Monday, February 28, 2005

Carpe Don't

Can I add that I don't think anyone should say "You can sleep when you're dead," anymore? Can I add that? ANSWER MY QUESTION. But what I'm saying is that this is stupid. You actually can't sleep when you're dead, first of all, and second of all, this is never said in order to motivate someone to do something cool. It's never like, "Oh, you want to stay home and improve a skill? That's cool! You can sleep when you're dead, stay up all night and do it!" No, it's like, "Come on man, I'm tired of drinking alone, let's go get plastered on a Tuesday night and play video picture find until we get kicked out! You can sleep when you're dead, but video picture find is only for the living, brah!" or "Let's stay up until dawn and get totally plastered and vomit on each other and have a near-gay experience that we're not sure how to mentally process afterwards! We can sleep when we're dead, but we can only almost uncomfortably sleep together while we're alive!"

I don't know, I'm losing the thread of my point, but my point is that don't say this.


Scrolling through "artists" on my ipod I just accidentally read 50 Cent (featuring Flock of Seagulls)

Some Kind of Stupid Oscars Are So Boring and Stupid

There is this moment in Some Kind of Monster when Lars meets with the therapist and Dave Mustaine, who was in Metallica for a year in the mid-80's. Mustaine is nearly in tears as he explains to Lars how despite the seeming success of Megadeath, he's been living in abject misery ever since being kicked out of Metallica. He says that he's been waiting twenty years for this moment to sit down and tell him how sad he's been, how awful it is to live in Metallica's shadow, and how being forced out of the band has tainted his life with an overwhelming sense of irremediable failure. This moment is not only incredible because the emotional honesty between these two men (or at least, the open emotional honesty of Mustaine, Lars is a bit of a prig) is unexpected considering their placement in the spectra of machismo and roughneck culture, but it's also just heartbreaking, period. I watched it twice (this moment), and got the shivers talking about it to someone yesterday.


Wow, I can't remember a year that I cared less about all the movies. It disgusts me that so many biopics were nominated for the big awards, because biopics are to movies what a pamphlet about proper cat care is to literature. That's not quite an accurate metaphor, because one can extract useful tips in the pamphlet that could save (or extend) the life of one of god's creatures. Not so with a biopic. I hate them so much! I hope that one day they make a biopic of my life and it wins an Oscar just so you can all see how stupid the movie is because Jason Biggs will be in it and he is AN ASSHOLE. I'm sure you're all going to be like, "But Worker #3116, Charlie Kauffman finally won an Oscar for Best Original Screenplay, an award the Academy has undeservedly passed him over for twice!" Aw who cares?! Charlie Kauffman can suck it! He's got his money and his street cred, who cares about him and his stuff!


A car bomb in Iraq killed over 120 people, but the word on everyone's lips is "poor Marty Scorcese!" Ha ha ha. That fucking wop. Who cares about him?! If he wants to win an Oscar maybe he should stop making super-shitty movies. How's that for a suggestion? Meanwhile, did anyone see Hilary Swank's acceptance speech? Were you worried, at least momentarily, that she might come out of the television set and devour you? What a fucking manimal. "I want to thank my agents. I want to thank the academy. I want to chew the bones of the innocent. I want to drink the blood of the pure." Help! It's Hilary Swank! More like Hilary Horse Teeth.

Here are some people from last night's Oscars that could have their heads cut off and (their heads) buried in the sand:
Robin Williams

But I did like that one nerd who won for best animated short. He really seemed to think that people watching cared! Ha ha ha. That poor guy. That poor ponytail! "I just want to thank the Academy for continuing to honor short form animation. I think it's really cool. I'm totally going to be the life of next week's speed-dating event! Thank you Oscar!" Meanwhile, boo! No one cares! And since when did Beyonce sing every single song from every single movie ever made?


Friday, February 25, 2005


What happens in my cubicle stays in my cubicle.

Bend It Like Ha Ha

12 Angry Man-childs

The jury is IN!

"Among the jurors is a woman who said her grandson was required to register as a sex offender; a woman who said she was related to the pilot of one of the planes that went down in the September 11 terror attacks; a 20-year-old man who likes The Simpsons and a man who is interested in Western art and country music."

This bears a striking resemblance to something Clown Coffee sent me earlier today regarding the jury selection process:

"At various points, questioning [of Jackson jurors] veered beyond the mundane into the seemingly irrelevant.

A 45-year-old juror, who described herself as unemployed, said she has read no newspaper accounts of the Jackson case. She mentioned that she likes food.

'And what are your favorite foods?' asked lead defense attorney Thomas Mesereau Jr.

'Um, I like vegetables,' she replied."
(Clown Coffee)

Is it just me, or are Michael Jackson's peers a bunch of weird idiots? Look, I like food and The Simpsons too, but I'm not really sure how that would impact my ability to objectively interpret a pedophilia trial against the world's most famous pop star. Also, um, I like vegetables.

Say It Ain't Sohan

I was watching Lohan's new video yesterday (and incidentally, videomakers, if you want me to believe that Lohan is "rocking out" in her garage, it better be a five car garage filled with Italian sports-cars and maybe some plasma screen TVs, because otherwise, no, je ne believe it pas. Oh, and actually the whole Smashing Pumpkins "1979" theme of rebellious adolescence is sort of difficult to accept from someone who's been home-schooled and whose friendships consist mostly of mochaccinos and women who are paid to open her mail.) and I was overcome with some honestly heartfelt concern for the young teen queen. Her entire career/personality/success is built on being a preternaturally beautiful teenager. Can she sing or act? Who knows? Who cares? That's really beside the point. But not for long. Eventually, and I suspect sooner rather than later, people are going to grow tired of Lohan, and as she ages her looks are going to mature (I avoid saying fade because she really is quite striking, but old is old is old) and I do not think that Lohan has the emotional fortitude or the intellectual wherewithal to deal with the natural aging process. She's already a terribly insecure bitch, and that's when she's on top of the world. Imagine the slide into the abyss of fraud-fearsome talentless middle-age!!

But I guess we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. No use worrying about something I have no control over, like the slow but inevitable decay of Lohan's body.

I can’t live without you
Can’t breathe without you
I’m dreamin' bout you
Honestly, tell me that it’s over
Cause if the world is spinning and I’m still living
It won't be right if were not in it together
Tell me that it's over
And I’ll be the first to go, yeah, I’ll be the first to go
Don’t want to be the last to know (over, over, over)

Garden State? More Like Awful State!

Now, to be fair to Mr. Braff, I was predisposed to dislike his film, and probably he'd just as soon not have people like me watch it. Who needs to submit themselves to that kind of negative scrutiny? But even I was surprised at the violent discomfort and anger I experienced in watching Garden State. Rarely have I seen such a hackneyed, heavy-handed, emotionally thin piece of navel-gazing, and a waste of talent. Because I actually like Zach Braff, at least on his TV show, and Nathalie Portman captured my heart when she was eight-years-old, and I like Peter Sarsgaard. BUT COME ON. It was one illogical "quirky" set-piece after another. And the dialogue! I will grant Mr. Braff a few choice lines, but every time his characters sank into their ponderous depression I beat my fists against the couch, and I actually had to leave the room during the infamous screaming scene.

There is, of course, one really good thing that came out of watching this movie, which was part of the reason I rented it in the first place: now I know for a fact that if someone says they LOVED Garden State, I will know to excise them from my life completely. It would not be fair to say "I think I need to excise you from my life because I'm pretty sure that Garden State is anathema to what I consider worthwhile in the world, but I can't be sure because I have not bothered to see it." That would make me no better than Rick Santorum. Also, have you heard of the Shins? They will change your life!


Thursday, February 24, 2005

How I Feel

I know that it's not "cool" to repeat Emo Phillips jokes. I know that no one has ever "made it big," "gotten laid," or "landed their own T.V. show on the WB or UPN" based on their "awesome ability" to "remember mid-90's schtick from caricature comedians." Nevertheless, there is this Emo Phillips joke that has been in my head all morning.

He walks up to this lady in the bar and starts hitting on her. The lady says, "Mister, I wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last man on Earth." Emo laughs. "If I was the last man on Earth, you wouldn't even be allowed in line."

But, of course, jokes are not as funny when you have been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness like Stage 1 Hypertension.

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

2 Grams

Worker #3116: Do you know what the hardest part of being diagnosed with Stage 1 Hypertension is?
Clown Coffee: ...
Worker #3116: The loneliness. The isolation.
Clown Coffee: ...

Worker #3116: Did you hear that I've been diagnosed with Stage 1 Hypertension and that I'm going to die soon?
Stevil: I read that somewhere. Anyway, [blah blah blah] pizza.
Worker #3116: Fine. No one cares that I'm dying. Well, I'll show you. I'll show you all when I will the entirety of my vast fortune to my cats.

