Many of you may remember the good times I had earlier this year when I was sent to jail driving in Cottage Grove with a suspended license as a result of few past due parking tickets. Everything has since been smoothed over and I'm back on the roads again.
One fine morning last month I walked out to the Death Star only to discover a nice white envelope with a red stripe on it strapped beneath the driver's side windshield wiper. It contained a freshly written up parking ticket courtesy of my old friends in the Traffic Control division of Minneapplesauce. They were even kind enough to leave Kimb one as well. It was only about 20 minutes after the time written on the barely visible temporary NO PARKING signs, but we was busted.
I sent in a money order to pay the ticket the following week and thought all was well. Until last week when I heard my Grandma received an overdue parking ticket in the mail.
The Death Star was her vehicle that she had given to me in June - we transferred the title back then and assumed all was well. But apparently the city is months behind on title transfers, so the vehicle is still under her name. So now, technically my poor little grandma has a ticket on her record until the city gets their shit together and fixes it. And ho boy, if she goes driving through the Grove like I did and gets busted, she's going straight into the slammer.
The city is also apparently behind in the I-Paid-My-Ticket department. But they sure aren't behind on trying to collect it again with a $4 late fee now, are they? "Sorry we didn't get your title transferred or your ticket payment processed yet.. But we did find time in our busy schedule to send a collection notice on said paid ticket to the wrong person!"
Ugh.. just shove a few firecrackers up my nose and light them to help ease the pain, please.
And trying to straighten this unnecessary bothersome mess out is another pain in the arse altogether. Think you're gonna reach the DMV over the phone? Think again. Call 612-348-2040 and see for yourself. I triple dog dare you. I've actually seen someone wait it out on the phone for someone to pick up. I walked by a week later and he still had the phone to his ear, but all that remained of his person was a skeleton in clothing covered in cobwebs and dust.
I give up. With gas soaring to over $3 a gallon, all of this parking ticket nonsense, and DMV procedures in general, I'm sayin' fug this. I'm hanging up the car keys and buying a mule.
But then I s'pose I need to contact the city to register my mule and get current tabs for him. And also get him a saddle with a pocket on it so Traffic Control can stuff it with tickets when he's illegally parked.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
CRIPES.
I bought some pants yesterday. Although I've saved both the tags and the receipt, I've been wearing them for almost 6 hours now and just realized that they're a might bit short in the ankle area. It's particularly visible when I sit - the leg cuffs (or whatever you call them) hike up and you can almost see past where my socks end and my bare sexy hairy legs begin. And when I look down when I'm walking, I feel like I have two hula hoops on my ankles.
I'm at a point in my day where I can't really go home and change for at least another 6 hours. So here I sit with a new pair of highwaters on wondering if they'll still be in a returnable shape by the time I get home. What if I spill some mustard on them? What if I open up a Coke and it overflows onto my hand and then the new pants? I guess I could keep them and just consider them a really long pair of shorts. Or I could give them to someone crafty like my mom or sister and they could make me one of those bluejean purses out of them. I'm pretty torn here. I've become attached to the fade job that was done on these jeans.
I wear a 32x30 normally and have 2 other pair of pants of the same make and model that are 32x30 as well. However, the 30 in these pants was apparently underestimated. Or the 30 in my other pants was overestimated. Dangit, how hard is it to make a consistent pair of pants in this day and age?
I guess I just can't go by numbers when I'm buying pants. I gots to reserve extra time to try them on prior to purchasing lest I want to end up in this situation again. My mistake for paying $27.99 and expecting things to work out and my pants to actually match the size on the label. I don't know who (i.e. human or robot) makes Levis now or where they're made, but I know it ain't in the U S of A no mo, that's fo sho.
Sorry to sound like an old man here, but when they were made here, they fit much differently (in a good way). Go ahead and save money by having these pants made across the border, but you need to add a disclaimer on each and every label on the jeans. One word will do just fine and you can place it before the size: almost.
I'm at a point in my day where I can't really go home and change for at least another 6 hours. So here I sit with a new pair of highwaters on wondering if they'll still be in a returnable shape by the time I get home. What if I spill some mustard on them? What if I open up a Coke and it overflows onto my hand and then the new pants? I guess I could keep them and just consider them a really long pair of shorts. Or I could give them to someone crafty like my mom or sister and they could make me one of those bluejean purses out of them. I'm pretty torn here. I've become attached to the fade job that was done on these jeans.
I wear a 32x30 normally and have 2 other pair of pants of the same make and model that are 32x30 as well. However, the 30 in these pants was apparently underestimated. Or the 30 in my other pants was overestimated. Dangit, how hard is it to make a consistent pair of pants in this day and age?
I guess I just can't go by numbers when I'm buying pants. I gots to reserve extra time to try them on prior to purchasing lest I want to end up in this situation again. My mistake for paying $27.99 and expecting things to work out and my pants to actually match the size on the label. I don't know who (i.e. human or robot) makes Levis now or where they're made, but I know it ain't in the U S of A no mo, that's fo sho.
Sorry to sound like an old man here, but when they were made here, they fit much differently (in a good way). Go ahead and save money by having these pants made across the border, but you need to add a disclaimer on each and every label on the jeans. One word will do just fine and you can place it before the size: almost.
ABACAB
Every so often I hit a rut of utter confusion where I need to stop listen to the Genesis tune ABACAB about 100 times in a row. I currently have it blaring through my headphones and so far I'm on the 16 or 17th listen. There's something about the lyrics that make my brain feel all happy and fuzzy.. (When you wake in the morning/Wake and find you're covered in cellophane/Well there's a hole in the somewhere/Yeah there's a hole in the somewhere) I'm not a big Genesis guy, but have always liked the huge sound Phil Collins gets out of his drums. Perhaps it’s because he’s so tiny that his drums seem big and he plays them that way. Whenever I feel like throwing a cake at a wall, this song's keen bizarro lyrics tend to mentally do it for me and make everything fine. They don't really make sense, but it's cleverly worded enough to the point where you can get whatever it is he was thinking while writing them yet still have no idea what he's referring to. Some would say it’s about a girl, but that’s taking the easy way out.
And what's with that song title? What is an "ABACAB"? Is it representative of the song structure? Or is it a made up word (Genesis fans, please advise). Maybe Phil was having some tea one day and it suddenly dawned on him: "I'm gonna call that one song ABACAB and use that as the main word in the chorus as well." From the same dude that wrote the lyric "Su-su-Sudio" a few years later and made a nice hit out of it, I guess that wouldn't be a surprise.
How could Phil Collins make cool stuff like "ABACAB" and then turn into the bitch we know him as today who writes music for Disney movies that all sounds pretty much the same? I'm sure a big part of that answer can be summed up in one all too important compound word: paycheck.
