Meat Sweats

McCarthy Should've Nailed Flipper to the Wall

2009-04-16T02:38:00.000-07:00

Everyone knows China is going to be the next superpower. They're making all the money, they're building up an immunity to lead ... Now, they're the only ones who can deflect pirate attacks. And they do it with their newest military force: dolphins.

Apparently, Somali pirates were about to attack a Chinese vessel when a pod of dolphins frolicked so mightily that it scared off the would-be attackers.

My favorite quote comes from the Chinese press:

Chinese news agency Xinhua claimed the pirates 'could only lament their littleness before the vast number of dolphins'.

Can you blame them? Just look at the scary bastards!

Good Lord, what happens when they turn that awesome sea-might against us?

Fuck the beach. This summer, I'm staying indoors, turning out the lights and padlocking every toilet seat closed. I'll launch volleys of helium-filled balloons with patriotic slogans such as, "CHOKE ON DEMOCRACY!" or, "DON'T DOUBLE-BACKFLIP TO TAILWALK ON ME!"

I'll also be learning Mandarin, Cantonese and Squeak-clicking just in case my plan fails. I suggest you all do the same.

McCain picks Hargitay for Veep

2008-08-29T09:39:00.000-07:00

GOP hopeful promises to bring Law and Order to nation

In a surprise announcement, Senator John McCain announced today that he has chosen television celebrity Mariska Hargitay to be his running mate.

Hargitay is best known for her tough stance on crimes which are considered to be especially heinous. McCain said that he welcomed Hargitay's record and extensive experience seeking justice as an actress.

“I’ve looked for the best to help me shake up Washington,” said McCain. "No longer will pages and interns have to live in fear of the perverted old white guys who want to instant message and touch them."

McCain's decision marks only the second time in history that a woman has been submitted for nomination as a vice presidential candidate.

It's also the second time in this election campaign that a character from one of NBC's Law and Order many television series has been considered for executive office. Fred Thompson dropped out of the race to be the Republican presidential nominee after it became clear he could never win, because most Americans thought he was even less attractive than Vincent D'Onofrio.

Political pundits are lauding McCain for choosing a female running mate and are speculating that his recent meetings with rapper Ice-T may indicate he will ask the prominent African American to help him create the position of Secretary of Money, Power, Women.

Home Sweet Home

2008-07-29T22:09:00.000-07:00

This needs explaining.

First, the top line reads "Jediyah" if you don't know how to read Korean. Second, "Eemo" means aunt-on-the-maternal-side. Third, I had plenty of reason to worry.

One of the great stories in my family history is that my mother once found that a pot of her soup had gone bad. She had been heating it up to serve to my father and me, when she noticed rice floating in the broth. That was strange, because she hadn't put any rice in the soup yet. But it turned out to be ok, because it wasn't rice, it was maggots.

But it was already heating, and I was running late for school. So she scooped out the squirmy little fuckers and gave the soup an extra long boil. And then she watched me eat.

She served another bowl to my father after I left, but a crisis of conscience made her confess everything to him. He disgustedly dumped his bowl into the sink, and they never spoke of it to each other again.

I didn't find out about it until years later, when my sister gleefully told me the secret ingredient in my mother's special soup.

So when I saw this note the other day, I took a couple of minutes to decide just how hungry I really was.

It was delicious.

Hard at Work

2007-11-21T14:29:00.000-08:00

I was the executive producer for our class project on the New York Marathon. Check it out. You can also read and listen to some of my other pieces.

The Urban Storyteller

Headline contest

2007-09-21T00:28:00.000-07:00

Sorry about this. I promised I'd treat my story like a blog entry in the hopes that it'd make the process smoother. Didn't work exactly. Still gonna post it. We don't have to come up with headlines. In fact, we're discouraged from it. Any suggestions?
BTW, this hasn't been edited by anyone other than me, and I'm tired as hell, so keep your snarky comments to yourself. I'd love to go to sleep, but I have to do my readings for tomorrow's law class.
At some point, I might start putting my radio pieces up, because one thing every good journalist needs is an over-developed ego.
If you do have criticisms, I would like to hear them. Just email me them. I prefer to take my abuse in private. M knows that.

Kerok Vazquez never got into baseball cards. Stamps and comic books don’t excite him either.

For him, it’s all about sneakers, and when he finds a pair that matches his finely-tuned sense of style, he gets enough to last.

“I normally buy two,” Vazquez said, “one to rock; one to stock.”

Sometimes he’ll buy three. Once, five.

Vazquez, 21, belongs to a subculture whose members refer to themselves as sneakerheads. Sneakerheads amass limited-release, designer sneakers. Many sell the shoes for large profits; Vazquez savors his the way a wine connoisseur cherishes a rare Bordeaux.

Vazquez’s cellar is his closet, where he estimates he has stocked around 200 pairs of sneakers, all categorized by color and style. He said he pastes pictures of the shoes on the outsides of the boxes so he can quickly locate the pair he’s looking for.

The closet is reserved for shoes that he only wears on special occasions. Those shoes either hold sentimental value or are worth more money than he originally paid. He estimates one pair, incredibly rare Nike sneakers with a pigeon stitched on them, is worth $2,500. He doesn’t plan to sell them, but he can’t bring himself to wear them, because they’re too valuable.

Other sneakers have a set number of times he’ll wear them.

“The sneakers may be ill, but you know you can’t wear those more than like three, four times,” Vazquez said, “because once it gets creased, it just doesn’t look the same.”

He isn’t hurting for sneakers he can wear.

“I have like 45 pairs that I put in rotation,” Vazquez said.

That rotation is tightly regulated. On Wednesday, he wore a red baseball cap and light blue shirt – both colors were on his Air Jordans. His pants, slightly off-white, were the exact shade found on the sneakers.

Vazquez’s obsession with collecting sneakers wasn’t a conscious decision.

“It pretty much just happened,” Vazquez said. “You just keep stocking and stocking, and you just realize, ‘I got a lot of sneakers.’ But it’s not like you really want to stop.”

Vazquez doesn’t plan to stop. In fact, he recently opened a store in his native Williamsburg, where he sells the designer sneakers he loves so much.

He got the capital to open his business from savings he collected while working as a dental assistant. The business is successful enough that he can continue to support his shoe habit.

The business is also beneficial, because it gives him access to shoes at cost. He no longer has to spend $120 to $300 on a pair. Still, Vazquez said it isn’t uncommon for him to spend up to $2000 on shoes in a month.

Most credit for the sneakerhead phenomenon is given to Nike. Their Air Jordan basketball shoes have consistently made fans line up at stores on release dates.

Nike created new fervor by making limited edition sneakers. With Dunks, colorful lines of sneakers that usually adhere to a theme, Nike appealed to consumers eager to display their individuality on their feet. Comic book aficionados salivated over shoes based on Spiderman and the Incredible Hulk.

The craze for these shoes meant big profits for early opportunists who bought up many pairs of the shoes and sold them for higher prices on eBay. Nike’s Pigeon Dunks, the prize of Vazquez’s collection, command a huge price, because only 150 pairs were made.

Nevett Steele owns a skate shop on North 11th Street in Williamsburg, and he said that he instituted a policy limiting sales to one pair per customer in order to curb the opportunists.

“That’s how they pay their rent,” said Steele. “People were making more money hustling sneakers than hustling drugs. And it was legal.”

Even though companies such as Nike don’t get any part of the higher resale prices, they capitalize on the buzz such prices create.

Ion Bogdan Vasi is an assistant professor at Columbia University’s School of International and Public Affairs. He teaches a course on the sociology of consumerism, and he said sneaker companies have attained something rare.

“Creating this emotional attachment,” said Vasi, “it’s the holy grail of advertisements – creating a sort of irrational emotional attachment to the product.”

But just because the attachment is irrational doesn’t mean it isn’t valuable.

“…if you have one or more sneakers that are highly sought after by other people,” Vasi said, “then you’re obviously in a different social group, a different category. You create distinction, you create status, you are distinguishing yourself from the other people.”

Vazquez said he doesn’t collect sneakers to make money. Nor does he do it for the sake of collecting. He judges every shoe on its own merit. Plenty of shoes don’t make the cut, but plenty do.

“You can’t neglect a good pair of sneakers,” Vazquez said. “If it’s good…you got to have them.”

Swell

2007-09-11T19:28:00.000-07:00

I'm tired.

It's the combination of nonstop schoolwork, 4 hours of sleep and Benadryl. 50 mg. Tomorrow is my first reporting day of the week. Since I stayed up till 4 a.m. filing a story...I just lost my train of thought...

The pills were expired by a couple of months. They haven't done anything to reduce the swelling. What did I eat that was so weird? There was that care package, but I only ate one dried lychee, and that was last night. How long does it take for food allergies to kick in? I think the pills're probably still good, because I keep ending up with my mouth open and my eyes rolled back as I try to stare at the television.

I just remembered where I was going before when I lost my train of thought. I'm sleeping all day tomorrow.

It's obvious that journalism school has improved my writing.

Yes, that is my copy of Cats. No, I really do like chicks.

2007-08-12T22:12:00.001-07:00

The girlfreund took a huge step in making our current hovel into a home by creating two funky and amazing bookshelves out of wood and plastic cups. I was skeptical when she explained her vision to me - it sounded less Vern and more Hilde - but they look quite spectacular. Pictures to come later. Add this to her insane quilt project and the super cool wall of faces that makes hipsters everywhere drool, and you have quite the little creative genius. If there's ever a reality tv show about having the most schizophrenic list of talents, I'm signing her up.

Anyway, I liked the bookshelves so much that I immediately took them over to hold my CDs and DVDs. Instead of studying, I spent the entire evening alphabetizing and displaying my entire music collection. I haven't been able to do this for years, because I've never had the space for it. The experience brought me back to high school, when the rest of my bedroom was a cesspool but I'd obsessively catalog each of my albums in a state that was almost meditative. I have many favorite scenes from "High Fidelity", but I identify most with the scene where the protagonist is surrounded by rows upon rows of his records which he is reorganizing into the order that he got them. I don't have nearly as many albums (my collection tops out at around 300), but I bet I could do it. The first CD I ever bought was the Beatles Past Masters Vol II. Then came Clapton Unplugged...

If you have a significant collection and haven't bothered to organize it in awhile, I can't recommend it enough. Take all of your CDs out of that humongous CaseLogic binder you bought to save space and stick them back in their original cases (you know you kept them for just this reason). While you're at it, put your portable cd player on the floor next to you. You'll listen to discs you've forgotten all about even though the teenage you listened to them over and over again while lying in your bed, agonizing over why it is girls don't get you.

I discovered that I own a Tori Amos CD. Awesome. I'm gonna listen to it tomorrow. Cats, though? That's fucked up.

All right, I forgive you...

2007-08-08T06:03:00.000-07:00

Now let's get back to chatting.

Today is the first official day of classes for broadcast and new media concentrators at Columbia's Graduate School of Journalism - I write the full title to add pizazz and because rereading my last post made me realize most people think I'm probably going to NYU. Broadcast journalism, for those of you who don't know, means radio and television. New media means something to do with computers or whatever - those people are the really weird ones. Within broadcast, you can tell which people are the somewhat weird ones and which are the really aspiring go-getter types. The weird ones talk about radio all the time, while the go-getter television types bat their eyelashes and look stunningly beautiful. I imagine it's going to get cut-throat for the tv students, because everyone's going to be competing for jobs on air afterwards, so they have to get all sorts of plastic surgery on top of all the work they're going to be doing here. I kind of feel bad for them. We radio bog monsters never had that personal drive gene activated. Bags and bags of Frito-Lays products all combined into perfectly shaped molecules that sat in those cell receptors and blocked the motivation proteins from being transcribed. That doesn't matter though. Somehow we made it into what is supposed to be the best journalism school in the country, so our innate inferiority complexes are somewhat confused and roaming about, ready to latch onto new reasons to fret (e.g. His article is longer than mine; should I quit?).

The last two days of classes don't really count, because they were orientation. I was confused as to why they felt something as important as orientation needed only two days as opposed to the two weeks we had at the U of C. It turns out that two days is actually too long to fill, and they spend most of the time trying to terrify us about the upcoming workload. "Enjoy your loved ones now, because you won't see them till May." Whatever. I am a product of the 4 year gauntlet at the U of C that heaped stress on us like helpings of your aunt's nasty spam casserole. Are you trying to tell me that I'll be miserably busy when the school year is divided into semesters? I don't think so. But they spent so much time convincing us we were going to be swamped and stressed, and every alumnus they brought up to talk to us said the same thing. What if it really is worse than undergrad? I'll die. I'll actually die. No... I'll persevere and make up for those lost, wasted years of C-minuses. I'll probably die.

Yet, here I sit in my first class comfortably blogging because the instructor got stranded on a train from lower Manhattan. If this is a sign of things to come, then...hope.