The Tragic Prediction of Events of 2/23

"The stars have turned up the intensity in all our lives—but in your case, it's going to make it darned near impossible to resist being diagnosed with Stage 1 Hypertension during the corporate Health Benefits Fair."

Spread My Ashes on a Blanket and Give That Blanket to a Native American

Speaking of the Make a Wish Foundation:

There is a health fair at work today so that you can learn all about how insurance works, the bad things that can happen to you, and sign up for a gym membership. It was a bad idea to go, because I caught high blood pressure when I was in there, and found out that I am fat and that it's highly probable that I have testicular cancer. Now Clown Coffee says I have six to twelve months to live. Look out B.I.G., I'm on my way to heaven and I want there to be some food when I get there.

I hope that you have all enjoyed my diary.

Legal Beagles vs. Cancer Boy

This of course opens up a whole new avenue of defense for the Jackson legal team: "Well, the defendant said his one last wish was to drink wine out of a Diet Coke can and get raped by a forty-five-year-old international pop star. My client simply wanted to make one young boy's dreams come true. And also the dreams of a bunch of other young boys."

Maybe He Should Have Asked to Meet Fred Durst(Chk)

Did you know that Michael Jackson found his victims through the Make a Wish Foundation?

Death no longer scares cancer boy.

I Am the Cat and I Am Here to Steal

This morning I woke up at 2:30 am, convinced that my alarm was not going off but that it was time to get up. Now, you might attribute this to the Winter Ale I drank last night, which is not my usual Tuesday night routine, but I think it has just as much to do with this dream I was having about a No Rules Fight-to-the-Death between Ellen Degeneres and someone wielding a Bushido sword. At some point Ellen Degeneres was folded up and stuffed into the bowl of a drinking fountain, a tricky spot indeed, but although the dream was interrupted by my mid-morning pee break, I knew that eventually Ellen would come out on top.

FANS ONLY: I was also planning on writing something about how I watched the episode of Arrested Development last night that featured David Cross claiming that in high school he was known as "The Cat" because "[he] always ended up on all fours." It was a very good episode, and I was going to tie it in to the "I am the cat and I am here to steal" story, and I was going to say that we have finally unmasked the famous light-bulb thief, and I was going to post a picture of David Cross from Arrested Development, but then I did a google search to find the picture and something even more amazing popped up. So, if you watch that show, do a google image search for Cross's character and prepare for the blowing of your mind.

Right? BOOM!

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

I Be Puttin Lamborghini Doors on That Escalade

The Game featuring 50 Cent demands that I hate or love his new single, and I have chosen to love it. Seriously. But where did they steal the beat from? Or maybe not the beat, but the rhythm and vocal inflections of the chorus? It's totally some radio hit from 1999, and I know because I danced in an awfully appointed living room to that same sing-song beat with a bunch of college sophomores who I had just roundly beaten at quarters back when I was dating that girl who was all into Nintendo powerpad.


This week is really boring and mildly unpleasant and is only made worse by the fact that it's not quite bad enough to actually warrant a real complaint. It's like when you brush your teeth and your gums start bleeding, and you keep brushing, and it kind of hurts, and also the bleeding makes you a little bit nervous, just enough so you think that maybe you'll get better about flossing, and you also wonder if this is going to become something more serious, like full-blown gingivitis, and if your gums are going to start receding to the point that you've got some major smile issues, but at the same time you can't talk about this kind of thing with anyone because it's like, fucking grow up already. That's this week.

Oh! There's my navel!

You're a Crook, Captain Hook!

There is a story in this morning's New York Times about funny things that happen in Traffic Court. I have only been to Traffic Court once, in Chicago, but it WAS funny! First there was this rookie cop, and I felt really bad for her because the judge kept overturning her tickets. One woman came to contest a ticket that the Rookie had given her for negligence behind the wheel or something. The judge asked the Rookie what happened. The Rookie explained that she had pulled up alongside the woman and seen a disturbance through the back windows of her mini-van, at which point she ascertained that a child had unbuckled his seatbelt and was jumping up and down. It was at this point that the ticket was issued. "How would you like to plead?" the judge asked the Negligent Woman. "Not guilty, Your Honor," the NW replied. "What happened?" the judge asked. Basically, the NW explained, everything the Rookie had just said was true, except that THE VAN WAS PULLED OVER AT THE CURB AND THE ENGINE WAS NOT RUNNING. Poor Rookie. But that is not the best part. The best part is when this guy was being charged with speeding or turning left in a No Left Turn zone or something, and he went into this really loud, really long story about how he got pulled over because his brother had been arrested for selling drugs two weeks earlier and the cops must have recognized his face (through the window of a speeding car) and pulled him over under false pretenses.

Yet again, my favorite karate teacher has taken a moment to espouse his totally inflammatory right-wing bullshit. In the locker room last night, this guy was telling a story about a business trip he took to Lyon, France, and how he wanted a steak done medium-rare but how the waiter refused and brought him a steak that was nearly raw (which, incidentally, is my favorite kind of steak. About this I do not kid.) He said he found it really disgusting, but he choked it all down because, as he put it, "when you're over there (where "there" is any foreign country with a different set of cultural norms), you gotta do it their way," which is a sentiment I more than full-heartedly agree with. Then my favorite gun-owning, buzz-cut-wearing, slightly terrifying karate teacher said "No you don't, man. We're Americans. We don't have to do anything we don't want to. If you don't want to do it our way, we'll come burn your country to the ground." Are you waiting for the punchline, or the relieving belt of self-deprecating laughter? Keep waiting, because he left right after he said that.

Ha ha. Tiger paw to your value system!

Monday, February 21, 2005

Page SUX!

The "biggest" celebrity gossip in some time occurred this weekend when someone hacked Paris Hilton's T-Mobile Sidekick II and posted all her celebrity phone numbers on the world wide web. Lindsay Lohan, Avril Lavigne, and then some celebrities I don't care about, were all inundated with calls from strangers. Many of them have turned their phones off and are working on getting new numbers.

And that's the BIGGEST celebrity gossip in some time.

ATTENTION CELEBRITIES: I rely on your inability to lead normal, modestly-productive lives filled with heartache and boredom to alleviate my own modestly-productive life of heartache and boredom. Your immaturity offsets the sometimes painful reality of my own capacity for reason and self-awareness. When you fuck someone and then make a t-shirt that says "So-and-So Cries When He Cums" and wear it to an Issay Miyaki party at Mr. Chow, it allows me to imagine a world filled with debauched sexuality and the constant rediscovery of human emotions. I imagine you as the inverse of Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, waking each afternoon to discover a world unlike any you had previously known, the rules constantly changing, and you, wealthy and perhaps a little too attractive, desperately trying to rediscover your footing anew. So when the best you can offer is "I can't believe this. I wish people didn't have my phone number," it makes me feel as empty as you. Today of all days, where at 9:30 in the morning I decided I would, contrary to normal Monday habits, drink tonight to deal with the crushing depression of the dog days of winter, it is as if you, the style mavens and cultural mavericks whose ability or inability to remain in the limelight has reshaped the foundations of our very society in the past decade, have abandoned me. What, you can't get good drugs this time of year? You're suddenly making cogent decisions about "right" and "wrong"? Can you please start regretting your actions and apologizing to your fans for something morally hideous and tantalizingly scandalous?


I Read No Exit on the Outside Because No Exit Is How I Feel on the Inside

In the new hit-film, Constantine, starring Keanu Reeves, there is this secret underground bar where lost souls gather to drink red bull and vodkas. You can't get in unless you have ESP. It looks a lot like what you would expect an underground bar filled with angels and demons to look like: low ceiling, red light only, loud techno music, lots of creepy goth couples giving the evil eye and licking each other's necks. My very favorite part about this bar, though, is that I counted at least four emergency exit signs.

Ha ha. Angels and demons, please make your way to the emergency exits in an orderly fashion. There is a grease fire in the kitchen. If everyone would just stop pushing, we'd like to get you all to safety on the eternal plane.

I wish this weekend had had some emergency exits. Friday was not the fun genocide of Saturday, but it was not supergreat either. Somehow it still became a four-am night because and I stayed up watching Alien 4: Alien Resurrection on television. If I remember correctly, claimed to have been "blown away" the first time he saw A4 in theaters.

Saturday bears NO discussion. If I were the U.N., though, I would impose sanctions on those responsible for its atrocities.

Friday, February 18, 2005

Walking Vomit Inducer

I am not a fan of the crushed-velour top. Nor am I partial to the adult-sized overalls. When worn in tandem, the effect is overpowering, like ipecac.

In the Street

Am I the only person who didn't realize that the theme song to That Soon to Be Canceled if It Isn't Already Because Who Cares About It Anymore 70's Show was a Big Star cover?