He and people like Elton John have fallen victim to what I call the "Randy Newman Curse". I think I've caught wind of quite a few recent Sting tunes that meet this criteria as well - I'm guessing he's next on the list of people that used to do cool stuff but now write lame-ass cookie cutter music to maintain their frivolous lifestyles that they earned via actual good music back in the day. If you've ever watched VH1 Behind The Music, you know that most money made "back in the day" by these guys was mismanaged and stolen by shoddy management - hence the need to write music today that makes big money faster than you can say "sucky music". Say it ain't so! Don't do it, Sting! I think it's already too late.
Hm.. maybe that's what ABACAB and its lyrics mean: "It is inevitable that some day I will be writing crap, so please enjoy my music before I get sucked into the black hole of chronic suck-icity." Read the lyrics for yourself and you'll see that interpretation actually seems to fit quite well. In the mean time, I need to put my headphones on and give it another go.
ABACAB – Genesis
Look up on the wall, there on the floor,
Under the pillow, behind the door.
There's a crack in the mirror.
Somewhere there's a hole in a window pane.
Do you think I'm to blame?
Tell me, do you think I'm to blame?
(When we do it) you're never there.
(When you show it) just stop and stare.
(Abacab) he's in anywhere.
(Abacab)
If you're wrappin' up the world
'Cause you've taken someone else's girl,
When they turn on the pillow,
Even when they answer the telephone,
don't you think that by now...
Tell me, don't you think that by now.
(When we do it) you're never there.
(When you show it) just stop and stare.
(Abacab) he's in anywhere.
(Abacab) doesn't really care.
Do you want it? You got it. Now you know.
Do you want it? You got it. Now you know.
It's an illusion. It's a game,
or reflection of somewone else's name.
When you wake in the morning,
Wake and find you're covered in cellophane,
Well, there's a hole in there somewhere.
Yeah, there's a hole in there somewhere.
Baby, there's a hole in there somewhere.
Now there's a hole in there somewhere.
(When we do it) you're never there.
(When you show it) you stop and stare.
(Abacab) he's in anywhere.
(Abacab)
And what's with that song title? What is an "ABACAB"? Is it representative of the song structure? Or is it a made up word (Genesis fans, please advise). Maybe Phil was having some tea one day and it suddenly dawned on him: "I'm gonna call that one song ABACAB and use that as the main word in the chorus as well." From the same dude that wrote the lyric "Su-su-Sudio" a few years later and made a nice hit out of it, I guess that wouldn't be a surprise.
How could Phil Collins make cool stuff like "ABACAB" and then turn into the bitch we know him as today who writes music for Disney movies that all sounds pretty much the same? I'm sure a big part of that answer can be summed up in one all too important compound word: paycheck.
He and people like Elton John have fallen victim to what I call the "Randy Newman Curse". I think I've caught wind of quite a few recent Sting tunes that meet this criteria as well - I'm guessing he's next on the list of people that used to do cool stuff but now write lame-ass cookie cutter music to maintain their frivolous lifestyles that they earned via actual good music back in the day. If you've ever watched VH1 Behind The Music, you know that most money made "back in the day" by these guys was mismanaged and stolen by shoddy management - hence the need to write music today that makes big money faster than you can say "sucky music". Say it ain't so! Don't do it, Sting! I think it's already too late.
Hm.. maybe that's what ABACAB and its lyrics mean: "It is inevitable that some day I will be writing crap, so please enjoy my music before I get sucked into the black hole of chronic suck-icity." Read the lyrics for yourself and you'll see that interpretation actually seems to fit quite well. In the mean time, I need to put my headphones on and give it another go.
ABACAB – Genesis
Look up on the wall, there on the floor,
Under the pillow, behind the door.
There's a crack in the mirror.
Somewhere there's a hole in a window pane.
Do you think I'm to blame?
Tell me, do you think I'm to blame?
(When we do it) you're never there.
(When you show it) just stop and stare.
(Abacab) he's in anywhere.
(Abacab)
If you're wrappin' up the world
'Cause you've taken someone else's girl,
When they turn on the pillow,
Even when they answer the telephone,
don't you think that by now...
Tell me, don't you think that by now.
(When we do it) you're never there.
(When you show it) just stop and stare.
(Abacab) he's in anywhere.
(Abacab) doesn't really care.
Do you want it? You got it. Now you know.
Do you want it? You got it. Now you know.
It's an illusion. It's a game,
or reflection of somewone else's name.
When you wake in the morning,
Wake and find you're covered in cellophane,
Well, there's a hole in there somewhere.
Yeah, there's a hole in there somewhere.
Baby, there's a hole in there somewhere.
Now there's a hole in there somewhere.
(When we do it) you're never there.
(When you show it) you stop and stare.
(Abacab) he's in anywhere.
(Abacab)
Thursday, August 25, 2005
State Fair Time
Oh my.. it's already been a year since my State Fair post. How time flies. You know what that means - it's time to pay a lot of money to eat a lot of shitty food! Nummy.
Before the Fair even started, the on-a-stick humor was already spewing out of local newscasters like they've OD'ed on On-A-Stick-Joke enemas. The Channel 4 news has State Fair weather forecast called "Forecast On A Stick". This made me so angry that I wanted to bash my skull in with a whiffle ball bat. Why? Because: 1) It's on-a-stick humor, and 2) The forecast clearly wasn't on any sort of stick. It was just your standard issue weather forecast with a new dumbass title. I did not see any sort of stick thruout the duration of the weather prediction. If you're going to have a Forecast On A Stick, you should make it that way. Put a stick under the forecast screen. Print it out and adhere it to s stick. Put a globe on a stick and spin it to Minnesota, point to it, and tell us what you think the weather is going to be like. You can't call it on-a-stick and then have no stick. That takes the lameness of on-a-stick humor to a whole new level... they want to get in on the on-a-stick action, but they don't want to pay for stick props. So then all of the on-a-stick fans will wait for that stick zinger when they hear "Forecast On A Stick" and nothing will happen.
I need to lay off the coffee, settle down, go to the Fair, and try and ignore the stick humor. Instead of making a bitchfest of the Fair, I will prove to you all that I really don't think it's all that bad. I will go, I will people watch, and I will come back here and write you a full report within the next week.
In the mean time... See you at the Fair, Bitch!
p.s. - To all of the on-a-stick comedy writers, here's one for your books: Stick it up your arse!
Before the Fair even started, the on-a-stick humor was already spewing out of local newscasters like they've OD'ed on On-A-Stick-Joke enemas. The Channel 4 news has State Fair weather forecast called "Forecast On A Stick". This made me so angry that I wanted to bash my skull in with a whiffle ball bat. Why? Because: 1) It's on-a-stick humor, and 2) The forecast clearly wasn't on any sort of stick. It was just your standard issue weather forecast with a new dumbass title. I did not see any sort of stick thruout the duration of the weather prediction. If you're going to have a Forecast On A Stick, you should make it that way. Put a stick under the forecast screen. Print it out and adhere it to s stick. Put a globe on a stick and spin it to Minnesota, point to it, and tell us what you think the weather is going to be like. You can't call it on-a-stick and then have no stick. That takes the lameness of on-a-stick humor to a whole new level... they want to get in on the on-a-stick action, but they don't want to pay for stick props. So then all of the on-a-stick fans will wait for that stick zinger when they hear "Forecast On A Stick" and nothing will happen.