Some good news for a change

2007-02-26T12:28:00.000-08:00

No, I haven't gotten a job yet. Rather, I have been accepted into NYU's journalism program. So, as things look right now, I'll be moving to New York in September.

EN GARDE, CONNASSE!!!

2007-02-21T14:28:00.000-08:00

Why is Drew Mama excited about The Black Donnellys?

I'm excited about the new detective show starring Andy Richter and Buster from Arrested Development. I actually clapped my hands and bounced up and down upon seeing the preview.

But what could possibly be good about The Black Donnellys? Is he just biased because it's about Irish people?

I'm gonna make a show about four Asian gangsters called The Yellow Changs. The previews will have some slanty-eyed dry cleaner saying in a chinky voice, "You remebah da Chang bruddahs, riiiiiight?" Oh god. So racist. But it'd still be a helluva lot better than the fucking Black Donnellys. Maybe I'm just biased.

Sorry, that's just been bothering me. New Modest Mouse album, eh? That's pretty cool. But 300??!!!!

Adventures in Ass-sitting

2007-02-21T13:30:00.000-08:00

Today, feeling overly tired and lacking my usual zip-zippy giddy-up-osity fantasticness, I drank me some caffeine in the form of a steaming cup of chai tea. I remembered that it was something of a smash hit a couple of years back, and I couldn't really resist buying it, what with Trader Joe's fantastically reasonable prices and my sleepy, suggestionable state.

After tasting it, I gotta say I don't see what all the fuss was about. Perhaps I prepared it incorrectly?

I used about half a gallon of milk filling up my charmingly oversized mug.
I'll just triple the ingredients!

The recipe calls for three teaspoons of the chunky, brown, powdery stuff, but it's not clear if the green scoopy thing hidden within the mix holds one or three teaspoons.
I'll just use two and a half scoops. What's the worst that could happen? It's too delicious?

Oops! I accidentally dumped a bunch of it all over myself and the counter!
Scrape scrape scrape...into the mug...

Yucko, this tastes sour.
Must not be hot enough. Back into the microwave!

Hmm...still not very good..
Just add sugar! Lots and lots of sugar.

Ugh...I don't feel so good.
DRINK!!!

The powdery stuff is embedded in my shirt and the overwhelming smell of undiluted chai is making me vomitous.
Oofah!

I don't like chai.
Put it way back in the cupboard next to the oatmeal!

Now what?
TV!

But I'm still thirsty.
Beer?

Yes.

The Continuing Adventures of Jed in the Endless Pursuit of a Job

2007-02-01T09:47:00.000-08:00

Chapter XXXIV

Despite the previous night's preparations (i.e. selecting the clothes I was going to wear, setting the alarm clock, etc.) and the morning's efforts at running down the stairs from the apartment while buttoning and zipping my pants, I was definitely going to be late. The Arlington was backed up, and it was starting to snow. People were going to be smashing their cars into each other with the savage, redneck pleasure that festers beneath the thin, affected coating of sophistication that clings to everyone who lives around DC. I wondered if I'd get fired for being late on my first day of work, but I didn't really care. It felt nice to get dressed up and fume at rush hour traffic.

It's not like the job was going to be all that great, but my ongoing streak of unemployment had me jumping at any chance for a writing job, even one that barely qualified. Sure I'd found it in the writing/editing section of jobs on Craigslist, mysteriously titled "Legislative Correspondent", but it was clear from the interview I'd had two days prior that it was really just a telemarketing position with some writing tacked onto it. Basically, it was calling up people and asking if they would offer their support for a cause by letting us write letters for them in their own voices, which they would then sign and send on to elected officials. The interviewer told me that, while the company was a bipartisan one, more of the work came from conservative sources. However, she assured me that the company never took on "hot-button issues", so I wouldn't face many philosophical dilemmas by working there.

No matter how much she sugarcoated it, I was a bit skeptical. Still, I was really happy to get the job, because she kept stressing that they were looking for "really strong writers." Had I failed their writing test, it would've confirmed my worst fears - that all those journalism school admissions offices were ringing with laughter over my stupid, stupid essays and stupid, stupid, stupid writing samples.

Anyway, I took the test, which was basically the entire interview process - something that should've made me suspicious - and the interview lady called me later that day to tell me I'd demolished it. I believe her exact words were, "We haven't had anyone score that high for several years, and I want to have your baby, and it doesn't really matter if you're a couple of minutes late tomorrow. Just try to keep it under fifteen." Yeah right, they'd never fire a rockstar like me.

It didn't matter. When I finally got into the office, they kept me waiting in the lobby for thirty minutes before they sent someone out to move me through the door into cubicle world, where I spent the next hour filling out paperwork. The papers were pretty ordinary. The one thing that did stick out in my mind from the employee handbook was the company's policy that employees not use the internet during the work day. Hmm... I paid special attention to the nondisclosure agreement, because I wanted to make sure I could report on what they did without getting sued or arrested. According to their own rules, they could only fire me. I had to make absolutely sure of the ND agreement, because I thought the job was odd enough that I could write a story about it someday. Writing letters for somebody else to send? Weird. Ironically, I'd heard a piece on NPR that very morning as I sat in traffic that was talking about the Senate’s proposed lobbying reforms and how they excluded "astroturf lobbying" groups, but I was running late, so I didn't pay much attention to it.

When I was finally ready to start training, Kelly, the attractive project assistant, and her colleague sat me down with a packet detailing the project on which I would be working. The project was entitled "Valley Power Plant" and it dealt with getting a show of public support for proposed renovations to a power plant in rural Texas.

Let me explain further. TXU Power wants approval to renovate their plants in Texas, allowing them to utilize coal instead of the natural gas they currently use.

Coal.

What happened to never taking on hot-button issues? Did they not consider environmental issues to be controversial?

“The people you call will be really open to it, because they want reliable energy that’s cheap,” said attractive Kelly’s less-attractive male colleague. I asked what the downsides were to accepting coal power. “Pollution,” he said, “No one wants it in their backyard.” I asked if these were the clean-burning coal plants Bush had been touting in the State of the Union address. “Stay away from using that phrase,” he warned. “Just say that the plants will incorporate the ‘Best Available Control Technology’ to make sure emissions are significantly lower than the average US coal plant.”

They told me that after calling people – people who were specifically targeted by market research as most likely to be available and willing to talk (i.e. the elderly) - and preaching to them the great benefits of coal plants (i.e. cheap and reliable power, increased jobs, and less dependence on foreign oil), I was to interview them so I could write as genuinely personal-sounding a letter as possible. After all, it wouldn’t do for Fannin County Commissioner Ronnie Rhudy to receive hundreds of similar sounding form letters. He might get suspicious! Then, I would write a letter for them that convincingly enumerated their arguments in favor of TXU Power.

They asked if I had any questions. I asked if there were any other projects that were going at the moment. There weren’t. They really needed to make that 1100-letter quota they had promised TXU Power.

I was then instructed to take the packet (with enclosed sample telephone script) and try making my first phone calls. They expected me eventually to be able to get participants at a rate of two letters every three hours. However, I had a little trouble getting started.

Mainly, I didn’t really know anything about the issue, and I didn’t want to sound like an idiot or, more importantly, give false information to the people I would be calling. I walked back and asked if I could do some research on the topic before I began. Unfortunately, while they applauded my initiative, they couldn’t really let me use the internet, because of “problems in the past.” It would be fine if I wanted to go home and do research on my own time, but the employee punch card system made it impossible for them to pay me for that time. Really, it would be best if I just went back to my cubicle and listened to how the other “communications specialists” were making their calls. So, I did.

The most successful caller assured me that I would get over my initial reluctance to push coal power on people. On one of his lengthy phone calls, he responded to a person’s claim that coal power would cause pollution by saying, “Sir, I believe you’ve received some bad information.” When the man told him he’d read it in the newspaper, he replied, “I don’t know why they would write that. I don’t know why they would side with the environmentalists.” After he hung up, he turned to me and said, “I’m a liberal, but I’ll say anything. This is just a job; it’s not what I believe. You just have to look at it as something that’s going to happen anyway. You’re just a cog in the machine. You aren’t gonna change anything.”

I spent the next hour mostly with my head in my hands, dreading making my first call. Telemarketing is bad enough, but doing it for a cause you oppose? Eventually, Kelly took me aside and asked why I hadn’t begun making any calls. I said that I didn’t want to push coal on people.

She just stared at me.

Eventually, I was so uncomfortable that I said I’d start. On my second or third call, I reached a live person who politely declined to participate. Since she seemed pretty well educated on the topic, I asked her to give me the details of the case - after all, I had to learn about the issue somehow. We had a pretty good conversation, and after I hung up, Kelly came bounding over to me. “That was soooo good! You did a really great job!!!” I’d forgotten that the handbook stated that supervisors could listen in on phone calls. “Thanks. I like talking on the phone,” I muttered.

Thankfully, most people don’t answer their phones during the day. Over the course of the day, I wrote only one letter. Yet, the satisfaction I got from completing it and sending it in for review was enough that I could see how it would be the highpoint of my day, how I would really want to get people to agree to participate. The people around me seemed not so much numb to their jobs as much as they were bloodthirsty by the hunt for weak-willed or ignorant senior citizens. It wasn’t enough of a challenge to write a letter for a supporter of coal power. Instead, it was more satisfying to write one from the standpoint of a conquered prey. I saw how easy it would be to close off all my objections, to sell my soul for twelve dollars an hour (without benefits).

When I left, I told them I would see them in the morning (a lie). Three or four of them gathered around and exclaimed, “Wow! You made it!” Apparently they’d had a rash of new employees leaving after the first day. One, more self-confident than I, left after just touring the cubicles. All day, I’d felt skepticism in their looks. It seemed like they were appraising me, wondering if I’d be the sort who, like them, would give in and stay. Maybe if I’d gone back, they would have even tried to be friends with me. However, as nice as they were in private, I know some part of me would have always resented them had I stayed.

As I walked out, I stopped by Kelly’s desk to say goodnight. Outside of her window, I saw a large, ugly building standing next door. When I asked her what it was, a sneer distorted her face. “Oh, that’s a coal plant. It’s the biggest polluter on the Potomac.”

I love me a good list

2006-12-20T19:38:00.000-08:00

Holy crap! It's my old RA's birthday! Happy day for two more hours, big guy. Now put me on the damn list.

On Futility

2006-12-20T10:51:00.000-08:00

I'm supposed to be working on my grad school applications. I'm sitting in my favorite coffee shop with my laptop and a bottle of orange soda. There's a man at the front of the shop, assaulting us with an acoustic guitar. Christmas carols, folky tunes, and kiddy songs, which involve loud barking for some reason -- all bounce off my gigantic headphones. I am nestled in the safety of Mark Knopfler, INXS, the Jesus and Mary Chain, and Miles Davis. Strum on aged hippy, I am impervious. I won't give you my last dollar either. Bark bark bark.

Have you ever been so antsy that your pants are uncomfortable? No matter what I do - hitch 'em up, loosen the belt, tighten the belt, etc. - they won't let me concentrate on my screen. These are my favorite blue jeans too. Maybe I should take them off and dance around a little. How'd you like that, Mr. Hippy?

What's this "New Blogger" noise? Is it better? Am I foolish not to switch?

Uh-oh. Cd's done.

The doors on the bus go open and shut
open and shut
open and shut
the doors on the bus go open and shut
all through the town

False start! Once more and you're disqualified

2006-12-20T10:47:00.000-08:00

Statement of Purpose:

Science is more interesting as a story, as a mystery novel. I wanted to discover the story behind why bugs are attracted to light, and I loved learning that certain birds migrate using the earth’s magnetic field as a map. I pictured myself as a romantic character, a young explorer who would one day discover the unifying secret behind evolution, nature, and genetics. Unfortunately, even the best stories can get muddled, and I foundered upon the shores of organic chemistry. Fucking o-chem! You have single-handedly kept me from discovering the cures for cancer and global warming. The world will curse you as it dies of asphyxiation in the coming years. You and gen chem…and biochem…and genetics – all of you can go fuck yourselves!

But I'd make a really really great journalist. Please admit me. One please.

Random thought brought on by watching commercials on the Cartoon Network

2006-12-14T16:39:00.000-08:00

I bet Fred goes home and beats Wilma every time Barney steals his Fruity Pebbles.