I'm not sure why this is so fascinating to me. I think it's like when you learn a new word, and suddenly you start seeing that word everywhere, and you're like what the fuck, where did this word come from? Except in this case it's a song by a band that I think of as "okay, but more a band that my friends like," on a show that I don't watch and that is about five years past its prime.

Mostly I think I'm just having the same reaction that I had two nights ago when Marketplace came on NPR—their nightly half-hour financial review—and there was a Built to Spill song playing in the background. That reaction could best be described as "W-w-w-WHA?!"

For the Record

It has been a long time since H has made an appearance in this diary, and I hesitate even to invoke her initial, lest like Lord Valdemort she return to power, but she did tell me a funny story last night that I would like to keep in the treasure chest of my online memory.

She was dancing with some guy and then he was like, "Do you want to go somewhere quiet where we can just, like, talk?" So she said okay, and they went into this quieter part of the bar, and he started telling all these stories about girls he had hooked up with. Finally she asked, "Are you a really amazing hook-up or something?" And he was like, "Why?" And she said "Because you're not very attractive and you're kind of retarded." He thought about it for a second, and then he said, "If you're talking about kissing, then I'd say I'm a pretty good hook-up. If you're talking about down there, I'm totally focused on myself."

Ha ha. Prepare to hear me use that line on you a lot, when you are drunk. You will find it charmingly stupid, and it will only be after the fact that you realize I am an honest man.

You Know Me, Stars, You Really Know Me

I know that a lot of people think astrology is a bunch of hokum for faggots and suburbanite housewives, but you cannot spit in the face of divine intervention, especially when the stars see RIGHT INTO YOUR HEART AND SOUL!

"It's your favorite time—that's right, party time! ... Enjoy it to the max!"

What Am I Supposed to Do with These Big-Ass Dead Titties?

Most days, when I walk into work I like to announce my presence. "I'm here," I say into each cube as I walk by, "let's do this!" This morning, I did the same, and one of my coworkers said something like, "Finally, you're here!" and I said "slow and easy wins the race, Coworker!" Now, I quickly remembered that the proper expression is "slow and steady wins the race," and then I started thinking that it would be funny if the race was to my heart, and if only mildly retarded and sexually promiscuous people could win that race. And then I remembered that this was already the case. And then I turned on my computer.

Last night I decided that enough was enough, at least as far as my mom and Herb's house was concerned, so I went back to the apartment and did some television watching with McCullen. After an episode of HBO's hit George Clooney production vehicle, Unscripted, we watched the last hour of Bad Boys II. You already know that I love this movie 110%, mostly for the part where they drive a Hummer through a shanty-town. They try and cover up this excessively offensive stunt by saying "This is where all the drug dealers live!" But the drug dealers sure do love hanging their laundry out to dry and filling their yards with children's toys and bananas. Anyhow, commented that he would like someone to do a study of how many movies feature someone getting shot and then falling backwards into a pool (it happened twice in Bad Boys II alone—CORRECTION: it happened twice in the last hour of Bad Boys II alone.) He then hypothesized that the number was approximately 4 million times. I suggested that every movie should have this moment, especially documentaries. Here are some films that would have been a lot better if someone had been shot and fallen backwards into a pool:

Super-Size Me
Capturing the Friedmans
Hoop Dreams
Lost in La Mancha
Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement

Sure, I'll throw this post at your MINE!

Thursday, February 17, 2005

Reader, #3116, Mount Up!

Do you remember the Warren G. (feat. Nate Dogg) song "Regulators"? I hated that song when it came out, and I hate it even more now that it's taken on the golden sheen of nostalgia that washes over all those mid-tempo mid-90's raps from California. But I distinctly remember thinking when that song came out, "Warren G. is a middling rapper, but his connections [Dr. Dre is his cousin] are very solid. This Nate Dogg, though, is a big asshole, and the sooner gone the better, which should be no big deal since his style is So-Cal-Sucks!" Okay, I didn't think it in those words exactly, but I highly expected Nate Dogg to drop off the face of the Earth, while I anticipated a begrudging relationship with stupidhead Warren G.

Well, joke was on me. It's no loss to the world that Warren G. has been relegated to the dustbin of hip-hop history, but Nate Dogg is not only still around, he's apparently BIGGER and MORE RESPECTED than ever. I have heard at least four songs featuring Nate Dogg today, ON MY IPOD (Eminem, Jadakiss, Lloyd Banks, et fucking cetra). How did he do this? Nate Dogg, get out of my life!

FUN FACT: If you watch Snoop Dogg's "Gin and Juice" video, during the scene at the drive-in when Snoop says "now everybody's got their cup, but they ain't pitched in," Warren G. is recognizable as one of the people who has a cup but has clearly not pitched in. This was before his record deal, though, so that's probably why he was so reluctant to give Snoop money (as if Snoop couldn't be a little bit more generous with his alcohol? He had one of the biggest selling albums of the year, that cheap fuck) But, reiterating that Dr. Dre is Warren G.'s cousin, Snoop probably had to give him some gin and juice anyway because Dre made him, and family is family.


As you've undoubtedly heard by now, 2005 will forever be remembered as The Year God Turned His Back on Professional Hockey in America.

For most, though, it will just be 2005, What Did You Say About Hockey?

No News Is This News

Sorry, but we need to cover some well-worn territory:

First of all, I rescind my apology to Gwen Stefani. I revisited her new music video for the hit single "Fiddler on the S.M.S. Pinafore" and have come to the conclusion that her insistent presence in the mainstream media is no fault of her own. She is practically begging everyone to revolt against her success. Why don't we do it?! Are we that apathetic?! If Eminem's "Mosh" can get 20 million children to vote, certainly Stefani's "Fiddler on the S.M.S. Pinafore" can get 21 million children to head down to Southern California and stone one stupid woman to death. Also, if you see this video, watch her dances, they are amazing. Did you ever see, or probably more appropriate for this forum: were you ever the guy at the Junior High dance who did not know what to do, so you just kind of shook your arms and legs around and made goofy faces? Well, peroxide your hair, slap a fucking bindi on your forehead, dress up in Jean-Paul Gaulthier's idea of "Pauper chic of the high seas" and you'll be married to Gavin in no time.

Number next: Wow! The very very very last shot of Jesus Christ, Passion! is soooooo good! I'm not joking. If for some reason you have been avoiding this movie, google search the story of Jesus's life (which the most impoverished, hackneyed, Polish-English translated synopsis will be more enlightening and informative than this piece of shit snuff film that was seriously missing someone in a leather gimp mask) and then fast-forward all the way to the end just to see the part where (WARNING! SPOILERS!) Jesus is resurrected! Everything about this is great. Not only does it feature a sun-dappled, unscathed Jesus looking forward with determination, not only does it have a very Spiderman/Matrix/X-Men feel to it, in particular the sense you get that the hero is finally taking responsibility for his awesome power and is about to kick some major ass, and not only does it feature a shot of Jesus's hand WITH THE NAIL HOLE IN IT BUT ALL CLEANED UP OF BLOOD BECAUSE HE HAS BEEN RESURRECTED TO SIT AT THE RIGHT HAND OF GOD IN THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN, not only does it have all of those things, but the way it is shot is in the EXACT style of crappy Hollywood movies where they want to indicate that THIS SHIT IS NOT OVER. Do you see where I'm going with this? They've got the absolute most perfect set-up for The Passion of Jesus Christ 2: Resurrection Day! Am I right? I laughed so hard that I peed a little bit on my mom and Herb's couch. Looks like the dogs are going to be in very big trouble when someone gets home from Hawaii!

Finally: returning to popular music and the video representation of popular music on cable television: did anyone see the new J. Lo video that was playing on MTV for awhile? Whoever directed the video was obviously enthralled with the current rash of visual and thematic regression we've been suffering lately, as it was all so so 1997. It featured J. Lo playing ten different parts (waitress, dj, customer, herself, go-go dancer) at a GAY BAR. This narrative drama was intercut with awful shots of her dancing WITH A FUCKING CANE in MC HAMMER SILVER PARACHUTE PANTS. Over a really awful, repetitive saxophone beat. Everyone who saw this video suddenly went against their better judgment and thought wistfully of Ben Affleck as a "very talented young man, you know, in comparison." But anyway, apparently J. Lo got the psychic message, because she's RE-RECORDED the song, and RE-SHOT the video. She's eliminated all of the gay gay bar sequences, but KEPT all the parachute pants. Now, J. Lo is a very beautiful woman, which is what this video hopes to remind you of. There are a lot of shots of her whipping her head to look over her shoulder at you in that "Remember! Sexy!" way. But what else has she done? She's brought in T.I.(**) to rap some stuff over that same saxophone beat. T.I.! If you are working hard to fix a song and you think you need some star muscle to give it that extra "mmph," bringing in T.I. is like wiping a foggy window with a greasy rag. The smears will look different, and for a second you might even think it's gotten cleaner, but it's only a matter of time before you realized shit's just been pushed around a little.