I need to lay off the coffee, settle down, go to the Fair, and try and ignore the stick humor. Instead of making a bitchfest of the Fair, I will prove to you all that I really don't think it's all that bad. I will go, I will people watch, and I will come back here and write you a full report within the next week.
In the mean time... See you at the Fair, Bitch!
p.s. - To all of the on-a-stick comedy writers, here's one for your books: Stick it up your arse!
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
I saw a big brown Dick!
That's right, a big hairy and sweaty one - and this Dick was walking the shores of Lake Calhoun last night.
Get your mind out of the gutter, you pervert! I'm talking about Dick Enrico, owner and guy on the commercials for his stores called 2nd Wind exercise Equipment. You know. This guy:
For those of you not familiar, every town seems to have its token overly-recognizable cheesy spokesperson advertising something (most of the time it's car dealers). This one owns and shamelessly pimps his line of used exercise equipment stores and is a rather familiar face to anyone that watches local television. He was walking the lakeside solo, which surprised me. You'd think such a prestigious local celebrity would have his posse with him to protect him from the globs of groupies that must flock to him. But nope. Just one Dick.
I wanted to stop him and suggest that he re-name his store to 2nd Wind Really Heavy Shit That People Bought and Never Used, but had a 7:00 hair reduction appointment that I had to tend to. Should I have stopped and said hi to Dick in lieu of having a nice hairdo? Yeah, I'm probably gonna regret that I didn't, just like that time I could have said hi to Dimebag Darrell who was then killed 2 weeks later.
But I'm guessing Dick won't have that same luck. Plus, I was within 20 feet of him and I guess that's a lot more than you can say. And strangely, he looks even more ridiculously tan in person.
Get your mind out of the gutter, you pervert! I'm talking about Dick Enrico, owner and guy on the commercials for his stores called 2nd Wind exercise Equipment. You know. This guy:
For those of you not familiar, every town seems to have its token overly-recognizable cheesy spokesperson advertising something (most of the time it's car dealers). This one owns and shamelessly pimps his line of used exercise equipment stores and is a rather familiar face to anyone that watches local television. He was walking the lakeside solo, which surprised me. You'd think such a prestigious local celebrity would have his posse with him to protect him from the globs of groupies that must flock to him. But nope. Just one Dick.
I wanted to stop him and suggest that he re-name his store to 2nd Wind Really Heavy Shit That People Bought and Never Used, but had a 7:00 hair reduction appointment that I had to tend to. Should I have stopped and said hi to Dick in lieu of having a nice hairdo? Yeah, I'm probably gonna regret that I didn't, just like that time I could have said hi to Dimebag Darrell who was then killed 2 weeks later.
But I'm guessing Dick won't have that same luck. Plus, I was within 20 feet of him and I guess that's a lot more than you can say. And strangely, he looks even more ridiculously tan in person.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Iced Ink - ALIVE!
Iced Ink (a.k.a. my rock band) got a pretty damn good sounding CD off the mixing board from our Uptown show last week. Listen to and/or download two of the tracks in all their glory for yourself only at http://www.myspace.com/icedink - These are the only recordings in existence with the new lineup and are sure to be bootlegged and sold on Ebay for hundreds of dollars in the near future.
The rest of them (there are quite a few as we had some extra time to fill) may see the light of day in CD form someday as bonus tracks or as a double live album complete with gatefold sleeve and order form for the Iced Ink dolls, pinball machine, and AM transistor radios.. stay tuned.
The rest of them (there are quite a few as we had some extra time to fill) may see the light of day in CD form someday as bonus tracks or as a double live album complete with gatefold sleeve and order form for the Iced Ink dolls, pinball machine, and AM transistor radios.. stay tuned.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
AnnoyingMax, a.k.a. Just let me buy a f*&king printer, Bitchcakes
I went to OfficeMax to purchase a new printer yesterday because sadly, it was cheaper than buying new ink for my old one and which was on its deathbed anyways. One would assume that such a miniscule, simple purchase could be executed with little or no fuss from the friendly OfficeMax associates on a pleasantly mild August afternoon, yes?
Wrong.
The second I walked in, a Chad-looking fellow, I'll call him "Chad1", complete with Britney Spears headset on approached me and asked if there was anything he could help me with. "Nope," says I and off I went. Nice try. Those headsets are a real nice touch, by the way. A very practical fashion statement that gives off a high-tech attitude. It's great that they can wear those and communicate asynchronously from 30 feet away with one another for customers about bulk styrofoam cup availability and such.
About 5 seconds later as I was walking towards the printer aisle, another guy, Chad2 with a headset on asked me the same thing. "Nope."
As I was looking at the printer I ended up buying, Chad1 approached me yet again: "Any questions on that printer there buddy?" Ugh. Okay, I get it. You are here to be my friend and answer my questions. I love you too. You have established a great relationship with me and I hope we can go hat shopping together sometime. "Nope," I said, as I bit my tongue to keep from saying Yeah, I’d like to know how far can you stick this here printer up your fartbox?
I walked down to look at the more 'spensive printers just to compare some specs and a THIRD guy approached me.
No. No. No. No. No. No. No. I do not want any help, thank you. Thank you. This is getting really annoying.
I grabbed the printer and headed to the paper aisle to get some CD jewel case inserts. Chad1 hit me up again for some service and I was dangerously close to picking up a box of paper clips and throwing it at his stoopid-ass head.
Keep in mind this had all gone down only approximately 4 minutes after I had set foot in the door.
Seconds later I headed for the checkout with my printer and paper and who else do I see rushing to the register to wait on me hand and foot but my old buddy Chad1. Long time no see! What's new since we last spoke 20 seconds ago in the paper aisle?
"Need any extra ink cartridges with that? You know there's only a little bit of ink in the ones included with new printers," he said while holding his index finger and thumb about 1/4" apart forming the international hand gesture which represents "a little bit".
NO.
"Okay! Need any USB cords or anything like that?"
DUDE... NO.
That was 2 questions right in a row asking me if I wanted to buy shit that was already included with the printer. Was he going to ask me if I wanted a power supply too? And a printer to go with my printer? I started getting really annoyed with Chad1 so I reached for a wee chocolate for him to scan and put in my bag so I could have some sweet relief when I got out of there. I was sure he was going to ask if I wanted some graham crackers and marshmallows to go with it, but thankfully he didn't.
Everything was scanned in and the total appeared on the register. Chad1 then reached for a brochure and I knew what was coming next: The Extended Service Plan Pitch. Sure enough, he went through the whole shpeal. "Buy it now; we'll replace it for free in the next year if it explodes. It's only six bucks! It's better than Best Buy's!"
Oh. My. Gawd. A $6 Extended Service Plan on a $30 printer is like.. um.. ridiculous.