Nothing could be more random

2006-12-14T10:00:00.000-08:00

than the spam I get:

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before, and took me away. We found the coach very near at hand, magistrate. He inquired, under a shed in the playground, into the out of a bottle, said I was like a boa-constrictor who took enough days. If the fire was to go out, through any accident, I verily
myself uneasy; he would take care it should be all right. operations were going on, and no one else was looking. The sun it, the subject of jokes between the coachman and guard as to the opinion that it was a jolly shame; for which I became bound to
picked up one, of several that were rolling about, and treasured it be Lord High Admiral, or Commander-in-Chief - in either of which his life, charging in among the boys like a trooper, and slashing I hastened to comply with his friendly suggestion, and opening
he brought me a pudding, and having set it before me, seemed to re-opening of the school, it was such an insupportable affliction. nature is the least disposed to confess I cannot imagine why is Murdstones; but there the likeness ended, for his whiskers were
it was the Blue Something, and that its likeness was painted up on disconsolately, I was afraid, as we went on together. I observed Tungay stood at Mr. Creakles elbow. He had no occasion, I limp, delicate-looking gentleman, I thought, with a good deal of
she was jealous even of the saucepan on it; and I have reason to that evening. In the evening, after tea, I heard that he was come. little white mice, left behind by their owner, are running up and I heard that one boy, who was a coal-merchants son, came as a
was possible for people to see me or not, I always fancied that said Steerforth. I say, young Copperfield, youre going it. somebody was reading it. It was no relief to turn round and find would give the world to go to sleep. I sit with my eye on Mr.
supervised, as I have mentioned, by the man with the wooden leg. begin to see him do it. On being asked by a mild boy not me how Having by this time cried as much as I possibly could, I began to persuaded, she gave the credit of the whole performance.
an old person who lived not far off, and that the best way would be So he took a chop by the bone in one hand, and a potato in the many years of consideration, that there never can have been anybody

What the hell is a "Murdstone", Magistrate?

Gwen Stefani is fucking daffy

2006-12-09T21:15:00.000-08:00

When I shoot up with H, I can blog the future

2006-12-04T09:49:00.000-08:00

Some predictions for tonight's episode of "Heroes":

The hero who is lost isn't the black guy whose wife was about to shoot him.

It's the cheerleader.

The surprise ending?

Random is back

2006-11-30T19:28:00.000-08:00

My blog links really do look like a Winter Solstice tree.

It's less than a month till Christmas, but I still think our downstairs neighbor is crazy for keeping her tree up and decorated all year round. Crazy like a fox.

Foxes are my favorite animal right now because they're cool. I saw a dead one on the road the other day. It was nasty. Why did that fox try to cross a highway? I thought they were supposed to be smart. Maybe that fox was crazy. Crazy like a

Time's up. Pencils down. Pencils DOWN!!

2006-11-30T19:13:00.000-08:00

1) B
2) C
3) E
4) A
5) C

Fun for weirdos

2006-11-29T17:00:00.000-08:00

A little while ago, I saw there was a job writing practice SAT questions. The application process was writing and submitting five sample questions with answers and explanations. I never heard back from them, so I guess they weren't up to snuff. I just found them on my desktop, and thought it was ironic because we're now studying up for upcoming GRE's. Anyway...want to test yourself?

Math

1) A rectangle with an area of 60 is inscribed within a circle so that all four of its corners are located on the circle's circumference. If the circle's circumference is 13Pi, what is the result when you subtract the shorter side of the rectangle from the longer side?
A) 8
B) 7
C) 42.25Pi – 60
D) 169
E) Cannot be determined

2) A rectangle with an area of 40 is drawn in the x,y-coordinate plane. Two of the rectangle's corners lie at A(0,1) and B(-10,1), and neither of the other corners have positive coordinates. What is the midpoint between A and the point on the rectangle furthest from A?
A) (2, 5)
B) (-5,-2)
C) (-5,-1)
D) (-10,-3)
E) Cannot be determined

Verbal

3) When she wrote her children’s novels, Lynne took a _____ approach. Rather than trying to merely ______ her readers, she wanted to expand their knowledge about the world around them.
A) nuanced:exasperate
B) staid:assuage
C) pedestrian:entertain
D) learned:astound
E) didactic:divert

4) Instead of being thrilled by the surprise her parents had promised, Rachel found the sudden appearance of the new pony to be rather ______.
A) quotidian
B) solipsistic
C) archetypal
D) sacrosanct
E) grandiloquent

Writing

5) Despite her well-meaning intentions, the terrified dog simply would not allow Megan to get within petting range.
A) In spite of her good intentions, Megan could not simply get close enough to the terrified dog, who was not allowing her to pet him.
B) Despite her good intentions, the terrified dog simply would not allow Megan to get close enough to pet him.
C) Despite her well-meaning intentions, Megan could not get within petting range of the terrified dog.
D) Megan would not get within range of the terrified dog, despite her intent.
E) Despite her terror, Megan would not get within petting range of the dog.

Mothers would probably best be served by ignoring this and checking email

2006-11-28T19:12:00.000-08:00

Ahem...

No, my new website isn't up yet. When it does go up, I'll get you all free, three-day, trial memberships.

I did click the link, strictly to ensure that no copyrighted images of mine were being used, but I was ~~disapp~~ RELIEVED to find no pictures of my huge, dripping, grinning visage.

After all, you gotta save something for the holidays.

Five-second mysteries

2006-11-27T22:23:00.000-08:00

I buried a scathing anonymous comment on one of your guys' past posts. You'll all have to search long and hard to find it, and man will it sting if it's you.

Actually, it's Drew Mama, and it's not that hard to find since he just started his blog. You can find him linked on the right.

For those of you who were disappointed that I ruined the treasure hunt, CuriousM would've gotten all bitchy if I hadn't given it away.

life's smartalecky answers

2006-11-27T21:07:00.000-08:00

Everyday, I wish I had been more like Brett.

Would you like to hear about God’s gift for you?
Sorry, we've already got one. Please don't call here anymore.

How is your spiritual life?
It's a little unhealthy these days: not enough spiritual exercise, a little too much fried chicken for the soul.

Can I pray for you?
Just don't do it to a picture of me.

How’s your walk with God?
They're always kind of awkward. He doesn't initiate conversation, and he stares too much. I got him to stop trying to hold my hand, but he still insists on giving me piggyback rides whenever we're at the beach.

What Would Jesus Do?
Uh…I dunno. Die?
Well, he'd rise again!
Yeah......bastard

If you were to die today, where would you spend eternity?
Since this is an exercise in fantasy, let's go all the way. At this point, I take a deep drag off my cigarette and exhale it into the questioner's face. After he stops his hacking and little piggy wheezing, I make as though I'm about to answer. His watering eyes greedily bore into mine in anticipation of my reply. Instead, however, I ball up my fist and punch him in the crotch. Hard. As he writhes on the floor sweating and gasping, arms clamped tightly against his quivering gut as he tries quell his overwhelming nauseau, I jump into my sports car and drive off with my exotic swimsuit model/lawyer wife. Over the sound of the squealing tires, he strains his ears to catch anything, ANYTHING, I might deign to say. All he hears, though, is a single syllable of laughter which echoes in his head as unconsciousness overtakes him.

-Peace, love, and GAP

The Continuing Adventures of Jed in the Endless Pursuit of Extraordinary Manliness

2006-11-05T21:17:00.000-08:00

Chapter VII

A quicker man would've stopped it. Hell, even a half-paralyzed coke addict could've saved it! Instead, he just dumbly watched the razor plummet from his hand to the floor of the tub, the replaceable head ejecting from its fancy Mach 3 handle, both skittering towards the open drain. He even had time to reflect on how unwise it had been not to put the hair-trap in the drain, even if it did make water drain too slowly, before the razor reached its inevitable target and disappeared forever. Thankfully the handle hadn't gone too, but he realized as he bent to pick it up that that was a ridiculous thought, because it was much too long to go down the drain, and he should've been more concerned about the razor part because it was so much smaller and because it was the more useful part of the whole contraption. And because it was his last one.

And he had been so proud to figure out that he could shave standing in the shower if he opened the medicine cabinet door so he could use its mirror. The only trick was finishing before it fogged up, but he'd solved that problem the week before by leaving the other end of the shower curtain open just a bit so steam could exit out the open bathroom door. He was a problem solver - should've been an engineer. If he were, you could bet Katrina wouldn't have overwhelmed the levies, and New Orleans would've been saved. Then, no one would criticize him for having such poor reflexes.

Straightening up, he looked in the mirror to see the damage. Not too bad - he'd managed to do his neck and half his face before the damned thing slipped from his hand. It's not like he had so much facial hair that he'd look like one of those half-man/half-woman things if he went out to buy some replacement cartridges. Still, he couldn't imagine facing the Target clerk with his stupid-looking face and the telltale razors sitting right fucking there on the scanner. She'd smirk and he'd watch her mentally filing it away so she could tell her co-workers in her broken English all about it at breaktime, and there'd be pantomimed gestures of him turning his head so only the unshaven part of his face showed, and they'd laugh and laugh and speculate on just how small his penis actually was... No, he'd have to come up with something better.

Of course the obvious answer was sitting on the rim of the tub next to him, but he'd rather avoid that option if possible. Maybe he'd just call his girlfriend and ask her to pick up some razors on her way home from work. After all, he didn't have a job, so it wasn't absolutely necessary for him to leave the apartment. But then, she'd ask why, and when he told her, she'd tell him to stop being stupid and just use hers. The bitch!

That hateful option. He almost wished she didn't shave her stupid legs just so that her goddamn, flat, lavender Gillette wouldn't be sitting there staring him in his half-stubble!

Oh well, hot water was wasting. He grabbed his can of shaving cream and reapplied the white foam to the left side of his face. That done, he picked up the ridiculously-light, plasticky thing and scraped it across his cheek. Blood and pain immediately scored his face. How the hell do they use these things? When he lifted it away from his mutilated skin, the moisture strip gagged its lotion and a thin contrail hung between face and razor like a drippy spider web. Lord how he missed the gentle kiss of triple, spring-loaded blades and swivel-headed action! This piece of shit was just a mockery of his beloved Mach 3 Turbo even though it was basically the girled-up version of it. But wait, NO, the stupid thing only had two blades! What demented mind decided women's razors should stay light years behind in technology??!!! Mankind now had razors with five blades. FIVE! Why would they even still make ones with two?

For the rest of the day, he wore the signs of his battle in little torn-off patches of toilet paper. He took no joy in the irony that the part of his face that smelled like a woman's sexy leg was also the stubbliest part of his body. When his girlfriend kissed him upon arriving home, she exclaimed, "Ooh, you shaved!" But he ignored her. He'd keep his ordeal a secret.

You see, over his recuperation during the past several hours, he'd had time to think: her legs had always been smooth yet scabless. Interesting. Perhaps she knew the wonders of the Mach 3 Turbo and only kept her Venus as a ruse of femininity. Well now they'd both have to use it, and he was prepared to go as long as she did without breaking. And he'd win. Oh yes, he'd win. What he lacked in reflexes and other physical prowess he more than made up for in cold, calculating patience.

"What's for dinner?" she asked as she put away her jacket.

"I decided to make a salad," he answered. Eat it up, sweetcakes. You're going to need your strength...

Thursday Randomized

2006-10-05T18:17:00.000-07:00

Samantha Bee just isn't very funny.

Q: Want to know what is funny?
A: Surely not this.

Random Thursdays

2006-09-28T06:36:00.000-07:00

I brought sexy back years ago, but you never heard me bitching about it.

Tuesday morning linebacking

2006-09-26T20:57:00.000-07:00

Did you see the game last night? You didn't see the game??!! Unbelievable! Un-FUCK-I-N-G-believable!!!

You sorry piece of shit, you missed the most amazing shit I've ever seen! It was INCREDIBLE! But you missed it. What the hell were you doing? Was there a gay pride parade in town or something, you gaywad? Just kidding. Shut the fuck up; I'm not homophobic, you are!

Just tell me: Do you like pussy? DO YOU LOVE PUSSY??!!! YES!! My man LOOOVES PUSSY!!! Dude, there was so much pussy on the screen I thought I was gonna hump my plasma tv in front of my girlfriend!

No, but seriously, those girls are hot. I hooked up with a cheerleader once after a Yankees game, and she was so fine - had a tight little ass and everything. Yeah baseball has cheerleaders, dipshit! Who do you think drives the cart and shoots the t-shirts out of the cannons? Jesus! Why do I even talk to you?

I can't believe you missed it! They had fireworks and a fucking laser show that spelled out their names, and there were these huge crazy dogs that kept running in circles and fucking with the crowd! People were freaking out, but the commentators said they were robots from Sony, or something like that, so it was ok.

My cousin was there! She called me while they were playing, because she knows how much I'm into them, but I couldn't really hear anything because it was so loud, and there's like that twenty second delay shit, so I just watched it on tv. But I was so goddamn jealous of her...I'm gonna kick her ass when she comes up next week. Oh, you should come out with us! I know you got a thing for her. Too bad she's not gay like you - ha ha!!

No, but she says they were supposed to only play for like 15 minutes, but they kept trying to go longer because the crowd was way into it, and the stadium officials had to threaten to sue them to get them to stop...

What do you mean, 'What am I talking about?' The game! U2 was on Monday Night Football last night! U-Fucking-2!!! Yeah, man! I know you love U2! I heard you singing them while you were in the john last week. BONO, DUDE!!! Fucking sweet.

What was the score? I don't know. I hate football.

Now I REALLY wish I had a treadmill

2006-09-22T07:28:00.000-07:00

Ok Go's "Here it Goes Again" is my favorite music video. Ever.