(**)CORRECTION: Fabolous raps over J.Lo's song, not T.I. Nevertheless, I stand by my contention that he does not do it well.

Wednesday, February 16, 2005


Does anyone spend a lot of time thinking about what it's going to be like when you get old and your body starts falling apart and people write you off as a worthless cultural artifact? Does anyone skip over the part of planning your future when you're married and in a successful career to the part where the marriage falls apart (after 16 years, no less) and you're passed over for the promotion, and forced to live in a dingy studio apartment with no real friends and an apparently disinterested family? Do you think about what cancer would feel like? Or being devastatingly alone at 80? Or standing at the grave-site of a spouse or, worse, child?

Ha ha. BLOG!

Fuck, Killbots! Hide in the Mattress Store!

Worst Comic Standing

If you see this woman, please, buy her a drink for me. I'll pay you back.

JAY Mohr's raunchy comedy almost raised an extra $25,000 for charity on Saturday, when an outraged grandmother offered to pay that much if Mohr would just shut his dirty mouth. At a Minneapolis fund-raiser for kids with Duchenne muscular dystrophy, the "Last Comic Standing" star joked about how well-endowed he was and how he wanted to "bag" the female auctioneer. The fed-up granny finally had enough and shouted to Mohr that she'd donate $25,000 if he'd shut up.
(New York Post)

My, The Earth Has Many Things!

The Passion of the Worker #3116

I've only seen the first hour-and-a-half of The Passionate Jesus Christ, so don't ruin the end for me! And I know that it's really late in the day to start making a bunch of obvious comments about how that scourging scene could have made the centerfold of Fangoria magazine and about how it was terrible how the Jews forced those poor morally-conflicted romans to crucify Jesus when they really didn't want to...

But so here's the thing, is it just me or does My Big Fat Jesus Christ's Passion make the BEST drinking game ever?

Drink whenever:
-Jesus falls down (two drinks if he falls in slow motion)
-A roman whips someone
-Caiphas displays the hatefulness of the Jews by his stony silence in the face of Jesus's torture
-A woman looks on in anguish without any idea of what to do or say
-Someone looks at Jesus with the dawning realization that he is, in fact, awesome
-Jesus looks at someone with an indecipherably "haunting" gaze through his blood soaked hair
-Blood drips in slow motion from some part of Jesus
-Jesus looks like Aragorn from Lord of the Rings
-Someone spits in Jesus's face
-A roman laughs callously like a monster
-That pale albino "devil" character creeps "unseen" in the background

Has anyone seen this movie?
Can I tell you my absolute favorite part?

There is this flashback scene where Mary (and I often get Virgin and Magdalene confused, so I can't say which is which) is calling Jesus in to lunch, and he's busy outside making a table, and then she says "Who is this table for?" and he says "It's for a rich customer," and she says "But it's so tall!" and he says "Yes, a tall table, with tall chairs...I haven't made those yet, though." Then he demonstrates, in a crouch, how one would sit at this table, and Mary does the same. Then she says "It will never catch on."


Tuesday, February 15, 2005

Christmas Is Only 319 Days Away!

Mattel is marketing a Barbie-like doll in the likeness of Lindsay Lohan, complete with red-carpet attire, velvet rope and director's chair.

Optional Accessories Include:
-Attitude problem
-Overblown sense of entitlement
-Party outfits perfect for "not partying"

Also make sure to buy the new alcoholic "Michael Lohan" doll with removable shoes.

Optional Accessories for "Michael" Include:
-Orders of restraint you can fill in yourself
-A karate gi complete with brown belt
-"House Arrest" electronic ankle tether


Do you remember those ads that Citibank ran about a year ago warning people about identity theft and boasting about how no one could steal your identity if you banked with Citibank because Citibank has a team of people constantly working to make sure that you are who you say you are through your purchasing power? i.e. a crack team of racial-profilers who know that a 65-year-old white woman is not going to be buying Afrikan Gold at an ethnic hair salon, for example.


Anyhow, I was thinking that it would be funny to make one of those where you have someone, like a Korean working at a laundromat or something, lip-synching to my voice telling about all the things that I bought with the Korean man's stolen identity:

"Well, I had to get gas on Sunday. I drove around town for, like, an hour trying to find the cheapest gas, which is ironic, right, because I probably used up way more gas than the money I was saving. I bought some groceries, too, but I didn't have a list, so I totally knew that I'd have to go back to the grocery store in the middle of the week to get something that I'd forgotten. Oh, and I was going to buy the DVD of Arrested Development on amazon, but then I didn't because I figured it had just come out, and would probably get a lot cheaper if I just waited a couple months. The studio system is having a hard time figuring out the supply-side of the market right now, and they tend to oversaturate in the hopes of hitting it big, with, like Alien Vs. Predator and it's like, Come On! Anyway, I know I wasn't going to be paying for it, right, but it's still just throwing your money away."

Murder I Wrote

Someone just called my extension. When I picked up and said "This is Worker #3116," they hung up. Now I'm really nervous, like they're going to call back and I'm going to be like, "Who is this? Who's there?" and they're going to hang up again and I'm going to call the police and they're going to trace the call and be like, "The call came from inside your cube!"

You're Getting a Giant Box of Emptiness, Because I Love You That Much

I go downtown every Monday night for my karate class, and it's usually rather empty. Not last night! The streets were filled with couples, and I have to say that I was astonished at how glad I was to not be one of them. There was something kind of depressing about it, and I'm not being facetious either. Everyone was just trying so hard to love. But they all looked like such boring losers. Let's not forget that dating is a holocaust, and Valentine's Day is a celebration of dating. If it was a celebration of love, everyone would stay at home and tell each other nice things that they've gone too long in not saying. Instead, everyone needs to GO OUT and SHOW THE WORLD that they LOVE SOMEONE. First of all, IT'S NOT TRUE, second of all, YOU'RE PUTTING ON A (BORING) SHOW, and third of all, YOU'RE A LITTLE OVERWEIGHT AND YOUR EYES ARE TOO CLOSE TOGETHER.

Seriously, though, and I should end this entry soon before I get complaints of "thou doth protest too much," but I decided that if anyone decides to love me again, we're not going to do anything for Valentine's Day. That's what losers do. So you hear that, ladies? Who wants to get nothing as a symbol of how I feel about you next February 14th?

First Class Ticket to My Fucking Parents' House

Watching the dogs for my mom and Herb while they are on vacation always puts me in a really weird mood. It's like taking a vacation from my life, but it's one of those Danny Glover-Joe Pesci vacations where everything goes wrong and just when you say, "Well, at least it can't get any worse," it starts raining. Oh, and the other thing that sucks about taking a vacation from my life is that I still have to get up early every morning and go to work, and I also have to make my own meals. Really, the only difference is that I don't see anyone, which has its perks, believe me, but it's no Cabo. Also, at this "hotel" the "staff" is a team of swarthy construction workers busy renovating the kitchen and bathroom, so every morning I'm interrupted by strange men walking around humming Tim McGraw songs.

The 10:30 p.m. limbo dances on the deck are a little lonely, too.

Monday, February 14, 2005

Happy Valentine's Dumb

This is after he told me that he bought himself a dozen roses yesterday, and would probably drink some champagne tonight.

Clown Coffee: I think I'll watch some romantic comedies tonight. I'll start with Harry Meets Sally, and then I'll watch that one about the answering machine, You've Got Mail.
Worker #3116: Um...
Clown Coffee: ...
Worker #3116: Answering machine?
Clown Coffee: Yes.

Don #3116

After withstanding hours of belligerent insistence from Clown Coffee, I have now succumbed to his demand that I return to the welcomingly violent bosom of the Sopranos. I had watched Season One on VHS, if that gives you an idea of when I turned my back on that show, but now I'm watching Season Two on DVD, which is an awesome new kind of technology. When you pause a VHS tape there's all these staticy lines on the screen, but when you pause a DVD it's a crystal clear picture!

Anyway, between talking to Clown Coffee all day, and now watching this show, my day-to-day manner of speech is getting extremely aggressive and mobsterish. I'm prone to grimacing exaggeratedly and hissing "Jesus Christ" whenever anyone gets in my way. This weekend I referred to someone as "that fat fuck" and told one of my roommates that if they wanted to me to deal with someone they didn't feel like dealing with that I would take care of it for them. They said that it was okay, but I looked them in the eye and said very sternly "I take care of my house."

Don't fucking fuck with me you fucks.

A Call to Unformed Arms

On the radio this morning they were talking about how the Justice Department has just released new guidelines for dealing with victims of sexual assault with the section on emergency contraception eliminated from the document. This means that were a woman to be impregnated by her rapist it is no longer required that the doctor examining her inform her of the morning-after pill. In its defense, the Justice Department has claimed that it simply made the language as broad as possible so that in areas of the country where the morning-after pill is frowned upon because some people see it as a form of abortion they will not feel compelled to go against their belief system in the name of the government. This is grotesque enough, without the added interview with a priest who claimed that no matter the horrors of a child's conception, that does not make the fetus any less "human," and this "life" should not have to suffer for the sins of its parents.