I politely declined, bid Chad1 adieu, and got the Hell out of there as fast as I could so's I could eat my chocolate and regroup. It's not that I feel pressured in such situations, because I definitely don't. It's just that shmucky salespeople make me want to gouge my eyeballs out with a pair of used corndog sticks.
Chad1 and all the rest of you yella bellied OfficeMax folk: Look at my tarnished financial history and you will plainly see that I have no problem spending money, so there's no need to try and help me out in that department. Nor will there ever be. I appreciate your offer though, and I hope your dream job is to be a used car salesman, 'cause you're all well on your way.
Wrong.
The second I walked in, a Chad-looking fellow, I'll call him "Chad1", complete with Britney Spears headset on approached me and asked if there was anything he could help me with. "Nope," says I and off I went. Nice try. Those headsets are a real nice touch, by the way. A very practical fashion statement that gives off a high-tech attitude. It's great that they can wear those and communicate asynchronously from 30 feet away with one another for customers about bulk styrofoam cup availability and such.
About 5 seconds later as I was walking towards the printer aisle, another guy, Chad2 with a headset on asked me the same thing. "Nope."
As I was looking at the printer I ended up buying, Chad1 approached me yet again: "Any questions on that printer there buddy?" Ugh. Okay, I get it. You are here to be my friend and answer my questions. I love you too. You have established a great relationship with me and I hope we can go hat shopping together sometime. "Nope," I said, as I bit my tongue to keep from saying Yeah, I’d like to know how far can you stick this here printer up your fartbox?
I walked down to look at the more 'spensive printers just to compare some specs and a THIRD guy approached me.
No. No. No. No. No. No. No. I do not want any help, thank you. Thank you. This is getting really annoying.
I grabbed the printer and headed to the paper aisle to get some CD jewel case inserts. Chad1 hit me up again for some service and I was dangerously close to picking up a box of paper clips and throwing it at his stoopid-ass head.
Keep in mind this had all gone down only approximately 4 minutes after I had set foot in the door.
Seconds later I headed for the checkout with my printer and paper and who else do I see rushing to the register to wait on me hand and foot but my old buddy Chad1. Long time no see! What's new since we last spoke 20 seconds ago in the paper aisle?
"Need any extra ink cartridges with that? You know there's only a little bit of ink in the ones included with new printers," he said while holding his index finger and thumb about 1/4" apart forming the international hand gesture which represents "a little bit".
NO.
"Okay! Need any USB cords or anything like that?"
DUDE... NO.
That was 2 questions right in a row asking me if I wanted to buy shit that was already included with the printer. Was he going to ask me if I wanted a power supply too? And a printer to go with my printer? I started getting really annoyed with Chad1 so I reached for a wee chocolate for him to scan and put in my bag so I could have some sweet relief when I got out of there. I was sure he was going to ask if I wanted some graham crackers and marshmallows to go with it, but thankfully he didn't.
Everything was scanned in and the total appeared on the register. Chad1 then reached for a brochure and I knew what was coming next: The Extended Service Plan Pitch. Sure enough, he went through the whole shpeal. "Buy it now; we'll replace it for free in the next year if it explodes. It's only six bucks! It's better than Best Buy's!"
Oh. My. Gawd. A $6 Extended Service Plan on a $30 printer is like.. um.. ridiculous.
I politely declined, bid Chad1 adieu, and got the Hell out of there as fast as I could so's I could eat my chocolate and regroup. It's not that I feel pressured in such situations, because I definitely don't. It's just that shmucky salespeople make me want to gouge my eyeballs out with a pair of used corndog sticks.
Chad1 and all the rest of you yella bellied OfficeMax folk: Look at my tarnished financial history and you will plainly see that I have no problem spending money, so there's no need to try and help me out in that department. Nor will there ever be. I appreciate your offer though, and I hope your dream job is to be a used car salesman, 'cause you're all well on your way.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Blog links freshly updated
If you haven't yet and feel the need to read, check out the lil' list to the lower right (beneath the "Point and Click" section) of links to other blogs that tickle my pickle. Feel free to post your journal or other entertaining ones you read in the reply section to this entry and I'll try to check 'em out as soon as I can! Try to refrain from posting any lame blog links though, 'cause I don't want to have to start no "Blogs that really suck" list below the pickle-tickling one.
Meat Smoothie turns 1 year old!
Holy shite, it's been a year since I signed up for this blogger thing! August 14th is the official birthday of this journal, so I'm cheating and post-dating this entry to the 14th to make it an Even Steven August 14th to August 14th year. Why? The 14th is on Sunday and I don't like wasting my weekend time writing. Weekends are for more important things like eating cookies at furniture stores, looking at stuff I can't buy, running around like a monkey, and jumping on the bed.
Annahoo, this writing stuff is a great thing. It all started with my wanting to email my family this story I wrote about my buddy Devo (R.I.P. - I still miss the Hell out of that little guy!) and after reading VomitGod's journal for a few months, I loved his and thought it looked like a fun thing to try.
It has proven to be quite the imagination stretcher and therapeutic time killer. Half the time I sit down and don't know what I'm going to write about, but then something comes to mind and poof, there goes another wordy journal entry. And when I'm done and press the publish button, I get an endorphin rush equivalent to that of just having sat on the loo for 20 minutes with a good newspaper.
In the past year I think I've managed to take about 5 years off of my life from some of the most intense stress I've ever been through, and writing has been a great help to get throug
h it. If I went back in time to a year ago as I was typing the Devo story and informed myself of the shitstorm of insanity (which also involved a lot of good things) that was to unfurl throughout the next 365 days, I would not have believed it. Maybe you'll get all the dirt someday when E! makes a True Hollywood Story of my life, but that's several years, liposuctions, and pounds of cocaine down the road. Sorry, but for now you're stuck with reading about things like how I think trees should be painted to look like barbershop poles because squirrels run up them in that pattern and it would be nice to provide them with a guide.
Thanks for checking in and reading this poot whenever you do. Please go eat a piece of cake, or at the very least a Twinkie (either Hostess or chicken) to celebrate my 1 year of writing about nothing in particular.
As the redundant folk like to say, "It's the One Year Anniversary!"
Annahoo, this writing stuff is a great thing. It all started with my wanting to email my family this story I wrote about my buddy Devo (R.I.P. - I still miss the Hell out of that little guy!) and after reading VomitGod's journal for a few months, I loved his and thought it looked like a fun thing to try.
It has proven to be quite the imagination stretcher and therapeutic time killer. Half the time I sit down and don't know what I'm going to write about, but then something comes to mind and poof, there goes another wordy journal entry. And when I'm done and press the publish button, I get an endorphin rush equivalent to that of just having sat on the loo for 20 minutes with a good newspaper.