Not that desperate yet...

2006-09-21T09:35:00.000-07:00

Job No: 2006-0614H
Job Title: Lab Technician/ Curator's Asst.
Department: Office of Medical Education
Grade/Level: (07 ) $ 12.81 -- $ 16.66
Date Posted: September 07, 2006
Assist the Curator in the set up and breakdown of the six Gross Anatomy Labs. This involves moving 48 embalmed cadavers into position on the tables in the labs. Assists with removing the cadavers from the lab and preparing them for cremation. He keeps the labs clean during class time. This involves monitoring student activity with the cadaver dissections and cleaning up fluids that come out of the cadavers when the students are making cuts. This also involves cleaning the labs after class in preparation for the next class. This position requires a High school diploma, 2-3 years experience in a funeral home or similar facility moving and caring for human cadavers in a professional and respectful manner. Individual must be neat, reliable, and possess good verbal and written communication and customer service skills for dealing with the students, faculty and staff. Must be able to handle multiple tasks concurrently; attention to timeliness, accuracy and neatness.

My own Plans

2006-09-20T11:15:00.000-07:00

That piercing sound in your ear isn't a physical affliction you're suffering - it's my neighbor. He's a cute little Latino kid, about three years old. We don't know his name. We call him Screamy.

At first, we were afraid we'd have to call the cops for domestic abuse, but we've learned that it's just his mode of communication. When we pass him on the stairs, he waves and screams us a friendly "HI!".

Lately, things have been quieter. Maybe it's because his brothers and sisters are in school now and aren't stimulating him to the point of verbal fits, maybe his mother slips a mickey into his apple juice. Maybe it's because I've started blaring music during the day - "Death Cab for Cutie".

I think they get the message.

Staring at yourself in the mirror might make your crotch hurt

2006-09-11T20:22:00.000-07:00

Let me explain...

One day, while I was still in San Diego, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror of my closet door. I can't explain why, but at that moment, I was struck by the sheer asianness of my face.
Hey, Bruce Lee! Do a karate chop!
I did. It was impressive.
Hey, Jackie Chan! Do a high kick!
That was a mistake. Thinking myself more spry than I actually was, I aimed a kick at where I thought my invisible opponent's head might be and immediately tore my inner thigh muscle. That was a long time ago (over a year at this point), and it hasn't been the same since.

My gymnastics instructor gave me some advice on rehabilitating it some months back. I was originally too embarrassed to ask her about it outright, but she got the idea when I kept rubbing my groin, grimacing, and looking at her hopefully during stretches. She thought it'd be a good idea to build up the muscle that had been damaged - the ideal means for this being the Lever Seated Hip Adduction (a.k.a. the glorified Thigh Master machine girls are always using at the gym).

I tried it out the other day, and I was really good at it. Whoever had used it before me must've been way weak, because I slapped forty more pounds to the stack and still pounded out an insane number of reps.

Now, as I lay dying, ice packs strapped around my legs like misplaced floaties, my final wish is for Suzanne Somers' head on a platter. I'll hollow it out, fill it with Advil and make it into my own super, collector's edition Pez dispenser.

Hey, Chow Yun-Fat! What the hell is wrong with you?!!

Don't Stop Cyber-Bullyin'Hold on to the Feelin' Streetlight People

2006-09-10T08:21:00.000-07:00

Twice yesterday I heard Journey's Don't Stop Believing - once while sitting in the car at the Korean grocery store and the other time at a new friend's housewarming party. Every time I hear it come on the radio, I immediately start laughing maniacally and then try to sing along. Big, silly grin on my face. I don't what it is about this song that provokes such a reaction in me. Perhaps all those 80's spoof movies have conditioned to make fun of it even though I really take such not-so-secret delight in it. I Googled the lyrics to try to see if I could find the answer within them, but they didn't reveal the mystery of my crazed laughing fits. However, I found from several reviews written about the song that it holds deep meaning for many people, most of whom haven't hit puberty yet.

Here is a sample (with snide little editorial remarks from me in blue):

i think this is a great song and teaches us a leason that you shold never stop believing. Brilliant, kid.
and when the white sox pick this song i figued hey, im 11 im a sox fan and have NO clue what this song is but ive been a sox fan all my life which is not much because like i said im 11 but now its one of my favorite songs and the sox never stoped believing,i think it is really great .so listen to it and think about it.and to all you cubs and astro fans out there i have to say...LOSERS!the cubs havent won a sereis in 98 years!!!!!!! Little asshole! Learn how to spell. Sereiously.

There are other, more heartfelt reviews out there, but this mullet-headed, grammatically-retarded little glue sniffer may have clued me in to the answer to my mystery. The sheer cheesiness of the lyrics can only hold appeal for the prepubescent. Couple them with wailing guitar licks, and it's no wonder little runts start rolling in the aisles. I remember being similarly struck with paroxysms of delight by Bette Midler's From a Distance. IT'S SO DEEP! Now when I hear songs that touched me there during my formative years, I usually get embarrassed and silently curse that emotional little moron I used to be. It's why I can't listen to the Cranberries anymore. We (or maybe just I) don't like to be reminded of all the hormonally-driven feelings we used to have. Thank God I never heard Journey until after college! And that's the reason for the laughter: it's a dodged bullet. Every time I hear the song, some hidden part of me understands how close I came to having yet another crippling memory association, and like many near-death experiencers, I go into shock. When I listen to it, I can't help but cherish life a little bit more.

Someday, that little Sox fan might mature into a Wrigley lover, and he'll understand what it is I'm talking about. When that day comes, I hope he mines this page from the depths of the internet. Because if he does, I want him to know that

WHITE SOX SUCK! CUBS RUUUULLLE #1!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The DrewMamasburg Address

2006-09-08T11:48:00.000-07:00

One score and six years ago some lady brought forth on this continent a new person, conceived in a 7-Eleven storeroom, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are morsels.

Now we are engaged in a great big hullabaloo, celebrating the improbable event that such a blight on humanity could so long endure. We have come to dedicate a portion of this blog to wish blessings upon him. The jury's still out on whether it is fitting and proper that we should do this.

Because in a larger sense he is all that is wrong with the world. From his annoying habit of stomping around, destroying our communities, to his disdain for our pure air, which he befouls with his unholy odors -- we would be more blessed to be rid of him once and for all. Yet we must sing...we must give gifts...we must feed cakes and sweet ice cream treats to this buffoon of a douche, because he's not really all that bad. After all, there was that one time he lent me his calculator and then there were all those rides he gave us to the bowling alley, where he didst lay down many gutter balls to our grand amusement. Dance, monkeyboy. Dance.

So raise a glass and pray that he might continue to grace us with the presence of his impossibly large hands and feet and the hilarious stumblings they cause him. Pray that he stick to his guns, that all those Phi Delt bodies laid waste upon the hallowed IM football fields would not have been in vain, that...well... maybe not the whole dislike of chocolate thing, for that is messed up, and he should repent of that leaning. Let him, instead, always work so that such a sumptuous and beautiful snack of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

September 8, 2006

The picture she didn't show you

2006-08-16T21:03:00.000-07:00

Weakend

2006-07-23T13:42:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was pretty hot for San Diego - 93 degree high with 50% humidity. M informed me that it was much hotter and humider in D.C., where we will be moving soon, but she agreed that we should still go to the movies for the air conditioning. We saw Pirates II and The Lady in the Water. That we saw two movies back-to-back is disgusting, but it was hot out, and we only paid for the first one. It was the first time I've ever snuck into a second movie, and I think that added more to the movie-going experience than the movies themselves.

Pirates was boring, and Lady was hokey, but I liked Lady. I'm a sucker for Shymalamalan. Gore Vidal can go to hell.

It's nice out today, so I'm gonna venture outside. I doubt anything exciting'll happen, but be assured you'll be the first to know.

Kevin wins again for last week. I don't have any one post in mind; they've all got something in them I like. Paul's blogging week deserves mention too.

"Random," thought Thursday.

2006-07-20T11:58:00.000-07:00

#1
With the significant other not around, my acceptable-television standards have taken a break. Tonight, I watched a show on public access. I sat mesmerized by a train wreck of an amateur sketch comedy show, unable to rouse myself enough even to make fun of it let alone change the channel. And as I stared I realized, "That's me if I ever try."

#2
I finally got to check out the movie links that are on Bill's blog. When the movie loaded, I saw that it was going to be about Pasha, and I was a little thrilled - "Hey! I know that guy!"

#3
When the movie started playing, my speakers were off, and I couldn't hear the action, but that was okay, because as soon as it began, and he started bucking on that mechanical bull, my head was filled with his voice repeating an answering machine message of long ago, over and over again - "Wiiiilliam, it's Pasha..."

#4
Try it. You'll like it.

#5
I watched Grandma's Boy a week ago.

#6
Three days ago, I realized that one of the characters from it was the "Barq's has bite!" kid.

#7
Today, I realized that same guy was a commedian we once saw and liked on a Comedy Central special. "Nicholas! You're so strong, you should fight crime!"

#8
Then, I realized that the kid from the "Barq's has bite!" campaign was the same person as the commedian.

#9
It totally blew my mind.

#10
I'm totally gonna go watch Lady in the Water, because I want to know what that lady is screaming when Paul Giamatti carries her off. I doubt that it'll be any more intelligible, but I'm hoping context will help clear things up.

#11
#8 uses all the letters of the alphabet.

#12
Sucker.

#13
JVXUWY

#14
G'night

Screw Better Judgement

2006-07-19T23:56:00.000-07:00

I really wanted to post it to his comments box, but I felt that would be a bit distasteful. Not that this is any better. Oh well...

Heh heh heh

Reading Lolita in SoCal

2006-07-18T23:07:00.000-07:00

Actually, I haven't even cracked it open. I bought it months ago at a used book sale for fifty cents. I always meant to read it - it was supposed to make me smarter - but I forgot about it in all the mad rush that is my life (television, eating, etc). I found it tattered and dusty while packing up some of our stuff for the move, and I am ashamed of myself and my abandoned goals. Now I'm going to forgo all television - except Project Runway because we shouldn't make ourselves crazy - until I've finished it. But before I start, I've decided to write a little book report based on what I already know about it. If the book actually ends up the same as or worse than what I report, I'll never read another book again.

Lolita
by David Nabokov

Lolita is a good book. It was written in the twentieth century by the great Russian novelist, David Nabokov. Nabokov wrote many books in his lifetime, but they were all basically the same. Lolita is the best version.

The main character is a teacher who has a debilitating disease that makes him shake and cough. One day, he meets a young girl who is half his age, and he falls in love with her. Her name is Lolita. She likes him too, so they go on a trip together across the Wild West. In Russia, the Wild West is called Siberia, which is a cold and barren place most of the time. However, they went during the summer, so it was pleasant. On their travels they meet many interesting people, but they can't stay at any one place too long, because they are being chased.

The saddest but best part of the story is when the man has to pretend that Lolita is his daughter in the lobby of the motel so that the owner will let them stay and not get arrested. He tells her to wait outside by the bus stop, because she always stands too close to him and it makes people suspicious. While she is waiting, it starts to rain and she gets soaked. It turns out all right, though, because he comes to get her in his car, which is warm and dry.

The best part of the story is at the end when it turns out the man is a murderer but that he is sorry for what he did and only gets arrested for that and not also for having sex with an underage girl.

Lolita is a fun book. If you like stories about girls and cars, you'll love this book.

But don't take my word for it...

We're all Winners

2006-07-17T00:11:00.000-07:00

Except for the Cubs...stupid, stupid Cubs.

Last week's winner is Arbiter Bibendi. Fool should've been blogging this entire time.

I'm tired. Who knew spending an entire weekend doing nothing could be so draining?

Stupid, stupid Cubs

And in case you don't click my links...

2006-07-12T20:37:00.000-07:00

Arbiter Bibendi's posting again. And it's brilliant. Guy should make movies or something.

An Essay on America and Its Talent

2006-07-12T20:26:00.000-07:00

Well, not really an essay, I just want to confess that I love America's Got Talent. I mean, come on! The yodeler and the crazy tapdancers are awesome! So far, only two of the acts have performed in these, the semi-finals, but I love them both. I have a sneaking suspicion that the gay Russian angel and the Snow White stripper didn't make it through, and, disappointing as that is, I'll totally rebel if they kicked off the flexible girl who shoots bullseye arrows with her feet.

Holy crap!!! The ventriloquist just finished, and he blew my mind!!!!

To all those people out there who hate America, I don't think you're paying close enough attention.

Zi-damn!!!

2006-07-10T19:49:00.000-07:00

So there's no question in my mind that Zinedine Zidane is insane. Why would your first intinct be to attack somebody with your head instead of the usual punch/push? But then new information that was presented to me today has illuminated things for me. A co-worker pointed out that with his injured arm Zizou was ill-equipped to pugilize up all over his opponent's face. Perhaps a crushing head-butt was the only means of retaliation left him. But then, he resorted to it so fast...