I've already written about this, but it shocks me to no end. I'd like to make a special plea to all the aborted fetus angels in heaven, that if this man of the cloth ever shows up in your neighborhood, beat the fucking shit out of him for me. And to all the tortured souls of raped women who are now spending an eternity burning in the fires of damnation for refusing to carry to term the precious gift of life that your crackhead assailant was blessed to bestow upon you, ditto.

No Doubt

First of all, I owe Gwen Stefani an apology. I watched a few seconds of MTV's pre-Grammy Awards show last night, and they interviewed Ms. Stefani and I realized just how far we have all come since "I'm Just a Girl." At that time I don't think anyone could have predicted that Gwen would still be a figure in the public eye in 2005. Fuck, I mean, look at Gavin Rossdale for Christ's sake. No, she's really pulled off quite a media coup, and despite all my reservations, I have to give her a token of my respect, and the token is this: even though you suck, good job, you did it! This could all be said of Green Day, as well.

Everything else I want to say already bores me, so...

Good job, Gwen, you even sucked the life out of my diary.

Friday, February 11, 2005

Nature vs. Nurture: What Is Worker #3116?

After an intense chase through hairpin mountain roads as a helicopter chases after a racing automobile and the driver of the car shoves a young boy (Worker #3116) out of the door, the child is rescued and adopted by his mom and deadbeat-père, a well-meaning, childless couple. It is only after the #3116's have adopted Worker #3116 and find that the child can't stop hitting home runs that they realize their adopted son is, in fact, a robot. The #3116's decide to take Worker #3116 back home—home being a top security research facility where scientists Dr. Jeffrey Stewart and Ellen Lamb have "given birth" to the boy robot. Once at the research facility, the Richardsons realize that government forces are determined to destroy Worker #3116 and anyone who knows about him.

Personally, I think this is an argument you can't win. It's a little bit of both.

Nature vs. Nurture: More from the Files of Worker #3116

When I was a baby my mom gave me a stuffed giraffe with a music box inside it. When you wound it up, music issued from the giraffe's body, and his neck rotated in lazy circles in time with the tune. One day she noticed that the giraffe's neck was not rotating, because I had snapped it in two.

Nature vs. Nurture: The Roots of Worker #3116

My mom told me this really great story about my grandma this week. A month or two after I was born my mom and deadbeat-père flew to France to see my grandparents. They stepped off the plane and my mom, all super proud and overjoyed, placed me gently in my grandmother's arms. "Look, your grandson, isn't he beautiful?" my mom said.

My grandma held me for approximately two seconds and then handed me back to my mom. "I like them better when they're older."

Ha ha. It's so true. Babies are so worthless.

When my mom told me this story I laughed and said that it was the best story I'd ever heard. "It was so awful," my mom said, "I couldn't believe she said that." "Well I think it is awesome," I said. "I know you do," my mom said, shaking her head. "I know you do."

Thursday, February 10, 2005

Want to Be My Valentine?

Turn Ons:

Turn Offs:

Game Spiral

Something happened to me this morning, and I lost half an hour. You might think I'm making a mountain out of something very small, but I know enough about Science Fiction and Government to know that dangerous things happen when you "lose time". My alarm went off at 6:30, I woke up, listened to one song on the radio (The Game [feat. 50 Cent]'s "How We Do") and got out of bed. But the DJ on the radio said "Okay, it is 6:53..." So, okay, I lost 23 minutes, not a half hour, and figuring that "How We Do" is approximately 4 minutes long, you could bump that down to 19 minutes. Do you know the kinds of shit the C.I.A. and also Aliens can do to you in 19 minutes? So much shit, like crazy.

I'm just real concerned that I'm going to be walking down the street and see my clone, or that I'm going to open the window in my room and realize that on the other side of the glass it's simply a cardboard matte painting of the real world. I will push on this fake sky and it will fall backwards with a quiet "thwp." I'll scale the wall of a half-built mock-up of my house into a darkened cavernous warehouse. By making my way haphazardly through tunnels I will discover that I'm in a secret government-funded military compound 7,000 feet underground at the very edge of the arctic circle. That's when someone will come up behind me and say "how did you get out?" and tazer-gun me back into unconsciousness. When I awake, The Game (feat. 50 Cent)'s "How We Do" will be playing on the radio in my room and I'll wonder what happened to 19 minutes.

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

You Have a New Friendster Request From Asshole

What's up with I never ever look at that stupid thing. I don't update my profile. I don't use it to send messages or post bulletins. I've yet to meet one person through it. And to be asked "are you on" would definitely be listed as a "turn off" if there was a "turn offs" section to list it in.

So how come there's suddenly all this activity? I've gotten two new friend requests this week and I just got some message from someone I don't even know asking if I will be their friend. Not that I would be all like, "yes," anyway, but the fact that they have a picture of the naked cowboy from Times Square as their userpic and their name is Naked Cowboy would also be listed as a "turn off" in my list of "turn offs."

Remember when I used to see the Naked Cowboy every day after work? Why didn't he just ask me in person to be friends if he was so keen? He's certainly not afraid of making a total fucking asshole of himself in public.

Was mentioned on One Tree Hill or something? What's the deal? Will someone tell me what the deal is because that is what I've been trying to find out.

That's Nawt a Knoife, This Is a Knoife

"In their punk group, wearing a mohawk is a sign of being a punker, and according to their creed if you disrespect women you are not allowed to wear a mohawk," he said. "But I don't think the victim had any idea in the world she was going to be scalped."

I don't remember anyone in my punk group having a creed about who could or could not wear a mohawk as a sign of being a punker, except maybe Dena. I'm sure she would scalp the shit out of you, but it would be for, I don't know, spilling your forty on her copy of Burn Collector or something. Or talking about how one time you heard of this type of food called meat while she was trying to eat some super shitty vegan bread.

Last night in MTV's hit reality show The Real World, the Girl Who Cried also referenced "punks" and how this group of "punks" she was friends with were really cool, case in point "they've pulled knives on people." So...basically they were in West Side Story. Who pulls knives on people? I mean, besides Crocodile Dundee?

Oops, I have to go, I just got a call from my punker clique. We're going to go listen to some "albums" and "chill out and totally hang". Eventually we will get in a knife fight with a rival clique of punkers.

I'm Stop Being Polite

When one of the seven horrible people on MTV's reality show The Real World started crying during last night's episode, I turned to McCullen and said, "Well, she's finally getting real. All of the obfuscatory trappings of social life, the masks we wear, they are all falling away. She's totally, absolutely real."

A real bitch that is.

Jesus Christ, the season started off pretty strong, but everyone on the show has either proven themselves to be inconsequential (MJ, Willie, Sarah) or awful (Karamo, Shavonda, Melanie) with, and I can't believe I'm saying this, only Landon as a person to almost kind of root for. Sure, Landon's done plenty of things I've found distasteful (Especially in the romance dept. Not only did he nearly lose his job for trying to date a woman that he worked with, when it was obvious that he didn't even really like her that much, and the fact that he actually listened when his roommates patronizingly told him to stop drinking so much, not because I think he should keep doing it, but because it's not like his roommates have any sense of self-control or even the slightest shred of self-awareness. And the whole Landon-Shavonda hook-up during the Fiji trip was made even grosser than it already was [because Shavonda is a real piece of garbage and it says awful things about anyone who likes her to do so] by Landon's super-smug "I told you we were going to have sex before we left!" reaction). I'm also not sure if it has something to do with where I am at in my life, or the particular dynamic that these fucking idiots have, but their retarded antics are striking me much more than they have in seasons past.

In fact, I would go so far as to say that this cast seems "realer" than casts from more recent seasons because I feel like I have witnessed and encountered their bullshit behavior in the real world. It's probably because Philly is so boring that they don't have all of the rush and glamor of a more thrilling city to detract from their interactions. They go to the same boring clubs all the time and hang out at their boring bank and eat a lot. There aren't a lot of "This week on a very special episode of The Real World" type episodes. No one admits that they have AIDS or anything, they just crab and treat each other (and their friends back home) badly.

I would like—as I've been saying about most people I don't like lately (hint hint Ryan Cabrera)—to chop all their heads off and bury them (the heads) in the ground.

