstairs. Having a razor-cut hairdo and gripping the mic stand with both hands is very rock and roll, but if you've got a face like Max Perlich



what does it matter, right?

So I'm all "google search this, google search that" trying to figure out if I was wrong, and if IAmJamieSabuda was right, and in fact Eleanor f-ing Friedberger (a.k.a. Why-Didn't-They-Just-Name-Me-Grandma?) was hot. I mean, IAmJamieSabuda has pretty decent taste when it comes to girl jeans that almost look like guy jeans if you're drunk and don't have your glasses on and are a little bi, and also vintage tee-shirts from the children's department, so, you know, maybe he saw something I missed due to one-too-many double deuces of Rolling Rock that night.

So, to make a long story just a little longer: Nope. She looks like a boy, dude, a fifteen-year-old boy. Have fun in the kids' section at Value Planet, I will be in my room, looking at the porn dvd you gave me because you obviously don't need it because you're not into girls.

Byeeeee.

Resolute This

I have noticed at least two people in my livediary coterie mentioning their new exercise plans for 2005.

That's so cute.

I will meet your fat asses for hamburgers and milkshakes in February.

It's Getting Warm in Herre

I've got some potentially devastating news for you: it's probably going to be Duff in 2005. Lohan had a strong year in 2004, but the media is a fickle thing, and besides, she's probably better off avoiding the publicity overdose of, say, a Jennifer Lopez. My guess is that she's going to lay low in the coming months, whether by design or by default. This is sad news, indeed, because Hilary Duff is, by all accounts, mentally retarded.

Oh, and I've got another prediction for the year:

I Am NOT Jamie Sabuda

There are moments in life when thresholds of normative behavior are crossed that can never be uncrossed. I've written about this before, about how I realized that I could totally be a cutter, but I couldn't find the link. And I remember another time getting in a really BIG argument with McCullen about how once you've turned a trick you are a whore. McCullen tried to argue that you could just turn one trick and still be, more or less, not a whore, but my argument, which was the WINNING argument, was that if you find yourself capable of selling your body for sex once, then there's very little hindering you from doing it again. Now, if no one wants to buy your body for sex, that doesn't mean you're not a whore, it just means you are overweight and in the wrong neighborhood.

Well, I'm basically trying to tell you that I'm a protein whore. Something that I never would have imagined would happen in my life has happened. I've succumb to the large-bottled bane of thuggish white-capped assholes everywhere, and bought a massive thing of protein supplement.



Now that I've done it, I'm sure I'll do it again.

In my defense, I will say that my best friend, Brother Russia, says that he swears by the stuff, and while Brother Russia is very strong, he also continues to have a neck and a manageable waistline. Also in my defense, I was talking about the gym to one of my karate teachers last night, and he asked if I used any supplements, and I told him about the threshold, and he started recommending other supplements to me, and he's a pretty small guy, too, with the neck and the m.w. So, all in all, I think that I'm still on a relatively stable life course, not yet careening out of control à la IAmJamieSabuda. At a party last summer IAmJamieSabuda was talking to me about weight-lifting because he used to weigh 220,000 pounds.

"Do you lift?" he asked.
"Kinda," I said. "A little."
"Well, if you want, I've got a really great program I could help you with, it will make you huge."
"Sure, I mean, you could at least give me some tips."
"Are you ready to eat a dozen eggs and three chicken breasts a day?"

Then he started telling me stories about weighing 220,000 pounds and scarfing down six hard-boiled eggs on the way to his job as a valet where he then let loose the most awful gas of his life in strangers' cars.

So, I'm not there. Yet. Is what I'm saying. To you. But where I am is dark, very dark indeed. BEEFCAKE!

Monday, January 03, 2005

2005: Best Year Ever, or the Final Battle With the Forces of Mordor?

I have encountered three omens with both good and bad portents for the coming year. I will tell them to you, but once you see what I've seen, there's no going back. OPEN YOUR MIND, AND THEN OPEN YOUR MOUTH!*:

1. In late December, 2004, McCullen told me about the website zappos.com. "You should visit zappos.com," he said. "They have good deals on shoes, and they have a good return policy, and they have free shipping, and just do it, because that is enough reasons," and with that, he left to go make delicious toast points with cheese and tomato sauce. So, on December 30, 2004, I looked at this zappos.com, and I found that, indeed, they did have some nice shoes, and they appeared to have good return policies and free shipping. In fact, no matter how hard I tried, I could not see a reason NOT to order shoes from them. So, at approximately 9:30 PM I placed an order for a pair of Asics, and a pair of Adidas hi-tops. The next morning, December 31, 2004, the last day of The Worst Year Ever, my shoes arrived at approximately 10:30 AM, only slightly more than 12 hours since the order was placed! If this e-purchase is any indication, 2005 is going to be difficult to believe, and a fun anecdote to tell at parties. Also, those Asics were looking sweet on New Year's Eve, and you can ask anybody you want about that.