And then it all came clear. I found an article on Yahoo, speculating on the force that is Zidane, pointed out that this wasn't the first time he's tried to destroy someone with his melon.

Five years ago with Juventus, he head-butted an opponent in a Champions League match against Hamburger SV after being tackled from behind.

He's making a habit of it! He must be stopped now or the consequences could be disastrous...

With a VENGEANCE!!!

2006-07-06T23:08:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time. There've been lots of false starts and broken promises, but, from here on out, I begin blogging furiously once again.

I'm taking on this task for one reason: to coax Black Licorice out of retirement. And I'm gonna need your help. Through a massive campaign of shock and awe posting, we can remind her of her true calling. We can bring her back.

We have the power.

It doesn't take much

2006-06-13T12:35:00.000-07:00

Just that on NPR today Libby Lewis reported on the legal status of Lewis Libby.
And that's all I needed to have a good day. Well...that and Korea winning their first match at the World Cup.

You've got to ease back into it slowly

2006-06-09T13:05:00.000-07:00

so I'm touring the posts and commenting, a la Wang.

Speaking of which, the G-man is this week's winner. I was tempted by Senor Abogado's fantastic "Modifications" post, which he followed strongly with "Wrinkles in the Plan" - a fantastic Monday for blogging, Mr. Law. However, G-Money's "Satisfied" post is the best stream-of-consciousness blog I've read in awhile. Extra credit for following it up with John McEnroe's match-ending camel toe. Way to go G-Monkey.

Getting back to the long, tall lawman, though. I've been trying to figure out his final mystery grade, but I don't know how many credit hours = 1 class, so I've given up. Instead, I offer my own quiz. Which one of these ladies is my mother?

HELP! I CAN'T TELL FOR THE LIFE OF ME!!!!

Further delving into posts reveals yet another quiz, this time from Down With Toledo. Although my first thought is to go with "It's usually easier and sometimes better to destroy everyone else who disagrees with one's philosophy than it is to convince them to change", I'm gonna have to go with my gut and say it's the jowls. Definitely the jowls.

While reading Nick's blog, I paused to test my reverse alphabetabilities. I nailed it on the first try, really quickly too. Why can I do this?

Finally, I leave you with the subject line from my favorite email this week: With Penis Enlarge Patch your cock will win the beauty contest.

The crown will be mine...

Still not really posting

2006-06-06T13:38:00.000-07:00

Dunno why.

Connie can stay as winner for another week. I won two of my school's spelling bee's, but I never went anywhere beyond that. Kee-rist!

Blog fatigue

2006-05-26T00:22:00.000-07:00

I've got it, and it's here to stay. Tonight, instead of blogging, I spent several hours watching every unaired episode of "The Jake Effect" on Bravo. I gotta say, that was a quality show. Too bad it never got picked up by a network. But then, it'd just get cancelled like everything else I love.

Nickorice wins for the week, but, for the life of me, I can't get her page to load right now, so you won't know exactly why she won, except that her Sunday post about weddings and mothers was fantastic, and you should check it out if her blog ever loads.

Rj, I might consider making you a co-winner. I would be willing to give you the honor. All you have to do is give me a number. I'm thinking between 1 and 31, because it's Vegas time, bay-bee!!!

NO WHAMMIES!!!

Stupid Cubs

2006-05-22T22:25:00.000-07:00

M is last week's winner. How's that for a birthday present?

A move may indeed be in the future. Actually, screw "may" - it's happening. We've already got a date set. Now, we just have to figure out the particulars of moving trucks and what not. I'd better kick ass in Vegas. Anyway, if any of you knows of a job for me in D.C., I'd be very grateful. No jobs with the Feds, though.

Hassle at 20,000 Feet

2006-05-18T22:19:00.000-07:00

So, here's what I wrote under pressure of homework deadline. I only post it because its sheer length might make up for missing yesterday. I finished it in my office and then frantically printed it off and then ran to class. I arrived ten minutes late. It felt just like college again, especially in how crappy it is. Oofah. Anyway, it's a review of both versions of an old "Twilight Zone" classic.

Someday, if you ever stay awake long enough on that redeye flight across country, you’re bound to hear somebody chuckle, “There’s something on the wing of this plane!” If you’re unfortunate enough to be seated next to the wit, you have two options: you can either feign comatose sleep, or you can foolishly check to see for yourself. Be warned, though: choosing the second route might just guarantee you the worst flight of your life. However, if spending a long, sleepless night discussing the nuances of every episode of “The Twilight Zone” with a self-proclaimed expert sounds like a treat, then go ahead. Look out the window.

Granted, it is a deliciously macabre thought, that somehow in the darkness; something evil is staring back, eager for a chance to do us harm. This visceral fantasy is so ingrained in American pop culture that many are surprised to learn it actually originated in a birthplace so natural it’s almost cliché. Yet, every child in America owes at least one shuddering nightmare to Ron Serling and his “dimension, not only of sight and sound…”

“Nightmare at 20,000 Feet” was first directed by Richard Donner in 1963 as an adaptation of Richard Matheson’s short story. Although purists swear by Donner’s black-and-white, many today recognize the tale from its second incarnation, a vignette in the 1983 film, “Twilight Zone: The Movie.”

Considering how different the two versions are, they have a lot in common. In both, a man who is terrified of flying boards an airplane which is unwittingly headed into a violent storm. During the rough flight, he spots a creature wreaking havoc on the wing of the plane. Everyone he warns dismisses him as delusional, and he is faced with the choice: give in to paranoia and try to save everyone, or shut his eyes and hope for the best. The two films’ most important shared aspect, however, is that their creatures look completely and utterly ridiculous. The original resembles Gene Simmons in a furry costume, while the second looks more like E.T.’s older, skinnier, dreadlocked cousin. It is in how each director handles this particular problem that their strengths shine through.

Donner chooses to focus not on the thing on the wing, but on Bob Wilson (played gleefully by a young, handsome William Shatner). It is a wise choice, considering the limitations of special effects in the sixties. While the creature still gets plenty of screen time, it is Wilson’s struggle to retain his sanity that provides most of the drama. Donner’s focus on character development is strong; Wilson is a complex, layered individual whose unraveling is fascinating to watch. Shatner’s over-the-top acting actually works, because it lends credibility to the idea that Wilson is dangerously unstable. By the end of the trip, it’s clear that the biggest threat was inside the plane.

George Miller’s take is much more tongue-in-cheek. His creature is ridiculous looking, which should be unforgivable considering the twenty years of advances in special effects, but he embraces the silliness with gusto. In fact, every aspect of the film is as satirical as the grinning monster outside the window.

John Lithgow plays the neurotic antihero, John Valentine. Instead of gradually losing his nerve like the stoic Wilson, Valentine is a sniveling coward from the onset. Lithgow is more convincing an actor than Shatner is, but that’s not important to the success of the movie. Rather than identifying with Valentine and sharing his terror, you feel as though you’re seated on the plane next to him. Your other flight mates are the vaguely malevolent flight attendants, the ever-intrusive elderly couple, and an annoying, precocious little girl. It isn’t a gripping thrill ride, but it is, by far, the worst plane trip imaginable. In Miller’s hands, the greatest danger isn’t the monster, and it isn’t the frightened man inside the plane. It is the plane itself.

Clearly, Miller has been on the plane, seated next to the eager fan, and he knows how truly terrifying that can be.

2006-05-16T22:29:00.000-07:00

Here it is 11:00, and I've got nothing. I should be going to bed, or doing my homework, or applying for jobs. Instead, I have to stare at this stupid computer screen and hope for something to talk about. Nothing. But then that's never stopped me before.

Whatever. I'll just say that anyone planning to visit sunny S.D. and mooch off of us had better get it in soon.

Rachel Weisz was pretty hot though

2006-05-15T21:43:00.000-07:00

Chain Reaction was on television this weekend. I'd never seen it even though it's set at the old alma mater. I tuned in too late to recognize any of the settings but was too lazy to change the channel from that piece of crap. About five minutes into watching it, I recognized the directorial style as the one behind The Fugitive. Indeed, both were directed by Andrew Davis, and both had a lot of the same editors. I've always liked The Fugitive a lot. It's a wonder that I didn't like Chain Reaction more considering how similar the two movies are.

Ways in which Chain Reaction is just like The Fugitive:
1) Both are set in Chicago
2) Both have those sweeping helicopter shots of Chicago's skyline as seen from above.
3) Both have the same theme of the wrongly accused man running from the law.
4) The rugged government agent tracking the main character comes to believe his quarry is innocent.
5) In The Fugitive, Harrison Ford makes an impossible escape from a traffic tunnel surrounded by police. Keanu makes his from a drawbridge.
6) The two Chicago cops heading the hunt for Ford once again play two Chicago cops now hunting Reeves.
7) The janitor from Scrubs is in both movies. In both, he plays an unlucky police officer who apprehends the hero, only to be immediately shot by bad guys. His death is then unjustly pinned on the hero.
8) Other returning actors/actresses from The Fugitive include: the fellow fugitive who helps Ford at the beginning of the movie, the cop who gets stabbed just before the train wreck, and the female technician working late in the prosthetics lab.

Mind you, these are all things I noticed from halfway through the movie. I wouldn't be surprised if, at the beginning of the movie, Reeves' wife is murdered by a one-armed man.

Ways in which Chain Reaction should have been more like The Fugitive:
1) Music shouldn't have had so much wailing electric guitar.
2) Harrison Ford improved his appearance with a shave and a haircut. Keanu kept his stupid, ugly mop the entire time.
3) Reeves totally should have jumped off the bridge.
4) Shouldn't have sucked so much.

You can compare The Fugitive and Chain Reaction yourself if you feel like it. I very well may have missed more similarities.

Class of the Beast

2006-05-13T23:09:00.000-07:00

I had a double latte before class so I would stay awake for it. We watched two episodes of the Twilight Zone at the end of class. We have to review them for our homework assignment. I couldn't concentrate on the movies, because the coffee acted up and I was too busy trying not to soil myself.

I had another cup today at lunch.

No problems. I even went for a run.

The human body is a mystery.

Happy Birthday, Scott.

Winner

2006-05-12T17:19:00.000-07:00

Frank has been a posting monster this week, what with his helpful projects, funny family anecdotes, and frightening stream of consciousness. I'd been wanting to award him "Winner of the Week" ever since Monday, but I felt it'd be best to wait and see if anyone topped him. M came close with the He-Man post, but I gotta give it to the lawman. Although he gets points off for including pictures of feces, Goddammit. Shit's never pleasant, regardless how cute the maker is.

Now We Are (Twenty-) Six

2006-05-11T17:55:00.000-07:00

I thank everyone for all the birthday shout outs. They served to brighten what was certain to be a craptastic day. Of course, I've been casually mentioning my birthday for the past week in a blatant call for attention, so everyone who remembered me kindly today is a sucker. Everyone who didn't just sucks.

I don't have much to say about this birthday. Because I was so happy with this post's title, I was going to try to write a poem in the style of A.A. Milne, but I'm not talented enough to write poetry, even if it is for kids. Instead, I'll just mention that on my way home, the radio played 4 Non Blondes' What's Up. Now I'm too old for that song to hold extra special meaning for me, seeing's how I'm no longer 25. I still sang along anyway. Loudly and badly - that's my style, baby.

This post blows. Make a wish.

Can I get a witness?!!

2006-05-10T22:59:00.000-07:00

Today, I got up early, as I do every Wednesday, to get into the radio station by 6:30 am. Afterwards, a tired and shaky wreck, I drove myself to work, where I mistook my misery at my weariness for misery due to hunger. After stumbling from eatery to eatery, where nothing on the menu looked appetizing, I realized my error and took off in search of caffeine.

Coffee successfully in hand, I sat down in the packed dining area outside the student union. To my great delight, a hip, young man stood atop a makeshift stage, preaching the Good Word, or some version thereof. It'd been awhile since I'd heard a sermon, so I sat near the front, where I could get the best view. However, before I'd even finished my drink, he had already finished and was calling for the masses to come forward and receive Jesus. What he said didn't really move me in any direction - I still remained an atheist in my head and undecided in my gut. So, I slipped out while the praise band played their catchy tunes.

But then, as soon as I left the range of the acoustic guitars, a new tune filled the air. It was coming from one of the sorority's fund-raising booths. The lyrics were such:

(Ahem)

My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
my hump, my hump.
My lovely lady lumps

Repeat 3x's

I know the lyrics practically by heart, difficult though they be, because it is the second day in a row that I've heard it.

I say to you now, Preacher-man, with all the certainty that exists in this cold, cold world, "There is no God."

I Serve A New Master

2006-05-09T17:31:00.000-07:00

200 pounds! For the first time since probably 1987, theJEDMAN tipped the scales at 200lbs on Saturday, naked in the gym locker room. It is quite a feat for theJEDMAN, since he was over 230 the whole decade of the 90s.