1997 Is the Best Year Ever

What is up with the current rash of super-dated cinema? McCullen and I were noticing last night that movies like The Wedding Date and Man of the House seriously make it look like someone at the studios found some door and was like, "What's in this door?" and someone else was like, "I don't know, dude, no one's opened that door since I started working here," and then the first guy's like, "When did you start working here?" And then the other guy is like, "1998," and then they open the door and all these really crappy situation comedies made in 1997 come tumbling out just when the studio chief walks by and the studio chief is like "Perfect. Let's get those in theaters right away. You know what never gets old? A joke about a man embarrassedly buying tampons at a grocery store. Tommy Lee Jones is a surprisingly talented comic actor. I think this "new" crop of films really captures some of his Men in Black essence. In fact, let's just show that one again and stop making movies altogether." Watching these previews, I can already see these movies languishing on the dollar shelf at the video store...on VHS. They do not deserve a DVD release.

Speaking of dated, big ups to the old man who gave me a talking-to at the gym last night. I'm sorry that you had to wait so long, because it would obviously have been impossible for you to just go do another machine until I was finished, and I'm REALLY sorry I didn't offer for you to work in with me, because the machine was really sweaty and gross and that would have been awesome for both of us, but most importantly, I really liked when you came up and said "Maybe you've never been here before, so I'm going to save you some time by giving you advice." That part was awesome, because you obviously don't understand what "saving me some time" means when you're so good at wasting it. I liked it when you said "...because I've been in situations at Gold's Gym where those big guys will just pick you up and move you if you're taking too long," and I was like, "Well, were you being a big fucking dick to them like you're being to me? Because that might have been what caused it." Then he broke a hip, though, so I felt kind of bad.

This morning as I was getting into my car this guy was walking his dog and the dog was pulling at the leash to try and come say hello to me and I swear to God the saddest thing passed through my head: "yeah, your dog totally wants me."

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

Bangers and Mashers

This woman from England just sailed around the world in less days than anyone else has sailed around the world. Wow! It just begs the question of why we even have airplanes and stuff if you can get into a 65-foot boat and sleep twenty-minutes at a time and eat freeze-dried food for 71 days and GET ALL AROUND THE WORLD, FROM WHERE YOU STARTED TO RIGHT BACK WHERE YOU STARTED WITHOUT STOPPING. Amazing! And then it's like, there's all this stuff in the world, like wars and hunger and stuff, and thank god for people like this woman who have the courage to say "Fuck that, I'm sailing around the world superfast to show that I can!" Good job, lady, you did it!

I understand why some of the head-shakers "across the pond" are questioning her feat in the face of modern ship-building technologies that allow boats to move faster than ever, thereby making the actual captain of the ship less important in the awarding of a record than the ship itself, but it's like, Hey you Grumpy Gusses, she just sailed superfast for no reason and now she's done it, so let's all buy her some french chips, give her a round of awesome applause, and watch some TV!

P.S. Tea is for pussies.

Speak, Heavens!

"Less than a week to go before Valentine's Day and you know what that means. It's time, once again, to reinforce your reputation as the most romantic sign in the zodiac. Not that you mind, or that it's hard work for you to pull off. You love being in love, you love being romantic, and you're very, very good at it! So get started. Think about what to do to make it the most special day of all for your dear ones."

I'm like totally one step ahead of you, stars! Would you call a fridge full of Alizé and Jaeger "what to do to make it the most special day of all"?

On The First Day of Valentine's...

Perhaps you feel differently, but I am WAY excited about Valentine's Day. I'm so excited about it that it's clouding everything else I do. People are like "why are you ignoring me?" "why aren't you doing the work that we are paying you to do?" "why is the sink full of your dirty dishes?" and I'm like, "VALENTINE'S DAY, VALENTINE'S DAY, VALENTINE'S DAY!" The greatest day of the year is nearly upon us. It is a Christmas miracle.

Even just typing this is difficult because my hands are shaking with nervous anticipation of all the excitement that's about to happen. Not only is Valentine's Day simply a wonderful way to say I LOVE YOU to everyone, but it's also AWESOME!

This year, there is so much love in my heart that I'm thinking about starting the celebrations early. So, tonight, I'm going to run a delicious bubble bath, pour myself a glass of the finest wine, and use only the most expensive razor blades from Paris, France, to slit my fucking wrists. I'M GOING TO TREAT MYSELF SPECIAL, FOR ONCE!

Ha ha. Suicide's got some laffs in it. Here's a joke I just made up about suicide:

Q: What's the funniest thing about suicide?
A: The note.

Monday, February 07, 2005


So I did a google search for 'how to become telekinetic' and I found this:

Members... there will be a delay for the next edition of UYTA. (This stands for "Unleash Your Telekinetic Ability") The reason is once again, I found some telekinesis related discrepancies. This is the main reason for such long document updates. For weeks, I think about the connections between a founded discrepancy in reference to all the other areas of telekinesis knowledge. Sometimes the discrepancies are so small that they can be ignored for the time being. Yet, most of my time is still spent in thought about them. However, the document still needs to be updated. Therefore I then write about five pages of new telekinesis material. This seems to be a recurring pattern. This time, however, there is lots of discrepancies found.

First, I understand everyone's desire to understand telekinesis. After all, this is the best place to understand it. (This looks like a logical "corollary" construction. It is not.) Yet, I am not just writing telekinesis at the beginners level of understanding. I am hoping that far into the further, this work will be studied and put to use. Therefore, at this stage of writing, I need to make sure that all the information in the UYTA document is 100% correct.

(NOTE: The paragraph you are about to read is the most amazing paragraph. Ever.) My findings so far, is that the chakras is not 100% correct. The chakras do not convert emotions into energy. Emotions is literally heat of energy we feel. That heat of energy is more in reference to the physical location of the will and the state of a persons thought loudness. Therefore, all chakra words in the document are being deleted and paragraphs reworded. (Stop bogarting. Dude.)

The aura is also in discrepancy. As you may know, an atom is in two main parts. (Um...) The nucleus and the electrons compose the atom. The electrons spin around its nucleus. The nucleus can be thought of as the matter of the body, while the electrons can be thought of as the aura or energy field around the body. This is not of a spiritual plain nature. The persons aura does not effect the state of a person. Yet, the location of the will (energy) effecting the electrons (aura) does. In addition, their are electrons inside the our body. For example, metal turns into a magnet when changed with energy. That energy exists inside the magnet. That energy also exists outside the magnet and is known as force. That energy needs something to alter its state. The will is what alters it. Therefore, an aura will not be the word used to describe how this battle of energy between the will and body takes place. That battle of force in reference to sight distance is what alters the energy field of a persons body. The aura is not the proper way for the education of telekinesis.

In addition, the Herns and the 12 phenomena triangles of the world are in common. (Um...) Later, you will read that the basic geometric shape of both the physical plain from a persons perception of perceived reality and the reality of the composition of the mental plain overlapping the physical plain stored in/of the brain are not the same.

As you may understand, at one side of earth, water drains in sink counterclockwise, while at the other side of earth, water drains in sink clockwise. The reason of this is of course because of force. Hence, the two cores of earth will be introduced. The education of this is needed for the greater understand of the electrons in reference to force.

The Herns are about 3.5 inches from each other. The 12 phenomena triangles of the world are also of a curtain distance from each other. We live in a reality of precision and equal in reference to basic geometric shape.

(By this point, you should have realized that telekinesis is AWESOME!)

Yet, The hz of the negative brainwaves is not equal to that of the positive brainwave. As the brainwaves are defined now, the negative brainwaves (beta hz) accounts for more then 60% of recorded hz. The positive brainwaves (alpha, delta and theta) account for about 30% of hz. 14hz to 38hz is beta (negative) and 13hz to 0.5hz is (positive). The negative brainwaves account for a total of 24hz, while the positive brainwaves account for only 13 hz. (My point exactly.) Let say that one magnet contained 24 power, while the other magnet contained 13 power. If those two magnets were pushed together and held together in force, the lesser power would discharge. This of course is not precision and equal in reference to basic geometric shape.

For example, regardless that the mental plain is the origin of PSI energy and is without force, we know that PSI energy can be of either positive or negative. This is because the heat of that energy is physically felt and not mentally felt. In reference to thought loudness, that positive or negative feeling is determined by what area of the positive or negative sight spectrum the will is located. In addition, at the high alpha state, positive external energy may be one with the will. The education of this increased energy binding cannot be addressed with low hz. In reference to the sight spectrum theory, the brainwaves can no longer be used. Instead, brainwaves will be replaced by the scale of thought loudness in reference to sight distance or any scale of the fundamentals that need to be addressed.

(Get it? Just tell me if you get it.)

Because of all the above, all three editions will need to be merged as one big document. The sight spectrum theory will be the main theme. However, because of those discrepancies, most UYTA pictures (diagrams) will need to be redone.

The bottom line is this... The author has discovered something so big that he can no longer include information from other metaphysic or scientific material. Words, such as, chakras, aura, brainwaves are being purged from the UYTA document. Words such as focus, energy and force are still relevant for telekinesis. Ironic that the scientific community is about to dismiss the concept of force.