In the past year I think I've managed to take about 5 years off of my life from some of the most intense stress I've ever been through, and writing has been a great help to get throug
h it. If I went back in time to a year ago as I was typing the Devo story and informed myself of the shitstorm of insanity (which also involved a lot of good things) that was to unfurl throughout the next 365 days, I would not have believed it. Maybe you'll get all the dirt someday when E! makes a True Hollywood Story of my life, but that's several years, liposuctions, and pounds of cocaine down the road. Sorry, but for now you're stuck with reading about things like how I think trees should be painted to look like barbershop poles because squirrels run up them in that pattern and it would be nice to provide them with a guide.Thanks for checking in and reading this poot whenever you do. Please go eat a piece of cake, or at the very least a Twinkie (either Hostess or chicken) to celebrate my 1 year of writing about nothing in particular.
As the redundant folk like to say, "It's the One Year Anniversary!"
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Frank n Stuff
Here's a money shot I recently took of my pal Frank and his doughboy belly that I found amusing enough to want to post here, because as we all know, every pet owner thinks their pet is the f*&kin' cutest. And if you don't think your pet is the f*&kin' cutest, it's probably because you own a snake or something. And snakes aren't pets anyways, they're more like really scary living pieces of hose that poop out white balls and are capable of slowly squeezing you to death. Anyways, let's move onto the kitty photo, shall we?
This Chalazion Diagnosis brought to you by Ritz Crackers
I was sitting in the confines of a doctor's office waiting room to have my swollen eye looked at for about 20 minutes last night. It just so happens that my eye has something called a Chalazion, but that's not what I'm here to talk to you about today.
As I was waiting, I was studying a nice big photo on the wall. It was a photo of a handsome, happy looking Hispanic family - dad, mom, their 3 sons and grandma, parked on a bench in the middle of a happy green park. Definitely a Kodak moment if I've ever seen one. It looked like a stock photo taken by a professional, as it was crisp, clear, and everything was perfectly in place. It was hung as if to tell the person waiting beneath the nice fluorescent lights of the doctor's room (i.e. - me) "Hey, this is a family place - you've got nothing to worry about! Look at how happy we are! We approve of this clinic!"
Upon further study of the photo, something within it caught my attention. Gently nestled betwixt the mother and youngest son was a box of Ritz crackers. It was sitting in there as if it were a member of the family - only the top middle portion was able to peek through the mother and son when the photo was shot, but you could see those Nabisco and Ritz logos loud and clear.
This made me wonder a little bit. Why was there a box of Ritz crackers right smack dab in the middle of the photo and why was this photo displayed in a room with a doctor's table with stirrups on it? Are Ritz crackers treated as a pivotal member of the family in Mexico? Oh, don't snap that photo just yet, let me get the box of Ritz crackers out first.
Was this a Ritz advertisement? The box placement was subtle, yet quite noticeable if you gazed at the picture while you were waiting for a doctor like I was. I also noticed that the boy sitting next to the Ritz box was cradling a tube of saltine crackers in his arms, the label and brand however were illegible. Is Ritz a proud sponsor of the Neighborhood Involvement Program? Did they pay for part of the latex gloves the doc used when he was poking at my eyelid?
My inquiring mind wants to know: What's the deal?! Perhaps this photo was donated to the office and they felt obligated to hang it up. Was this a semi-subliminal advertisement or does this family just really like crackers? Mebbe it was the only way they could get the kid to shut up and sit still for the photo. I dunno.
I do know this much: Every time I see a Ritz cracker from now on, I'll always think of the pleasant feeling I had while the doctor was futzing with my eyelid and giving me the creeps.
As I was waiting, I was studying a nice big photo on the wall. It was a photo of a handsome, happy looking Hispanic family - dad, mom, their 3 sons and grandma, parked on a bench in the middle of a happy green park. Definitely a Kodak moment if I've ever seen one. It looked like a stock photo taken by a professional, as it was crisp, clear, and everything was perfectly in place. It was hung as if to tell the person waiting beneath the nice fluorescent lights of the doctor's room (i.e. - me) "Hey, this is a family place - you've got nothing to worry about! Look at how happy we are! We approve of this clinic!"
Upon further study of the photo, something within it caught my attention. Gently nestled betwixt the mother and youngest son was a box of Ritz crackers. It was sitting in there as if it were a member of the family - only the top middle portion was able to peek through the mother and son when the photo was shot, but you could see those Nabisco and Ritz logos loud and clear.
This made me wonder a little bit. Why was there a box of Ritz crackers right smack dab in the middle of the photo and why was this photo displayed in a room with a doctor's table with stirrups on it? Are Ritz crackers treated as a pivotal member of the family in Mexico? Oh, don't snap that photo just yet, let me get the box of Ritz crackers out first.
Was this a Ritz advertisement? The box placement was subtle, yet quite noticeable if you gazed at the picture while you were waiting for a doctor like I was. I also noticed that the boy sitting next to the Ritz box was cradling a tube of saltine crackers in his arms, the label and brand however were illegible. Is Ritz a proud sponsor of the Neighborhood Involvement Program? Did they pay for part of the latex gloves the doc used when he was poking at my eyelid?
My inquiring mind wants to know: What's the deal?! Perhaps this photo was donated to the office and they felt obligated to hang it up. Was this a semi-subliminal advertisement or does this family just really like crackers? Mebbe it was the only way they could get the kid to shut up and sit still for the photo. I dunno.
I do know this much: Every time I see a Ritz cracker from now on, I'll always think of the pleasant feeling I had while the doctor was futzing with my eyelid and giving me the creeps.
Tuesday, August 9, 2005
Red eye
I think I may have mentioned this before, but I just thought about this while we were at Rainbow yesterday and I saw a baby in a cart while his mom had her back turned to grab something.
I made eye contact with the baby and once again wished to myself that I could make my eyes glow red for a split second while our eyes met. This would be fun with any baby - when no one is looking, give the kid a flash of the glowing red eyes and scare the shit out of 'em.
Man that would be fun!
Ironically, I'm going to the doctor today to hopefully alleviate some redness in my left eye. Could it be payback? Hey, all I did was think it - I didn't actually give the kid a glowing red gaze. At least not that I know of.
I made eye contact with the baby and once again wished to myself that I could make my eyes glow red for a split second while our eyes met. This would be fun with any baby - when no one is looking, give the kid a flash of the glowing red eyes and scare the shit out of 'em.
Man that would be fun!
Ironically, I'm going to the doctor today to hopefully alleviate some redness in my left eye. Could it be payback? Hey, all I did was think it - I didn't actually give the kid a glowing red gaze. At least not that I know of.
Sunday, August 7, 2005
King For A Day/Fool For A Lifetime
Every year when this time of year rolls around I get a soft spot deep in the cockles of my heart to listen to Faith No More's "King For A Day/Fool For A Lifetime" cd nonstop. This year marks the 10th anniversary of my being fortunate enough to see them on that tour with Lance, Tim, Scott, and the rest of my buddies at an outdoor music festival where I also was lucky enough to see The Ramones on one of their last tours - a show which forever changed my life as I know it. If I would have stayed home from that, I would have to travel back in time to kick my own ass.