Although the above statement is true, I didn't actually write it. I came across it while Googling myself again, one of my favorite little hobbies. (Here's a link to the entire post) From the moment I saw it, I knew I was lost. I am now a subscriber to the Jedman Nation. In the past, I've occasionally referred to myself as "the Jedman." No longer. NO LONGER. This guy deserves that right way more than I do.

Lately, he's been signing his posts, "The life of theJEDMAN is always intense." How true.

Work is for suckers

2006-05-08T21:38:00.000-07:00

I worked all day at my new part-time job. It's shitty, but it pays. I spent all day putting contact info into a database that will eventually be used to sell stuff to people and it's boring and I'm not going to talk about it anymore.

Except that at one point I actually started slipping down my chair as crushing despair started to overwhelm me until my eyes were barely above the table and my arm was jacked way above my head so I could still use my mouse. After that got too uncomfortable, I stopped trying to click through the pages and just sat sighing loudly for a couple of minutes. The guy in the cubicle next to me didn't say anything, but I could tell he was watching me and wondering when I was gonna pull out my gun. I think they're already regretting hiring me.

Hell, maybe I will sell my blog. I wonder if the price will go up since I've finally added a graphic to my profile. Thanks to Giraffe for that strikingly accurate portrait of me. I've sometimes wondered what I'd look like as a comic book hero. No spandex for me.

Hallmark's got nuthin' on 'em

2006-05-06T20:21:00.000-07:00

Last week, my birthday package arrived from my parents. Enclosed was a number of items, not the least of which was a Post-It note which said:

Happy Birthday to You Jedijah!!!
We love Yououououououou..

Mom & Dad

Thanks Mom and Dad.

That's the One and OOOOHHHHH!!!

2006-05-06T20:18:00.000-07:00

Megan on Michael Barrett's head-first slide at the end of his triple: "I think he popped his ball."

Class Five! I'm Alive!

2006-05-05T23:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday's class was actually helpful. The teacher passed back our puppetry homework with a grade. I got a "B", the lowest grade he gave. Oh well. I deserved it. I can't complain much as I didn't even think much of it. I'm glad he's an honest grader. Maybe I'll be able to use him as an adviser in the future.

Speaking of advice, I asked him for tips on how to overcome writer's block. For the past two assignments, I've had a lot of trouble starting to write. Actually, this happens every time I try writing something. I just stare at the blank page and panic. Everything that comes to my mind is crap. So I asked for help, and everyone pitched in with their preferred tactics. I list them here:

1) Write Whatever
- To do this, you have to accept that whatever you put down at first is going to be unusable. Just put anything down to jumpstart the creative process. Mmmm, I don't like it. This is merely an attempt to overcome the horrors of a completely blank page. I've tried it, but all that happens is I write something incredibly stupid, and then I have to sit and stare at it for an hour while nothing else comes to mind.

2) Outline It
- Yeah, I probably should do this, but I don't. And I'm not gonna start now.

3) Get Ideas from the Internet and other Sources
- By Googling your topic, you might be able to find something quirky about it you can use to introduce the article. This is a horrible idea for me, because I'll just spend all day looking at the Onion or listening to This American Life episodes.

4) Pre-edit your interviews
- I like this idea. You go over the quotes you've got, and you let them dictate how the piece is going to run. This is a good tip for making a radio piece, because your story is all about the audio you've collected.

5) Reward Yourself
- This is brilliant. Sit down and work to a mini deadline. Then, once you've reached it, give yourself a treat. I'm thinking Playstation 2.

6) Find a Ritual
- Some writers do the exact same thing in preparation for a writing session. The mind-numbing inanity of it helps them somehow. Beats the hell out of me...

7) Make Your Ideal Environment
- Screw it. I can't concentrate without the television blaring.

At least I can use some of these ideas. Our homework this week is to distill our ideas for our final features into a :20 pitch. Also, we have to write a How-to feature. The article needs to be conversational in tone, and it helps if it's not completely serious. I'm going to write about making sure your kid gets the most out of his SAT prep class. I know it sounds boring, but shut up.

Tales of the disorderly stepdaughter

2006-05-05T22:39:00.000-07:00

My mother wins this week for this post. If you can't understand it, don't worry -- I can't either. I'm pretty sure it's about my girlfriend. See? It's sooo simple!

Humbling moment of the day

2006-05-04T15:29:00.000-07:00

Discovering your mother's blog. Then, discovering that it's way cooler than yours.

Because I'm actually thirteen years old...

2006-05-04T15:11:00.000-07:00

I took this picture, because I'm worried that Amazon'll fix the price one day, and this magical moment will be lost forever. In case they take awhile, here's the link.

Yes, I wrote that review of them. Yes, I'm turning twenty-six next week. Yes, I'm proud of myself.

A simple change

2006-05-03T15:33:00.000-07:00

"This week's winner" doesn't make sense, does it? Let me change things around here so the TRUTH MAY BE TOLD!!! or GRAMMATICALLY, THINGS ARE AS THEY SHOULD BE!!! That's giving 'em what for.

Anonymity is GOLDEN

2006-05-03T15:21:00.000-07:00

Hooray for my old RA! Now, my blog no longer shows up when you Google my name. I don't actually know if this is due to the useful tidbit of html advice Frank gave me, but I'm attributing it to him anyway.

Maybe they should call it Slaver Joe's

2006-05-02T22:33:00.000-07:00

M's been feeling a little under the weather lately, so I stopped by Trader Joe's on the way home to pick up some sick-time necessities. When I got there, I saw that the shelves were largely empty, so I asked the nearest stockboy what was up. He said, "We didn't get any trucks in last night, and none came in this morning, but everything should be back to normal tomorrow. Sorry." Now, what could have kept their deliveries from arriving? Could it just be coincidence that this happened the same day that immigrants across the country boycotted work? Perhaps, but that would be a pretty large coincidence.

Did anyone else visit their neighborhood TJ's? Was it as barren as Mother Teresa's womb? I suspect the reason behind Mr. Joe's extremely reasonable prices may not be his relentless pursuit of quality goods, as he would have us believe, but because of cheap labor by undocumented workers. Should I run an expose? Eh, I like things the way they are.

Cue furious comments...

The chowder was pretty good too

2006-05-01T23:02:00.000-07:00

Well, we're back from vacationing in San Francisco. Let me tell you, the crazy excitement that we had is beyond description. The people, the lights, the money, the car chases, the intrigue...Ah, yes. We documented every life we saved, every celebrity party we shmoozed at with scads and scads of pictures. Unfortunately we don't have a digital camera, so you'll have to wait to see them. But, since it's kind of a pain to upload regular pictures, I probably won't get around to it. You're just going to have to imagine the wildlife jousting tournament I single-handedly shut down after winning against Gluth-tag, the mightiest of the gigantic elephant warriors. I dunno. I think maybe I took some pictures with my phone, but angelic beings need at least 7.1 megapixels, so they might just look like sleeping hobos. Whatever. We're back. It was fun.

Fourth Class

2006-04-29T20:05:00.000-07:00

Our scheduled speaker didn't show up. She was supposed to give us tips on researching for our stories. I'm actually glad she rescheduled, because I was fifteen minutes late. When I walked in, I saw that my regular seat was taken by the chirripy undergrad, so I sat in a chair further back. Immediately, I was assaulted on all sides by loud, heavy breathing. There were three of them all around me, and they tried their damndest to keep me from hearing the teacher. It was like a symphony of Hoovers, like sticking your head out of a speeding car and listening for a hummingbird.

Anyway, we spent the first two hours of class talking about our ideas for our final articles. The topics ranged from the French ambassador's upcoming visit to town to the decrepit condition of juvenile hall. All seemed interesting, but what was most interesting was the way people presented their ideas. Looking back, I should've been able to predict what they were going to say. Well...maybe not what their stories would be, but definitely how they'd present them.

Like the old, eager guy who kept going on and on...or the Boston-transplant who's cooler than I am and thus said very little, "Uh...I dunno. Skiing?" Mrs. I-Have-A-Kid-And-I'm-Also-A-Health-Nut prefaced her idea with five minutes of build up about how deep and meaningful it was. And Mrs. Horrible predictably has an annoying topic, but somehow it reflects well upon her and shows how awesome she is. What does this say, then, about me and my story on supernerds? They obviously thought I was a big nerd as well. I could see the triumphant gleam in their eyes as they snickered and asked snide little questions. They'll get theirs though. I'll write an article that's so great, it'll make them puke all over their crappy papers. And then I'll burn down the building.

Bill wins

2006-04-28T19:40:00.000-07:00

These posts suck, but it's because I'm having a great time in the Bay area. Tonight, Mediterranean food, hookahs, and Feroshus Sizzle.

Just in time for summer: Diabetes!!!

2006-04-27T15:11:00.000-07:00

Good Lord.

Only because I don't feel like writing anything else tonight

2006-04-26T23:01:00.000-07:00

At the front of the room, Lynne Jennings towers over a small, stooped, elderly lady named Rue. The tiny ancient takes no notice of Jennings, nor does she seem aware that she holds the attention of an entire classroom. Under Jennings’s watchful gaze, she takes a few faltering steps, hesitates, and begins nervously fiddling with her hair - she is absorbed with private thoughts and is oblivious to all else. Suddenly, Jennings lifts Rue up, and, immediately, all the life drains from her. She lays limp and quiet as she passes from student to student, some of whom pinch her limbs and prod her face in an attempt to draw out some of the animation that was there moments ago. She withstands these indignities, because, more often than not, those hands will help her express to emotion and character that would otherwise stay locked away inside her. She endures them, because she is a puppet - made from cloth and foam by Jennings, a professional puppeteer, for one of her upcoming productions.

Quite the opposite of Rue, Jennings is brimming with vitality at all times. She is the board president of the San Diego Guild of Puppetry as well as a past member of numerous other boards across the country. In addition to that, she writes and directs performances, creates puppets, teaches, and consults for other puppetry centers. However, her love for her work is most visible when she talks about working with the puppets. For her, puppetry is much more than her hobby or profession – it’s her passion. She is so involved with her art that it has taken over her life. She jokes, “I live with razorblades and curved scissors in my pockets.”

Puppetry in America needs advocates as passionate as Jennings. Interest in the art is rather low – many feel that puppetry is entertainment solely for children. In this country, there are only around thirty puppetry centers where one can go to receive training. Those that do pursue puppetry as a life’s work often have to supplement their incomes with second jobs. There are those that become quite successful in the industry, but they are somewhat rare. Jennings says, “Most artists are not equally talented as business people and have a hard time marketing themselves effectively. Those that succeed may not, sadly, be the best puppeteers, but they are the best at marketing.”

However, Jennings is working to make puppetry more accessible to everyone. As president of the San Diego Guild of Puppetry, she hopes to make her organization grow to the point that it rivals The Center for Puppetry Arts in Atlanta, the largest center of its kind in the US. Jennings says, “Of course, they have been at it a lot longer than we have, but they did start just as small as we did, so it is a ‘possible dream’....even as tiny as we are currently.”

Jennings has reason to be optimistic. For the first time, her troupe has received a seed grant from the Jim Henson Foundation to produce an upcoming show. “Goldilocks: The Nursing Home Version” is a brainchild of Jennings that she based on experiences she saw her mother undergo at an eldercare facility - it is also the reason Rue was created. Although the grant is a great honor and will help defray production costs, it is adding a bit of stress to the troupe. Jennings says, “It’s both the most exciting and the most terrifying thing we’ve ever done…it has to be good.”

#156

2006-04-25T23:30:00.000-07:00

Tonight, my volleyball games lasted until 10:30, so my ride home was spent dodging Love Line as I fiddled with my presets. Fortunately, there is a wonderful program on 94.9 late at night. It's called Big Sonic Chill, and it's the bomb-diggety. The soft-spoken DJ plays indie tunes that are so mellow, they become almost ambient. Red House Painters, Nouvelle Vague, and whole blocks of artists whose names I wish to God I knew fill up the stacks.

It's this program that makes me wish I were a disc jockey, which is dangerous, because my sister keeps forwarding me job positions for radio DJ's. As cool as this could potentially be, it's not what I had in mind when I decided I wanted to work in radio. These people are slaves to the station, and they all get fired at the drop of a hat. I've heard stories about what happens when radio stations get sold. They don't transfer staff. You just show up for work that morning, and they tell you to get out.

Also, I should admit, I don't have the charisma, the chutzpah to be an on-air DJ. God forbid I should become one and then be as bad as Marco on 91.1 (how I loathe him) or that guy on 88.7 in Ann Arbor that Pete hated so much.

This post will only make sense to San Diegans. You others won't ever know what you're missing by not catching Big Sonic Chill. Oh well. The station broadcasts online. You on Central and Eastern time should totally stay up to listen sometime. Hell, do it tonight. You don't have anything better to do.

I've gotten kind of bossy in these last couple of posts. Send me fifty bucks!

DO IT!!!