I am so totally going to make stuff blow up and fly across the room and hit you in the face without moving a single muscle. Unless you consider THE HUMAN BRAIN a muscle. How will I do this? By harnessing the power given to me by this man who is clearly not a homeless psychotic masturbating in the bathroom of the public library before finishing his scientific research on the back of a McFish wrapper.

Vera Drake #3116

I heard this story on the radio this morning about the state legislature pushing for reform on the standing laws against injuring a fetus. I'm not sure about the details, but it all came about because this young man beat a young pregnant woman in the stomach with a baseball bat until she miscarried. The young man was being charged under the current law, but the young woman, who asked for the beating, could not be charged. But I was totally distracted the whole time because I was like, what, they didn't have any wire hangers in the house?

I'll put the kettle on.

You Know Who You Are

I'd like to thank the black man in the leather trench-coat for eating a microwave burrito off of a paper plate AT THE GYM yesterday.

Everyone else can fuck off.

Friday, February 04, 2005

Prediction: Flying Cars!

It is 2005, which means it's time for the decade to start making a name for itself. I always attribute the style and tone of the first few years of a decade to the decade that preceded it. If you look at shit from 90-93 it's still pretty 80's, and the same goes for the early 80's being very 70's. The beginning of the 60's were still like the 50's, but I will admit that the late 60's and early 70's were sort of a decade in their own right, a mish-mash that's not so easily dissectable. I'd attribute this anomaly to the crossover of psychedelia between hippy-culture and disco-culture, as well as the music of the Beatles, who recorded Let It Be in 1970, but were so ahead of their time that their last couple of albums would have been comfortable in either decade. It was a confusing time for America.

But here we are, 2005, and what's it going to be? I have to admit that I'm getting pretty tired of the whole Newer New Wave scene and the rebirth of 80's materialistic cool. Granted, wasn't there a rash of proto-70's revivalism in the mid-90's, all that Lenny Kravitz leather and bell-bottoms shit? It's not like it's unheard of, 20 years is about the right amount of time for things to come full circle. But you also had the grunge aesthetic, which was lame and ugly and retarded, but was its own attempt at carving out a niche. What do we have now? ipod style? Color me unimpressed with an "unimpressed" colored crayon.

In a total digression, have you noticed how ever since the tragic events of 9/11, "No Fear" clothing seems to have disappeared, or am I just hanging out with the wrong, pussified crowd?

So, let's do this, 00's. I want to see something new. So far you've really been kind of boring me with your lack of personality and your insistence on reliving the past. What's the deal with you? That's what I'm trying to find out.

Wake Up!

Clown Coffee: Good morning, [something unintelligible].
Worker #3116: What did you just call me?
Clown Coffee: ...
Worker #3116: ...
Clown Coffee: ...
Worker #3116: ...
Clown Coffee: Pisshead?

You Have My Bio-Data Printed on Your Brain

Else, there's a lot of negative things you can say about the Indian people. You could say that they smell, or that they have bad hygiene, or that they're impoverished, or that you don't trust them because of their eyes, or that they have big noses kind of like Jew noses, but what you cannot say is that they don't know how to make a movie.

Three hours of mafia madness pass by very quickly when they are intercut with the following:

-musical numbers
-monster trucks
-ninja fighting
-a "sex" scene involving a shared glass of warm milk
-madcap comedy
-a gun that is called "a boon to global terrorism"
-death by hiccups
-a killer who demands to be called "Umbrella"
-10 billion dollars worth of diamonds

I've just been pulverized by this new thing, I really don't know what else I can say to you people. You try to steal so many moments from me, but I just am not sure I have any left. Stop asking so much.

Sidebar: it's kind of embarrassing when you're late to work and a little hungover and your boss is like, "What happened to you?" and you shake your head and are all like, "Awara Paagal Deewana," because you just know you're butchering the title.

Thursday, February 03, 2005

State of the Union: Bitchin'

During the dark days of last year (we are not even at the halfway point of my lowest ebb, historically) I listened to The Bush's "State of the Union" address on the radio. I started watching it on television, but had to turn it off because all the smirking and inner-monologue-high-fiving that The Bush was giving himself were simply too much to bear. So I listened to the rest of it in my room on the radio.

This year was not much different, except that I didn't so much get tired of watching The Bush's smug mug as was relegated to the radio by a certain homosexual's need to watch America's Next Guy Who Did Something on a Reality TV Show Once But Still Shops at Target. It was a pretty anticipatable speech. He did his whole thing about the social security (although according to NPR's Mara Liasson it was the first time democrats had ever shouted NO! during a State of the Union) and the freedom being all on the march and stuff. He also gave his two awesomest shout-outs, to the right of homosexuals to get the fuck out of here, and to our "culture of life" which sounds like the tag-line for Ibiza's board of tourism but is actually about how we should never kill a thing that will one day be a baby, no matter how high its chances of immediately dying and or being beaten and abandoned once it becomes a real baby. Also, NO MORE ACTIVIST JUDGES, which is something I think we can all cheer a hearty "here! here!" to. Keep your laws off my country.

Last year you may remember that The Bush had two really wonderful moments, in particular when he mentioned our quest to eradicate sex tourism, which came hot on the logical heels of absolutely nothing. And then, of course, the real ay-ay-ay moment of the government's need to end steroid use in professional athletics. So this year I was really hoping for some mega-non-sequitors of the same sort. In this I was mostly disappointed, but he did have one.

Now, I've got to give The Bush the benefit of the doubt, insofar as I think I used to watch Clinton's "State of the Union" addresses, but I can't remember much from them, and I'm certainly more politically aware than I was during any previous administration, for whatever that's worth. So maybe every president throughout history has thrown in a couple "what the fuck are you going to do about it, I'm the President and I say whatever the fuck I think needs saying" moments. Maybe Clinton was like "We need to reform the health care system. The time for partisan politiking is over. Also, what's up with only having five pre-sets on a car radio? Government needs to assure its citizens that every car radio will come with no less than fifteen radio pre-sets!" I don't know. It could be.

So, last night, was I the only one who was surprised when the President said "Iraq this, Social Security that, and we need to have better DNA testing for suspects on death row to stop wrongful executions!"? Much like the eradication of sex tourism, it's not that I disagree with the sentiment, it's just I like to be wined and dined before you spring something like that on me. I like a story. Tell me a story, The Bush. No, another story.

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

Culture Shocks

Clown Coffee: Do you want these [Japanese movies]?
Worker #3116: Sure. You don't want them?
Clown Coffee: No.
Worker #3116: Why not?
Clown Coffee: I don't like Japanese people.
Worker #3116: Ha ha.
Clown Coffee: I don't respect their culture.
Worker #3116: That's how I feel about Mexicans.
Clown Coffee: Yes. Germans, too.
Worker #3116: Oh, I hate Germans. And Germany.
Clown Coffee: When I lived in Germany, a few weeks after I got there, I listened to an Ike and Tina Turner song and it made me cry.
Worker #3116: ...
Clown Coffee: I thought This is real life, these krauts don't know anything. I mean, nothing the Germans ever created has made me cry.
Worker #3116: Um...
Clown Coffee: I guess that's not true...
Worker #3116: No.
Clown Coffee: I mean, the holocaust.
Worker #3116: Yeah.

Not Hot to Trot?

LAS Vegas" hottie Nikki Cox has broken off her engagement to Bobcat Goldthwait and is now dating another comic, Jay Mohr.
(New York Post)

Sometimes silence truly is golden.


Broken Arrow 2: Brokener Arrow

Major Avril Lavigne is a tough U.S. Air Force pilot, and a fabricated pop-punk princess whose work with producing team extraordinaire The Matrix is undeniably catchy, even to those who don't want to be caught. Lavigne is assigned to a flight mission with 'nice-guy' Captain John Mayer, who spends his free time writing soulful love songs that, if you spend any real time listening to them, are quite soulless and filled with underwhelming cliches of sentiment and tone. The two are to fly the B3 Stealth Bomber on wargame maneuvers over Utah loaded with two live nuclear weapons and a 40G ipod of their favorite songs. Lavigne, having been continually passed over for industry awards due to the fact that she is seen as a tool, rather than a true artist, sells out her country (Canada) and arranges to use the thermonuclear warheads under her command to blackmail the Canadian government. The only thing standing in her way is her old buddy, Captain John Mayer....Him, and the fact that they are flying over Utah, not Montreal, so the Canadian government's all, like, "Um...whatever."

Never Forget

I'm going to do something I haven't done since the tragic events of 11/2. I'm going to talk about politics:

Howard Dean is now a virtual shoe-in for the head of the DNC, to replace Terry McAuliffe. The hope is that Dean will be able to bring his knack for expanding and energizing the base at the grass-roots level, while also implementing his historic internet fundraising abilities, all while toning down some of his "liberal" and "shoot from the hip" rhetoric. His ascendance to the leadership of the party is seen by many as an event to be treated with caution. Will he be able to rally the party to his side? Will he be able to reclaim at least some of the power and dignity that the democrats lost in November?