I consider "King For A Day" to be one of the best heavy CDs made in the last 20 years, hands down. I actually go through withdrawal if I go too long without listening to it or loan it to somebody. If you have the means and want to hear a CD crammed full of amazingly diverse yet accessible heavy music, I highly suggest you drop everything you're doing and go buy this CD now. Sell your Korn and Incubus CDs if you need to in order to buy it, as you won't need them anymore. I'll even give you a direct link to purchase it - here you go.
The first time I "King For A Day" it sucked me in from the first to the very last note and I became a changed musician because of it. I remember where I was the first time I heard it - screwing off with Lance in the stockroom of Target on 3rd shift. I tore the cellophane off of the CD and popped it in the stereo and we both stood there in awe. Even the stereo itself was a bit shocked, methinks. The planets aligned when it was recorded and a masterpiece was made. This CD does no wrong in my book other than not being double in length. The band sounded phenomenal and as anyone who has listened to it knows, Mike Patton's vocals and lyrics are something to make any vocalist out there go running to hide under their beds and suck their thumbs. It never lets up on treading the thin line of being really wrecklessly f*&ked up yet digestible, tight and groovy all at once and I don't know how they did it.
What makes me sad is that no one (with the exception of a lot of my musician friends, and you know who you are) seems to even know about this record. They always did well overseas and got a lot of the acclaim and respect they deserved, but it never seemed to happen here in the dumbass American heavy music market. This record has nearly everything you could ask for on it and then some, and it doesn't ever seem like it will sound dated - it just kind of stands in a world of its own. Why people didn't gobble it up when it came out is beyond me... it's hard to know that and hear so many blatant ripoffs that have come out since that have done much better on the charts.
Chances are we'll never see FNM together again, but they done real good on this release and no other band will ever be able to come close to making anything this good in the near or distant future. This isn't my opinion, it's just the way it is whether you like it or not. So yeah - you should go out, buy it, pop it in and turn your volume up as high as your eardrums can muster, and listen to it a lot please.
And then once you have a firm grip on the magic that album provides and "get" what Faith No More was doing way ahead of their time, you need to go out and buy their next release "Album of the Year". And then anything else they've done... "Angel Dust" is the next one that comes to mind. That's an order, dammit!
Don't look at me - I'm ugly in the morning.
I consider "King For A Day" to be one of the best heavy CDs made in the last 20 years, hands down. I actually go through withdrawal if I go too long without listening to it or loan it to somebody. If you have the means and want to hear a CD crammed full of amazingly diverse yet accessible heavy music, I highly suggest you drop everything you're doing and go buy this CD now. Sell your Korn and Incubus CDs if you need to in order to buy it, as you won't need them anymore. I'll even give you a direct link to purchase it - here you go.
The first time I "King For A Day" it sucked me in from the first to the very last note and I became a changed musician because of it. I remember where I was the first time I heard it - screwing off with Lance in the stockroom of Target on 3rd shift. I tore the cellophane off of the CD and popped it in the stereo and we both stood there in awe. Even the stereo itself was a bit shocked, methinks. The planets aligned when it was recorded and a masterpiece was made. This CD does no wrong in my book other than not being double in length. The band sounded phenomenal and as anyone who has listened to it knows, Mike Patton's vocals and lyrics are something to make any vocalist out there go running to hide under their beds and suck their thumbs. It never lets up on treading the thin line of being really wrecklessly f*&ked up yet digestible, tight and groovy all at once and I don't know how they did it.
What makes me sad is that no one (with the exception of a lot of my musician friends, and you know who you are) seems to even know about this record. They always did well overseas and got a lot of the acclaim and respect they deserved, but it never seemed to happen here in the dumbass American heavy music market. This record has nearly everything you could ask for on it and then some, and it doesn't ever seem like it will sound dated - it just kind of stands in a world of its own. Why people didn't gobble it up when it came out is beyond me... it's hard to know that and hear so many blatant ripoffs that have come out since that have done much better on the charts.
Chances are we'll never see FNM together again, but they done real good on this release and no other band will ever be able to come close to making anything this good in the near or distant future. This isn't my opinion, it's just the way it is whether you like it or not. So yeah - you should go out, buy it, pop it in and turn your volume up as high as your eardrums can muster, and listen to it a lot please.
And then once you have a firm grip on the magic that album provides and "get" what Faith No More was doing way ahead of their time, you need to go out and buy their next release "Album of the Year". And then anything else they've done... "Angel Dust" is the next one that comes to mind. That's an order, dammit!
Don't look at me - I'm ugly in the morning.
Friday, August 5, 2005
It's forever 9:43:38
I'm a little confused. Since band practice last night, the time has been 9:43:38. It must have happened while we were in the midst of rehearsing our hit song "Weird Beard Rides Again". I looked at my watch and thought, "Hm, that's a might bit peculiar.. it was 9:43:38 a few minutes ago."
At the end of practice, it was still 9:43:38. When I went to bed it was still 9:43:38. I woke up this morning and guess what time it was? 9:43:38. And right now as I type this? Yep, 9:43:38.
This is the longest second I've ever experienced in my life. I sure am getting a lot accomplished in this 38th second - I've gone to band practice, went to bed, taken the doggy out to poop, seen our neighbor's toilet paper tail, gone to a coffee shop and updated my resume... man, this is awesome. I wonder if I've stopped aging as a result of this?
As my grandpa would say, going by everyone else's clocks, at least my watch displays the correct time twice a day. But I don't go by everyone else's clocks - I go by my watch because of its concise, easy to read dashes. I'm not sure why it stopped working, but maybe this is a sign. A sign that if I want to cause trouble at no expense, perhaps time has suspended itself for me and now's a better time than ever to live like a madman.
If you are a person I've been in contact with in regards to hooking up at a specific time, please bump it to 9:43:39 or shortly thereafter if you would be so kind, because I have a lot of living left to do in this current second. Nothing personal, but I don't want anyone cutting into my fun time, as I may never have this chance again to stretch a single second out so far.
The first thing on my list of things to do: Go and loot nearest music store.
After taking care of several other things on my 38th second laundry list of fun, the last thing on my list will be to go to Walgreens and buy a new watch battery.
At the end of practice, it was still 9:43:38. When I went to bed it was still 9:43:38. I woke up this morning and guess what time it was? 9:43:38. And right now as I type this? Yep, 9:43:38.
This is the longest second I've ever experienced in my life. I sure am getting a lot accomplished in this 38th second - I've gone to band practice, went to bed, taken the doggy out to poop, seen our neighbor's toilet paper tail, gone to a coffee shop and updated my resume... man, this is awesome. I wonder if I've stopped aging as a result of this?
As my grandpa would say, going by everyone else's clocks, at least my watch displays the correct time twice a day. But I don't go by everyone else's clocks - I go by my watch because of its concise, easy to read dashes. I'm not sure why it stopped working, but maybe this is a sign. A sign that if I want to cause trouble at no expense, perhaps time has suspended itself for me and now's a better time than ever to live like a madman.