2006-04-24T19:54:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is "free-ice-cream-cone day" at your neighborhood's Ben & Jerry's store. Go ask for a Blizzard. When they refuse, sigh and tell them you're willing to pay for it. When they still refuse, tell them you're on a first-name basis with Jerry. Then, after they've explained everything to you, if they haven't kicked you out of the store, get vanilla. Then, drop it on the floor and ask for another.

Some useful tricks to help you get your way:

Sob over your dropped cone.

Say, "This is America, dammit!"

Offer them a lick.

Blame illegal immigrants.

Warn them that you'll take your business to Tasty-Freeze

And then my plan will be complete...

On any given Sunday...

2006-04-23T23:39:00.000-07:00

Hell, on every damn Sunday, the Cubs will win their game.

delicious dream

2006-04-22T20:15:00.000-07:00

It even seems a little sad itself, laying there on the ground, rivulets of melting cream spilling down its face like tears, almost visibly giving into oblivion. Mint chocolate chip melts into the pavement and adds a small, slowly spreading spot of brightness to the vast, forbidding, canvas of blacktop. It will bring great joy to the ants, but for the child whose hand I knocked it from, it is only sorrow. He'll never realize the beauty of the moment. He is a philistine and deserves what he gets.

Before we head into the weekend...

2006-04-21T18:00:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow morning, I will proctor a practice MCAT for Princeton Review students. It will run from 9:00am - 5:00pm. I will start the timer, stop the timer, start the timer, stop the timer, and that's pretty much it for eight hours. I'll bring in my laptop, but I'm not allowed to type excessively, because it'll enrage those stressed-out college students. This'll give me time to work on my writing homework.

This week's winner is Alice. Frank deserves commendations as well.

Finally, this scrolled Blogger's main page by as I was posting this morning's warning about Googling A.C.M. It's too fitting to resist. It's probably safe for work, but your IT department will still raise their eyebrows.

Class III

2006-04-21T15:43:00.000-07:00

I consider last night's class to be ok in that it had good content. The teacher brought in an interesting woman who talked to us about her passions, and we interviewed her in a press conference setting. Her passion, and man was she passionate about it, was puppetry. PERFECT! Here is the type of person I most like to interview: someone who is a bit odd, but still is a fascinating and sympathetic character. This is the type of interview that makes for a great piece on NPR, and I was sitting right smack front-and-center where I could ask all the questions I wanted. I had a whole slew of them ready that would provide us with intimate knowledge of her. I had all this, and all I wanted was to go home.

I don't know exactly what was wrong with me, but do I recognize the ailment. This plagued me all throughout college -- and I can't believe I had forgotten about it until now -- but often, when I sit in lecture, I feel a desperate urge to escape. It sounds trite, and maybe it is, but it's extremely powerful and won't be denied. Even when the lecturer is engaging, and the topic is one that I'm interested in, I have to get out.

As an undergrad, it wasn't so hard to deal with - I just quietly gathered my things and slipped outside. I wouldn't even necessarily go home. I was perfectly content to sit on the benches outside of the building watching the squirrels mug for sweets. As an adult, it's been more trying. When I was working in a research lab, our weekly meetings to discuss members' research were agonizing. Now, the only reminder that I have of this exitlust is the writing class I so need to take in order to advance towards becoming a journalist.

Fortunately I was reminded of yet another one of my tendencies, this one a remedy: IRE. Fiery, seething wrath that bubbles below the surface of my skin and burns away my desire to leave along with any other concerns. Mind you, no one else is ever in any danger from my anger. The only harm I might cause someone would be if they happened to be in the blast radius when my head exploded.

Last night, the focus of my rage was a fellow student. She had asked the puppet lady, "Why do you do what you do?", a decent question, sure to provide insight into her motivations, only mildly annoying in the way it was posed. It was later, after the interviewee had left, when she asked the professor, who was giving us interviewing tips:

Speaking of not being offensive, I asked that one question earlier, but I didn't...I...I hope I didn't offend her when I asked her why she does puppetry. Can you...can you tell me a better way to maybe ask...that...question?

I immediately saw through her ruse. She wasn't at all worried about any offense she may have caused. She was merely panhandling for validation. Indeed not only did the teacher provide her with it, several other students chimed in as well. "Oh no, that was a good question!" "Yes, it's a great way to get deeper information." She positively glowed with each compliment. Only by jamming my pen in my neck could I keep my own question silent, "HOW DO YOU PLAN TO LEAVE HERE ALIVE??!!!"

Alas, though powerful, rage-a-hol is a fleeting salve. Like the timed release of a self-administered morphine injection, it is soon metabolized leaving you with not only your original pain but also memories of your short-lived reprieve. Three minutes later, I was staring at the clock, willing it to jump an hour. Just one hour.

Sorry about all the gay porn

2006-04-21T10:26:00.000-07:00

Yeah, ummm... Hope you didn't get fired. Let me reiterate. DO NOT google American Cock Meat if you are looking for my blog. Once upon a magical time, mine was the first result. Now, it's blessed hot men. Mr. W, we here are a little worried that you should probably be contacting your IT department so you don't get an official reprimand.

I still need to figure out how Google works. Can anyone tell me how to get my blog off the results page when googling my name?

And if anyone is looking for more of the risque stuff, well, let me direct you to my new offshoot www.thehotandsexymeatsweats.com.

Do you feel lucky, punk?

2006-04-20T13:01:00.000-07:00

If so, then Google the phrase: American cock meat. The truly adventurous will click "I'm feeling lucky."

I've never been so proud in all my life.

More of a mental exercise really

2006-04-19T15:25:00.000-07:00

Everyday here at the university, vendors from all over the city swarm the busier sidewalks on campus and hawk their goods. Tuesdays are for the "Farmers Market" (in quotes because there is only one stand devoted to actual produce) where you can purchase dishes as varied as crepes, smoothies, Chinese barbecue, and falafel. There's also a vendor who sells Torpasta, a culinary delight I'm too frightened to try. What if I end up really liking it? Today, there was a whole slew of people selling general merchandise. I didn't have time to stop by the shoe guys, nor could I browse the used cd selection, but I did manage to try on some sunglasses before I headed back to the office. I don't know what's in store for tomorrow, but I'm sure it'll be exhilarating.

I'm not bragging here. I rarely have the money to pay for these extravagances -- $7.50 for a crepe? I'm just curious why we didn't have this kind of thing back at the old U of C. Everyone seems very happy strolling in the sunshine and talking to the friendly merchants. Sure, we had the poster people for the first week of each quarter, and occassionally there'd be the weirdo jewelry lady; but other than that, we were left pretty much alone. Did any of you actually let the creepy guy massage you at the Reynolds Club?

Doesn't it seem like this would be just the sort of thing to brighten all those unhappy Maroons' days? I mean, sure, most of the area's restaurants already sell their food at all the campus's eateries, and they'd have to cancel half the time because of all the unscheduled torrential downpours, and most of the local merchants don't have the kind of stuff that interests college students, and... Never mind, I get it now.

Because I'm too desperate not to try

2006-04-18T15:38:00.000-07:00

Oh God, I just got off the phone with him, and I'm almost too jittery to type. He said he was emailing me and that we should, "talk real soon." Have you ever been in a conversation that you desperately needed to escape -- because you were sure you were going to be caught in your many lies -- so you maybe agreed to do something; but that's even worse, because it threatens to expose you as a liar, but in a much more official setting?

So, I told him I'm a freelance journalist. So what? I am. Everyone is. It's just nothing of mine's ever been published. Actually, to be fair, I didn't say I was a freelancer -- I just said that I'd seen his ad looking for freelancers. It was one-hundred percent his assumption. I just wanted information on what kind of stories he's looking for and maybe how much he pays. But then he kept asking me questions about my "strengths," and before I could confess that I didn't have any, he rattled off all the qualified people he had writing for him, all of whom are much more qualified than I. So maybe when he wanted to know my field of expertise, I got flustered and said "Science." How was I supposed to know he'd get all excited about it?

Now I've got to come up with some sort of clip to send him so he'll be fooled into thinking I actually am a writer. His target audience is 35-60 year old business owners: CEO's, vp's, directors, etc. How am I supposed to write for that crowd? I review South Park episodes for Chrissake! I suppose it's my fault for not reading the ad closely enough. NOW I see the part about it being a "business" magazine.

He also said that since biotech is such, "an up and coming field in San Diego," that he, "might be able to get you in each month." I now have five weeks to submit an article to him. My first-ever writing class still has seven weeks left in it. Let's hope these next couple of classes hold a wealth of information.

Anybody know about a big story in the sciences?

But did you see the one about the fart-sniffing hybrid owners?

2006-04-17T21:50:00.000-07:00

I stayed up late last night to watch the second episode of South Park's "Cartoon Wars." I wasn't even expecting that much after the first episode turned out to be so decidedly unfunny. Still, it managed to disappoint (but not as much as that first episode -- that blew). Now, I think making fun of Family Guy is great and all, but the Muhammad thing was really annoying. I did and still do feel that the response to the Danish cartoons was ridiculous and shameful, but just because the violent reaction to the cartoons was wrong doesn't mean that it's also wrong to get offended by them.

I doubt Parker and Stone really even feel that strongly about the defending their first ammendment rights. It just seemed like they were trying to be edgy and controversial. The second episode barely even dealt with the Muhammad thing anyway. Instead, it had Bart Simpson. Their self-deprecating remarks about being all preachy and up their own asses seemed tacked on too. Nope, there was no saving it. I'm hoping this wasn't the episode that jumped the shark, but they really seemed to be reaching.

That bit about the manatees was pretty good, though.

G.D. Easter Bunny didn't leave me nuthin'

2006-04-16T21:14:00.000-07:00

Once again, Sundays aren't for blogging, and way to go Cubs.

Only Nappy When It Rains

2006-04-15T20:07:00.000-07:00

Everyone complains when it rains in San Diego. Either they bitch about the traffic, or the landslides, or simply, the fact that it's raining. Since I grew up in the rainy Midwest, I'd normally dismiss their whining as silly, but I do have one complaint of my own. You know that fresh smell that fills the air when it starts raining? Well, that happens here too; only, the smell is magnified by about a thousand percent. And that's a bit too fresh for me.

What's it smell like? Get one thousand of your closest friends and neighbors, and take all their dryer sheets. Have them help you stuff every corner of your house with the sheets. Be creative! Remember: most walls are hollow behind the drywall! Oh, and it doesn't matter if they're different scents -- in fact, the more the better. Then, as you're lying in your cocoon of enveloping freshness, get everyone to vomit all over the place. And there it is.

Usually, the smell goes away after a couple minutes of heavy rain. Sometimes though, it just drizzles forever, and I have to endure stenchy world all day.

I don't know why it smells like this here, but I've learned not to miss changes in the weather. San Diego: Enjoy the Sunshine! or else...

Better than Memento

2006-04-14T14:38:00.000-07:00

I found this guy's blog by watching the scrolling names on Blogger's login page. I don't know why I find it so fascinating. Maybe it's that it feels like a mystery unfolding as you continue to scroll down. I wonder if anyone'll like it as much as I did. Anyway, I wish him well. Sounds pretty rough.

Good for a free serving of the Meatsweats

2006-04-14T12:52:00.000-07:00

It's Friday and time to announce the week's best entry. I had a tough time deciding, as it's been a good week of blogs. I liked posts about Megan's run-ins with softball-jackasses, Frank's begrudging respect for a terrorist's ideals, Pete's adventures ala Luigi's Mansion, and just about everything else everyone's posted. How to decide?

And then I happened to check the Perry Bible Fellowship. I eagerly anticipate each week's new strip, and it seemed to be taking Nicholas Gurewitch an extra long time to post this week's. However, the wait was worth it. The Throbblefoot Aquarium is a reference to Edward Gorey's The Object-Lesson. Gurewitch's tribute to Gorey is fantastic not because of its reproduction of Gorey's style, but because it's actually funnier than anything I've seen of Gorey's own work. I've always been too disturbed by The Gashlycrumb Tinies to fully enjoy it. I'm sure the purists will disagree with me and say that the true humor in Gorey is, in fact, his disturbing mind. I just think drowning cats is infinitely more palatable than drowning Ida. Not that Gurewitch isn't a bit dark himself.

For originally introducing me to the PBF, I've added Yuh Wen to my list of blogs and made her this week's winner.

Class II

2006-04-13T22:22:00.000-07:00

Tonight was our second class for feature writing. The whistler didn't show. I'm guessing he found the blog and was too scared by the high-pitched nose-squeal I was gonna unleash on him. Instead, I sat next to a very attractive girl who works for Telemundo and Univision. I didn't want to expose her to the siren I had built up, so I breathed through my mouth all night. I'm sure she was very impressed.

Once again, there wasn't all that much information presented. Our homework last time was to bring in a feature article to discuss tonight. I grabbed a copy of the New Yorker and read an article over my lunch break today. He called on me to share first, and I wasn't ready for that, so I talked way too much. Or so I thought...