Meanwhile, Republicans are having a field day. Two senators have already been quoted in the New York Times making jokes about the legendary "Dean Scream." They believe that Dean will be a divisive and ultimately damaging figure, rather than an effective leader and uniter. They think that his slips of the tongue and his leftward leanings will only galvanize the populace to head ever further into the right wing's embrace.

So now it's time for my thoughts: the Republicans are a bunch of smug, fat-faced blowhards. I'm sorry, but jokes about the "Dean Scream"? What is this? 2004? Everyone seems very concerned with the way the country is heading, but what they are failing to notice is that the country is heading in a wrong direction with very clear leadership. With the Republicans in control of both houses of congress and the white house, all blame falls firmly in their laps. Dean's "leftyism" was, as much as anything, a political tool to break himself apart from the unified pack of presidential contenders. He was the only one to make a decisive statement against the war in Iraq (okay, actually, I don't know, what were Kucinich and Braun up to back then? Oh, right, who cares?) and he thereby made a name for himself and distinguished his platform. Other than that, I'm not particularly convinced that his tree-hugging, gay-loving, gun-controlling positions are even that well known, or that easily defined. I think he's pretty middle of the road. The smirking strangle-hold on power that the right currently holds is, to my mind, a dying gasp of a rigid belief system on its way out. The younger generation does not, for the most part, believe in the hard-line moralism and faith-based government of the current administration. Some of them do, but not the majority. When Bush was re-elected in November it was based on one simple fact: an incumbent president in wartime has never lost. People may have felt lied to, they may have felt like things were going badly both at home and abroad, but at least they felt they were getting a known entity. A shitty entity, but a known shitty entity. Kerry had little to offer, if you take an honest look at his candidacy, in terms of reassurances. Yes, he was smarter. Yes, he was more experienced. But he couldn't stand up and say "I know how to end the war in Iraq," or "I can promise that under my watch nothing bad will ever happen to you again." What, at the end of the next four years, is the Bush administration and the Republican party going to be able to claim they have achieved? A despicably abject preemptive war started on false premises? The roll-back of years of civil rights for disenfranchised minorities? A fradulent overhaul of the Medicare system that everyone knows is a big fraud? A tax-cut that has born out little to no economic benefit for the vast majority of Americans? What?

Oh, fuck, Howard Dean. Right. So I guess I'm saying that I actually think it's really funny that the Republicans are making fun of Howard Dean's scream fiasco. It's like when my mom uses the word "funky", it's such a dated, uncool way to try and get people to think you know what's going on.

Manitopia or The Stud Farm?

Here's what's been on your mind lately: I (i.e. you) know that Worker #3116 is watching a lot of television lately to ESCAPE from his LIFE but why won't he talk about it even MORE than he already DOES.

Shhh. Quiet your restless mind, because I watched a whole bunch of fucking television last night and I'm going to talk about it RIGHT NOW!

The evening started with an episode of FOX's hit drama The O.C. I've got one episode left, and I'm on the edge of my seat anticipating the cliff-hangers that are going to have me on the edge of my seat. Last night's was the Vegas episode in the first season, which was a real cringer. Stevil had to leave the room a couple of times during the poker scenes. Boy, those kids love to get themselves into some dangerous situations. Seth Cohen did have a really great line. Want to hear it? Do you? Tell me if you want to hear it. Okay, well, the set-up is that Ryan Atwood is playing cards against some tough looking characters, including one that they refer to as Angry Trucker-Hat Guy. After Ryan Atwood forces ATHG to go all in, and then wins, he's ready to leave, but Seth wants him to stay and win even more. "Do you see that angry guy in the trucker-hat over there?" Ryan asks. "I think he wants to hurt me." Seth takes a look and then whispers. "Maybe he's not angry at you. Maybe he's angry because he just found out people don't wear trucker-hats anymore."

Good job, Seth Cohen. Your team of ivy-educated writers make you look soooo funny.

Speaking of FOX's hit drama The O.C., if anyone at anytime would like to talk about some of the logical and morally implausible aspects of the show, I'm kind of desperate to air out some pretty major grievances.

Anyhow, when that ended, I rushed upstairs to watch the last half-hour of The Deer Hunter, 1978's Academy Award–winning film. I wish I hadn't broken it up as much as I did, but my schedule is very crowded lately, too crowded for a three hour movie. Nevertheless, JHC, that is one of the most devastating movies I've ever seen. Seriously. I have nothing else to say about that. Have you seen it? You really should see it.

Which, of course, led me, face stained with tears, to run back downstairs in time for the new episode of MTV's hit reality show The Real World. But I'm not going to talk about it, because all it did was make me mad. I don't even think Sinbad could understand the way the current generation of young women thinks and acts. "Women be shoppin'" just doesn't seem to be as relevant as it used to. A more accurate appraisal would probably be "Women be stupid and flighty and incapable of honest emotion. Women be children." Next week, though, that shit is going to be awesome. Someone cries.

Are the tears of a clown the saddest kind of tears, or the funniest?

Tuesday, February 01, 2005

Face/Off 2: Facer Offer

Chan Marshall is a government agent (and proto-folk musician) who for six years has been trying to apprehend terrorist, Bill Callahan, who tried to kill her but ended up writing the mope-core indie classic "Bathysphere" instead. When Marshall corners Callahan, Callahan tells her that he has planted a bomb that will go off, unless she lets him go but Marshall thinks that Callahan is bluffing, just like when he said "All Your Women Things" wasn't about her, so a fight erupts that leaves Callahan comatose. But later when they go through some of his best friend, Palace Music's Will Oldham's things, they discover that Callahan was telling the truth. All what they need now is to find out where it is and the only person who knows is Oldham. And the only person that he will talk to about it is his best friend and musical/spiritual-brother, Callahan, but unfortunately he is a vegetable. A government official then suggests to Marshall that she assume Callahan's identity, record her own version of "Red Apple Falls," and ask Oldham about the bomb. So she brings Callahan to a doctor who has perfected a method wherein the face of one individual is removed from him and placed on another. Marshall agrees. The operation is a success so Marshall as Callahan performs at the Empty Bottle on Western Avenue in Chicago, a set that goes poorly due to Marshall's tendency to drink to the point of delirium, and then goes to the renovated piano factory where Oldham is "recording" and successfully gets him to tell him where the bomb is. Meanwhile, Callahan who was believed to be comatose awakens and forces the doctor who operated on Marshall to place her face on him. He then goes to the renovated piano factory and taunts Marshall by playing all her songs half-assedly and saying that they are just bad Smog rip-offs. Then he tells her that he has destroyed all documentation of the operation and eliminated everyone who knew about it, including the editors of, Greil Marcus, and half of Williamsburg, Brooklyn. He/she then takes his best friend Will Oldham out for PBR's and good times and leaves Marshall alone in the renovated piano factory to re-record the same four-track piano demo of "Colors and the Kids" for the millionth time. But Marshall somehow manages to escape her own solipsistic head and endless shame-spiral and is now trying to find someone who will believe and help him/her, while Callahan is plotting a new concept album that involves long hotel stays, to be performed by a Smog "cover band" that is actually just Smog wearing Chan Marshall's face and with Oldham as a one-piece drummer.

I Have To Go Like I'm Famous

It's obvious that I have a very complicated relationship with celebrity. I'm simultaneously enthralled and appalled by it. On the one hand, I find that our celebrity culture is not only vacuous and wasteful, but it's also probably got some pretty damning long-term effects that we don't even know about yet. On the other hand, I find myself absorbed and commodified by that same celebrity culture. Who doesn't want to look good, "live" "comfortably", be admired? All of these things are, of course, possible outside of the realm of celebrity. Indeed, one imagines that they become nearly impossible within the confines of the public eye. Looking good feels good, but not when it is a constant pressure and demand, not when so much value (and potential for negative repercussion were one to fail) seems to weigh on it. Living comfortably entails a certain amount of privacy, being able to do as one pleases, a luxury no longer afforded the famous. And, of course, as anyone who has been eyed at the bar by an evil hair-troll knows, being admired can totally go in a bad direction so fast you don't even know.

I'm not sure that I will ever resolve my struggle with this. I'm too cognizant of popular culture to detach myself from its value system. But, I did read a little tidbit of celebrity gossip this morning that put some serious fear into me, because it's something that I worry about NOW, without the threat of it ending up on Page Six.

From the "Sightings" section: MISCHA Barton spending an inordinate amount of time in the lavatory during her L.A.-N.Y. flight on American Airlines.

I love you, Mischa Barton, and please know, no matter how many cultural barriers of wealth and social status, or just straight-up land miles separate us, I totally feel your gastro-intestinal distress.