2. The night of January 1, 2005, I had a strange dream. I had been hired as a contractor in Iraq without ever applying for the position. In fact, I did not want to go, if you can believe it. Spaceham had also been hired as a contracted soldier through one of those weird, private-enterprise defense forces things that are over there these days. We were getting suited up and I was telling him that I didn't really want to go to Iraq, that I thought there was a good chance I would die over there, and that dying in Iraq wasn't really my thing. He gave me some really hackneyed Rumsfeldian response, like, "Whether you want to go or not, you have to be ready to defend...blah blah blah." Anyhow, we were in some transport carrier or something, and then they were like, "Okay, everbody, here we are. Let's move it out!" When we debarked from the plane it was seriously straight up Heading Into Mordor type shit, the sky was all overcast with deep brown clouds and the terrain was rocky and mountainous and desolate with fire, explosions, and lava on the horizon. If this dream holds any meaning for the coming year it is that things are going to be very apocalypse, Lord of the Rings, the red eye of Sauron, and shit.

3. On the drive in to work this morning I was stuck behind a blue economy car with the vanity license plate: THTRGRL. The possible interpretations of the significance of this encounter are many, and I'm hesitant to pick just one, but I will tell you this: they're all very bad.

*FUNNYTIME: The source of this reference is from when The Shark wanted Brother Russia to try some cheddar cheese bread that his mom was always buying and that his family swore was just really great cheddar cheese bread. Brother Russia did not want to try it, and he didn't see any reason to. No matter what kind of argument The Shark might make for the bread's deliciosity, there was just no convincing Brother Russia. Finally, in a cry of exasperation, The Shark demanded, "Brother Russia, just close your eyes, open your mind, and then open your mouth!"

12/31/04-1/1/05

Regret-New Order
Holidae Inn-Chingy
Take Me Home-Terror Squad
Pass That Dutch-Missy Elliott
Come on Down-De La Soul (feat. Flava Flav)
Love off My Life-Erykah Badu (feat. Common)
Girls on Film-Duran Duran
Domino Dancing-Pet Shop Boys
Save Me Dear-Ghostface Killah
Gloria-Laura Branigan
Hard Knock Life-Jay-Z
Melt With You-Modern English
2 Kindsa Love-John Spencer Blues Explosion
Desert Island-Magnetic Fields
Ms. Jackson-Outkast
Can I Get a...-Jay-Z
West End Girls-Pet Shop Boys
Blitzkrieg Bob-Ramones
No-De La Soul (feat. Butta Verses)
Jessie-Zoot Woman
Love My Way-Psychedelic Furs
Caribbean Queen-Yes
Physical-Olivia Newton John
Smile-G-Unit
Do You Really Want to Hurt Me-Culture Club
Do It Now-Mos Def
Party Til You Puke-Andrew WK
Just a Friend-Biz Markie
Just Lose It-Eminem
The Bounce (Remix)-Jay-Z (feat. Kanye West)
21 Questions-50 Cent (feat. Nate Dogg)
Sk8er Boi-Avril Lavigne
Turning Japanese-The Vapors
The Heat Is On-Glenn Frey
Gettin’ It In-Jadakiss (feat. Kanye West)
Welcome Back-Mase
Musicology-Prince
Pin-Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Ziggy Stardust-David Bowie
Cars-Gary Numan
The New Workout Plan-Kanye West
If I Can’t-50 Cent
Sure Shot-Beastie Boys
Kids in America-Kim Wilde
Roses-Andre 3000
She Wants to Move-N.E.R.D.
Cherry Cherry-Unrest
Photograph-Def Leppard
Take Me Out-Franz Ferdinand
The Hardest Buttton to Button-White Stripes
Frontin’-Neptunes
Lose Yourself-Eminem
U Make Me Wanna-Jadakiss (feat. Mariah Carrey)
Rippin Kittin-Golden Boy (feat. Miss Kitten)
Seven Nation Army-White Stripes
I Can’t Win-Strokes
Metal-Gary Numan
In Da Club-50 Cent
Toxic-Britney Spears
Maneater-Hall & Oates
B.O.B.-Outkast
We Wan’t Fun-Andrew W.K.
Pilot-The Notwist
Don’t Wanna Lose You-Gloria Estefan
I Just Died in Your Arms Tonight-The Cutting Crew