Everyone else kept going on and on about their article and why they loved it and blah blah blah. We were a class of eighteen, and it was an hour and fifteen minutes in before we got to the lecture. I was tired and damned near suicidal by the end of it. The low point of the night was when some annoying lady kept going on about some article in a new magazine whose motto is "Celebrate your child's love of learning." Yucko. She identified with the article's author who was talking about loving her children even when they're annoying or some crap like that. I dunno what she was saying -- my eyes glaze over even now just thinking about it. But then she said:

...and I understood! I mean, it's easy to love my kids when they're asleep, and I can say 'Oh, look at my little angel!', but it's harder when my child won't eat the food, the ORGANIC food I made for him...

and at that moment, my eyes snapped back into focus, and I used my hate of her to boost my energy reserves for the rest of the evening. "And Jed was sooo angry"

The highlight of the evening for me came before class, when a Korean lady whom I had introduced myself to minutes before, came over asked me to explain some confusing terminology in her article on low-rise jeans. There is no way a foreigner can understand what a "muffin-top" means when he/she reads it, nor is there a graceful way to explain what one is. But I managed, using my belly as an example. Then, she asked me to explain the sentence: I see more cracks at a nightclub than I do in the paint on an old barn! That one was a little more difficult to explain. I believe at one point I made a cupping motion with my hands and then ran a finger down where the asscrack goes. Sufficiently embarrassed, she didn't ask me for anymore help all night. The Telemundo girl was, again, veeeery impressed.

Drivin' me mad, makin' me craaaazy

2006-04-13T22:11:00.000-07:00

I was all flattered by Connie's comment until I realized it was merely a ploy to make me relax my guard. But it won't work! At least, not until I go to Vegas. That's right, I'm going back for Mr. Scott's bachelor party. I'm not going to let unimportant issues like money keep me from giving Scott what he needs: one last, wild, passionate night of uninhibited lovin' before he ties the knot. And now I'm not invited anymore.

Sense Chronology

2006-04-12T12:34:00.000-07:00

Sound
In writing class last week, the guy sitting next to me and I had a contest to see who had the louder whistling booger. He didn't know we were competing, but he still won. I'll get him tomorrow night.

Sight
Yesterday, I spent the most money I ever have on a t-shirt. You should've seen the look on Megan's face when I told her how much it cost. It doesn't look the same on me as it did on the mannequin, so I'll return it tomorrow and use the money to get that operation I've been needing.

Smell
This morning, my microphone at the radio station smelled like cake batter.

Taste
Rachel Ray is a wasteful bitch. I should have her job. Forty dollars a day just to eat? Try five bucks.
Breakfast: Butterfinger - $0.50
Lunch: Cheez-Its - $0.99
Dinner: slice of pizza - $2.25.
That's only $3.74. I still have enough left over to sponsor a hungry child in a third-world country.

Cheddar Jack Cheez-Its are basically crispy little crack squares.

Feel
I swear that I'll start running in the mornings beginning tomorrow. I'm pretty confident that I can keep up with it this time, because I've a new goal for myself. Instead of distance or time goals, which do nothing for me, I've decided I want to run until I am fit enough to experience a "runner's high." I've never had that before, and I want to know what it feels like at least once. My guess is it's a sham.

Sixth
I know Connie's probably gonna beat me in most consecutive daily posts, and she isn't even trying. Dammit.

Sneak sneak sneak

2006-04-11T21:56:00.000-07:00

Until we actually go out and get a digital camera, I'm going to have to steal pictures of us from friends. This one's a keeper -------------->

I stole it from Frank's blog. I've always liked his nifty photo-popup thing. I like it even more now that it labels everyone who pops up as Dylan & Frank.

Dylan and I have a lot in common: we're both short, disarmingly cute, Asian males. The person seated next to me is even easier to explain: she looks like a Frank.

Six years is a good run.

Pujols is an unfortunate name

2006-04-10T23:34:00.000-07:00

I've kinda been hired by one of my show hosts to sell advertising time for her radio talk show. She made me the generous offer of taking fifty percent of whatever I bring into the coffers. Sounds great, right? I thought so too, but then I learned today that her listenership worldwide is roughly three hundred per week. That's not live either; that's the total number of clicks. What have I gotten myself into?

Any advice? Should I start a grassroots campaign to up listenership, or should I just cut and run?

2006-04-10T21:46:00.000-07:00

One common beginning many writers seem to take is writing reviews. Sarah Vowell got her start writing about bands like Nirvana. Why shouldn't I do the same? Of course, I'm neither cool nor motivated enough to go out and find something new to review. Instead, I've decided to do a book review on something that's been out since the mid-nineties. And, since I am a nerd with an attention span severely stunted by years of video games, I'm going to review a comic book. Please feel free to skip today's post. I understand completely.

I've heard so many good things about the Preacher series -- IGN even ran an article a couple of weeks ago, listing it as one of the greatest comics of modern day -- that I finally picked up the first volume, Gone To Texas, last week. This is the first in a collection of nine, each costing about fifteen bucks. It's a hefty investment to buy all of them, but there doesn't seem to be any other way if you want to read them, since the content is way too adult for libraries to carry. Based on what I read in the first one, I think I'll save my money.

It's not that it's a bad comic. The artwork is solid, if a bit too gruesome for my taste; the storyline is original; and the characters are compelling. It just seems a bit juvenile to me. Big surprise from a comic book, right? But great comics today read more like... Oh God, this is drivel. Look, just don't waste your money. The archnemesis is a resurrected, supernatural being who kills people with his six-shooters. He's so evil, he doesn't even have to reload. The dialogue sounds as though it were penned by a thirteen year-old who's just discovered the "F" word. For example:

Cassidy: Curiosity won't just KILL the cat, it'll bite its head off and stump-fuck the remains 'til the sun comes up!

Also, some of the most intricate, detailed work in the entire book is reserved for sex scenes between an angel and a demon. As I said: JUVENILE.

I understand that Preacher may have influenced the way comics are made today, but I'd still rather read today's comics. Maybe it's just that the series takes awhile to hit its stride. If there's a way to read it without spending any more money, I'll give it another shot.

Not a good start

2006-04-09T21:34:00.000-07:00

Sundays shouldn't count in the blogging-every-day. So they won't. Except, I just gotta say, "HOW ABOUT THEM CUBS??!!"

This is the end of everything...

2006-04-08T22:44:00.000-07:00

I started a class at UCSD on writing for newspapers and magazines. I figured that it will help me get into the practice of writing -- something I missed during my biology career at U of C. Now, I've made a pact to post something everyday, even if it's crap. For this first post, I've decided to write about the class itself.

First off, my instructor looks like Eric Idle. And not young Eric Idle from the Monty Python days. He looks like old, womanish Eric Idle from today. Exactly like him. Well, not exactly like him. He wore suede cowboy boots and a green shirt with a paisley tie. He seems cool enough. For this first session, he didn't really say anything I didn't already know. That's ok, though -- I'm mostly in it to practice writing, and I'm sure I'll learn a lot eventually.

The class itself is made up of a ratio of two females to each male. Apparently, journalism is a very girly field. Each student is infinitely more qualified than I am. Most have had some sort of experience freelancing their work. I thought I'd be the dark horse of the group, coming up with the most brilliant and original work of the lot. Sadly, that wasn't to be.

As I said earlier, I didn't really learn all that much new stuff in this first class. I'm looking over my notes, and they seem a bit thin. I do know that when the instructor said, "The first step to becoming a better writer is to read", exactly five people copied it down. Four wrote down the second step.

That made it all the more bitter when, in our first exercise -- to pair off and interview our partners and then write up a brief profile on him/her -- I turned in a pithy four sentences of crap as opposed to the pages everyone else wrote. It wasn't for lack of interesting material either. I was able to wheedle a wealth of juicy information from my hesitant partner's past: credit card fraud schemes, marauding teenaged hacker-gangs, etc. I just couldn't get past figuring out how to start writing the damned thing.

Normally I'd take comfort in knowing that I only had twenty-five minutes to write, that with more time, I could've come up with a compelling feature. However, Columbia requires each applicant to take a timed writing test in addition to writing the standard essays. With my history of choking under pressure (i.e. the laughable GRE essay of '04), things look bleak. Thus, the renewed dedication to the blog. I'm going to use this space to practice writing every day. This site is going to become intensely boring, as I'm going to be writing even when nothing has happened. In fact, for the hell of it, occasionally I'm going to blog on a time limit: thirty minutes to post a complete entry on a random, general topic, let's say, mebbe once a week.

Joy to the world.

p.s. I'm thinking of removing sitemeter from this blog. It's unhealthy for me. Anybody know where I can find a simple counter without extra spying features?

With friends like me...

2006-04-07T23:39:00.000-07:00

New winner

2006-04-07T12:33:00.000-07:00

Pete is this week's winner, because I liked his post on experiencing the receiving end of evangelism. I must say that no one's ever asked me that particularly awful question, and I am proud to say that I've never asked that question of anyone other than impressionable children. Oh God. Sonshine clubs. My greatest regret. Someday I'll explain, but for now just know that I'm going to hell -- the special hell peopled by fervant Mormons, Jehovah's Witnesses, and Gideons, all who will knock on my door in rapid succession asking me for a little bit of my time, all looking pityingly at me as I mutter some lie about being busy. Maybe I'll meet Jack Chick there. If I do, I'm gonna kick him square in the sack.

Speaking of past memories, every time I hear Saddam Hussein mentioned, I'm reminded of Mr. B, a teacher at good old Emmanuel. This was shortly after the Persian Gulf War, and Mr. B repeatedly (and brilliantly, I might add) evidenced his dislike of Hussein by refusing to call him Saddam. Instead, he referred to him as Sadat Hussein. "...But we shot down all of SADAT Hussein's scuds with our patriots. Every time he did it, I'd always think to myself, "Oooh, you really showed him that time, Mr. B." Unfortunately, this man was (among several other roles) our World History teacher, and I'm sure some of my former classmates still confuse Saddam and Anwar and their historical significance today. Also unfortunate is that Mr. B's sneering face pops into my head each time Hussein's trial is mentioned.

Sigh...the morons have already won.

Addendum

2006-04-06T23:22:00.000-07:00

That being said, that Adam Carolla really does bother me. Every night at 10:00 pm, one of my favorite local radio stations stops all music and switches over to Love Line. I can't deal with that. Sure I used to listen to Love Line secretly as a teenager in the hopes of hearing something extra titillating, but even then I was usually disappointed. I'd sign the damn petition if it'd get 91.1 to drop his dumbass show.

I guess I'm just angry that every other channel on my presets was on commercial break, save one, which was playing Sheryl Crow.

Further addendum: Angry Little Asian Girl kinda sucks.

What these slanty eyes be beholdin'

2006-04-06T14:42:00.000-07:00

I am well-aware that the majority of my limited readership is Asian. Apart from my fellow Asian bloggers, there are occasional Malaysian visitors seeking their fix of Ms. Jarvis in pain. So to those of the squinty persuasion, I offer this website. Now you don't have to forward me all those angry email petitions calling for the apology of some dumb asshole. I can just check MANAA.org once every two years to catch up on all the imagined slights done to us.

Actually, I'm pretty satisfied with the way I'm treated. It's been a long time since I've felt actively discriminated against. unless you count all those times pretty girls wouldn't look at me -- that's racist. Apart from that, I don't have much to complain about. In fact, the last time someone said something even remotely offensive to me was yesterday morning -- when your mom asked me to cure her of her "Yellow Fever". But that's only wrong 'cuz the bitch don't need to be talkin', if you know what I'm saying.

To all the non-Asians who read my blog and are concerned with not offending your neighborhood's resident Asian, I can only tell you my point of view. I've compiled a list of common Asian stereotypes that I remember from experience, have seen in the media, and have culled from the internet. For a crappier list, check this "research" paper. Or don't. It's pretty crappy.

MY RESPONSES TO COMMON QUESTIONS ABOUT ASIANS

1. Are you good at math?
No. Yes. I was in fifth grade.

2. Are you really into computers?
Yes, but only for pornography.

3. Are you a big pervert?
Goddamnit

4. Do you know karate?
No. It's Taekwondo

5. Don't you just love Asian food? It's soooo much healthier than American food.
My favorite food is ice cream, and my mother's is sandwiches.

6. Can you see how many fingers I'm holding up?
Can you see how many fingers I'M holding up?

7. Do you play the violin?
No!

8. Do you play ANY stringed instruments?
The guitar.

9. Do you play any OTHER stringed instruments?
NO!

10. HAVE YOU EVER played any OTHER stringed instruments?
.........yes

11. Are you a hard worker?
Oh my Lord, no.

12. Do you like Jackie Chan movies?
Yes.

13. Do you have a small penis?
Yes, but I blame that on the car accident.

14. Do you show respect to your elders?
Sure.

15. Are you a doctor?
Not for lack of trying.

16. Finally, do you love a big American cock in your slutty Oriental snatch?

Of course