If you are a person I've been in contact with in regards to hooking up at a specific time, please bump it to 9:43:39 or shortly thereafter if you would be so kind, because I have a lot of living left to do in this current second. Nothing personal, but I don't want anyone cutting into my fun time, as I may never have this chance again to stretch a single second out so far.
The first thing on my list of things to do: Go and loot nearest music store.
After taking care of several other things on my 38th second laundry list of fun, the last thing on my list will be to go to Walgreens and buy a new watch battery.
A Toilet Paper Tale... I mean, "Tail"
I was chit chatting with a neighbor this morning and when he turned around to walk into his abode, I noticed a perfectly centered 3 foot strand of toilet paper hanging out the back of his trousers looking like a big ol' stick of chewing gum. It trailed behind him in the swift breeze created by his stride like a comet and I was in such awe that thankfully I didn't laugh. For those of you wondering: the portion hanging out of his pants, at least, was unused.
I've always heard about it and have seen it on hidden camera shows, but did not know this really happened! It was awesome. How exactly does this happen? Most people fold or crumple when they make boom boom (I am a crumpler) which puts your Toilet Paper Tail Risk at slim to none. You can't very well get the job done with a 5 foot long unaltered strip, can you? If so, let me know how, 'cause I honestly can't put it together in my head.
I started wondering if Oprah was filming another show on honesty where she'd purposefully plant such a thing on a subject, make him or her walk out in public and see if innocent strangers would be kind enough to let the person know "Um, sir, you have a big strand of asswipe trailing out of your pants.."
If that is the case, I failed. I hope there was a hidden camera, as I'd pay good money to see my facial expression upon first glimpse of the tail. Better yet, I'd like to see our neighbor with the tail again on tape, 'cause it was so damn funny.
*****
In other news, I realized my daily blog hits nearly quadruple when I talk about current events due to it showing up in search engine queries and such. I want my hits to nearly quadruple today, so let me state for the record that the Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt breakup is tearing me apart. I can't sleep anymore knowing that he's running around with that slutty devil worshipping Angelina Jolie while Jennifer is at home weeping with nowhere to go. Sure, Angelina has some fatass lips. Big deal. She wasn't on the so-white-it-was-clear NBC hit sitcom Friends, now, was she? That's a way cooler claim to fame if you ask me.
Regardless, I must state this to Mr. Pitt: Once you've had your way with Angelina and hang her out to dry, I'm all yours, baby. I've had my eye on you since Thelma and Louise. Reeeeow!
I've always heard about it and have seen it on hidden camera shows, but did not know this really happened! It was awesome. How exactly does this happen? Most people fold or crumple when they make boom boom (I am a crumpler) which puts your Toilet Paper Tail Risk at slim to none. You can't very well get the job done with a 5 foot long unaltered strip, can you? If so, let me know how, 'cause I honestly can't put it together in my head.
I started wondering if Oprah was filming another show on honesty where she'd purposefully plant such a thing on a subject, make him or her walk out in public and see if innocent strangers would be kind enough to let the person know "Um, sir, you have a big strand of asswipe trailing out of your pants.."
If that is the case, I failed. I hope there was a hidden camera, as I'd pay good money to see my facial expression upon first glimpse of the tail. Better yet, I'd like to see our neighbor with the tail again on tape, 'cause it was so damn funny.
*****
In other news, I realized my daily blog hits nearly quadruple when I talk about current events due to it showing up in search engine queries and such. I want my hits to nearly quadruple today, so let me state for the record that the Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt breakup is tearing me apart. I can't sleep anymore knowing that he's running around with that slutty devil worshipping Angelina Jolie while Jennifer is at home weeping with nowhere to go. Sure, Angelina has some fatass lips. Big deal. She wasn't on the so-white-it-was-clear NBC hit sitcom Friends, now, was she? That's a way cooler claim to fame if you ask me.
Regardless, I must state this to Mr. Pitt: Once you've had your way with Angelina and hang her out to dry, I'm all yours, baby. I've had my eye on you since Thelma and Louise. Reeeeow!
Thursday, August 4, 2005
Toothpaste = empty calories?
I think toothpaste should have nutritional information displayed on each and every tube. I'm trying to watch my calories and every time I get on the scale feel that I should be losing more weight than I am. I recently made a comprehensive list of everything I put into my face and the only thing I can think of that hasn't yet been factored into my caloric intake is toothpaste.
I'm guessing that the semi-translucent gel toothpaste has less fat than the solid white or blue colored pastes, but more sugar. Vice versa with non-gel toothpaste. If that's the case, I'm currently using Aquafresh and that is 50/50. With equal amounts of sugar and fat, Aquafresh could very well be one of the least healthy toothpastes out on the market right now. It's like I'm brushing my teeth with a donut or something.
And what about all of the vast flavors of toothpaste developed for children - you've got berry, bubblegum, grape...? That stuff must be loaded with calories, cause it tastes so damn good.
If toothpaste is as unhealthy as I'm making it out to be, then it's time for the manufacturers to jump on the low cal bandwagon and start using Splenda in their recipes.
Maybe I'll try and make some homemade toothpaste. With Splenda. There's got to be a way to knock the calories out of this stuff yet retain at least a fraction of the delicious flavor. I'll start with some water, because water is in everything. Then thicken it up with flour (sorry, Atkins diet subscribers) and a touch of baking soda until it forms a dough-like consistency. Baking soda is low-cal and often praised on toothpaste packaging as an active ingredient. I know there's a line of sugar free flavored syrups out there with Splenda.. those will be the secret behind what gives my homemade toothpaste such a healthy yet appealing flavor.
I'm not sure what I'll keep my homemade toothpaste in, as it would probably be pretty hard to try and get it into a used tube. I guess I could heat it up and then pour it into a baster, refridgerate it until it's firm again and then try it out.
Yeah, that's what I'll do. Pardon me, I've got some homemade toothpaste to make.
I'm guessing that the semi-translucent gel toothpaste has less fat than the solid white or blue colored pastes, but more sugar. Vice versa with non-gel toothpaste. If that's the case, I'm currently using Aquafresh and that is 50/50. With equal amounts of sugar and fat, Aquafresh could very well be one of the least healthy toothpastes out on the market right now. It's like I'm brushing my teeth with a donut or something.
And what about all of the vast flavors of toothpaste developed for children - you've got berry, bubblegum, grape...? That stuff must be loaded with calories, cause it tastes so damn good.
If toothpaste is as unhealthy as I'm making it out to be, then it's time for the manufacturers to jump on the low cal bandwagon and start using Splenda in their recipes.
Maybe I'll try and make some homemade toothpaste. With Splenda. There's got to be a way to knock the calories out of this stuff yet retain at least a fraction of the delicious flavor. I'll start with some water, because water is in everything. Then thicken it up with flour (sorry, Atkins diet subscribers) and a touch of baking soda until it forms a dough-like consistency. Baking soda is low-cal and often praised on toothpaste packaging as an active ingredient. I know there's a line of sugar free flavored syrups out there with Splenda.. those will be the secret behind what gives my homemade toothpaste such a healthy yet appealing flavor.
I'm not sure what I'll keep my homemade toothpaste in, as it would probably be pretty hard to try and get it into a used tube. I guess I could heat it up and then pour it into a baster, refridgerate it until it's firm again and then try it out.
Yeah, that's what I'll do. Pardon me, I've got some homemade toothpaste to make.
Wednesday, August 3, 2005
I Don't Want To Be an "I Want To Be a Hilton" fan
Dude... I was watching "I Want To Be A Hilton" yesterday and suddenly found myself starting to take it seriously and felt a competitive energy start to build up in my belly for a few of the contestants.
Not. Good.
I have tuned into this show by accident the past couple of weeks while waiting for the "I Want To Sing For INXS" show to start because I'm addicted to it but never know when it's going to be on. It's on Monday through Wednesday nights, starts at a different time each night, and some nights it's on longer than others. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank CBS for their consistent, easy to follow programming. Perhaps they should start displaying their schedules during MENSA meetings and once those people have deciphered them they could translate the listings into something I could understand and follow.
So anyways, yeah, after a few weeks of catching the last 15 minutes of the Hilton show, I've been fished in. And I can't figure out why. Something's gone seriously wrong, here. My standards are pretty low already when it comes to watching TV, but this show is pretty low and I have this irresistible urge to find out what happens next week. I will try my hardest not to watch it, but can make no guarantees.
"Hell's Kitchen" season finale was on Monday and I'm on that show as well. I think it's time to get a Netflix membership before the next batch of reality shows start this Fall. Or maybe I should actually get off my ass, go outside and do something productive.
On second thought I did just see an ad for the new season of "The Apprentice" starting in September and last season was pretty damn sweet. And then the Martha Stewart Apprentice spinoff is kicking off as well.
Um...
Dear Me:
You called and You want your pride back.
Sincerely,
Yourself
Not. Good.
I have tuned into this show by accident the past couple of weeks while waiting for the "I Want To Sing For INXS" show to start because I'm addicted to it but never know when it's going to be on. It's on Monday through Wednesday nights, starts at a different time each night, and some nights it's on longer than others. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank CBS for their consistent, easy to follow programming. Perhaps they should start displaying their schedules during MENSA meetings and once those people have deciphered them they could translate the listings into something I could understand and follow.
So anyways, yeah, after a few weeks of catching the last 15 minutes of the Hilton show, I've been fished in. And I can't figure out why. Something's gone seriously wrong, here. My standards are pretty low already when it comes to watching TV, but this show is pretty low and I have this irresistible urge to find out what happens next week. I will try my hardest not to watch it, but can make no guarantees.
"Hell's Kitchen" season finale was on Monday and I'm on that show as well. I think it's time to get a Netflix membership before the next batch of reality shows start this Fall. Or maybe I should actually get off my ass, go outside and do something productive.
On second thought I did just see an ad for the new season of "The Apprentice" starting in September and last season was pretty damn sweet. And then the Martha Stewart Apprentice spinoff is kicking off as well.
Um...
Dear Me:
You called and You want your pride back.
Sincerely,
Yourself
Tuesday, August 2, 2005
Apparently I make for good chigger meat.
As many of you may remember, I had me a mean case of chigger bites last month while staying at my parent's house out in the country. I tried to count all of my bites at the pinnacle of what I call Rancho Relaxo Chiggerfest 2005 (see: The Herpes of Nature) and lost track after 60. And no, that ain't no exaggeration, folks.. Take a little stroll through my parent's land and see for yourself. I can guaran-f'in-tee you you'll be scratching your ankles, legs, and nether-regions to a bloody pulp within 48 hours. Word of advice: don't scratch chigger bites with your nails - I suggest you skip that step altogether and just go out and buy yourself a good cheese grater to use instead. It provides a way more intensely satisfying scratch and gets down to the sinew and bone much more quickly than fingernails can.
A few weeks ago I migrated back to city and my skin was eventually restored to its original healthy chigger-free condition. Only a few small slightly visible red marks have taken the place of those 60+ itchy little sunsabitches that once made my life Living Hell on Earth.
My brother Chuck stopped over the other night to watch some movies with us and drop off some things I left at my parents during my stay there. He had just flown into town that day and was at our parent's for maybe 2-3 hours tops prior to coming out to Minneapolis to spend some quality time with his two favorite people in the world, Mr. and Mrs. Awesome (yours truly and Kimb). Fun was had and Chuck went home.
The next day, something resembling a chigger bite appeared on my ankle. And then another one. Now there's one more on my knee. How did this happen?! Did a few chiggers latch onto Chuck because they knew where he was going and they missed me? It's not like we rubbed our bare ankles together or were cuddling on the couch together naked or anything - at least not that I can remember. Such family behavior only commences after Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner. Yet here I am with 3 fresh chigger bites on my person and no explanation of how they got there. Kimb is still 0 for 0 in the chigger bite charts and I don't know how she's come this far without any harm. If I were a chigger, I'd much rather burrow myself into soft girl skin over icky, hairy man skin. Any day. Chiggers are f*&kin' stoopid.
I'm guessing I must have put some socks on that may have been laundered at my parent's and there still may have been a few hangers on living on them. I thought I had quarantined and re-washed everything that I had used at the Ranch in the toxic Minneapolis waters upon my return to this fine city. But now that I think of it, I had a pair of socks in my backpack that I think I wore on Sunday when Chuck came over.
It could very well be that we had a cootie flying about in our bedroom that feasted upon me late at night. Last night before falling asleep we spotted one bobbing around like an idiot on the perimeter of the bedroom ceiling. Nothing makes you feel relaxed and ready for a good night's sleep like seeing a big fat mosquito lurking above your bed. All they see when they watch you shut out the lights is the word DINNER! blinking over and over again.
Whenever I'm out with a group of people, bugs will find and chew on me first. OFF! needs to make a special Micycle formula spray that masks my bug attracting pheromones. I would also prefer that it smell like gummy bears and could double as a non-stick cooking spray if that would be at all possible.
Only a short amount of time will tell whether these are chigger bites or just your standard issue urban summer cootie bites from a mosquito or something of the likes thereof. I'll be sure to keep you all posted, because I know you're all dying to know about how many bug bites I have and whether they're the painful lingering weeping kind or not.
A few weeks ago I migrated back to city and my skin was eventually restored to its original healthy chigger-free condition. Only a few small slightly visible red marks have taken the place of those 60+ itchy little sunsabitches that once made my life Living Hell on Earth.
My brother Chuck stopped over the other night to watch some movies with us and drop off some things I left at my parents during my stay there. He had just flown into town that day and was at our parent's for maybe 2-3 hours tops prior to coming out to Minneapolis to spend some quality time with his two favorite people in the world, Mr. and Mrs. Awesome (yours truly and Kimb). Fun was had and Chuck went home.
The next day, something resembling a chigger bite appeared on my ankle. And then another one. Now there's one more on my knee. How did this happen?! Did a few chiggers latch onto Chuck because they knew where he was going and they missed me? It's not like we rubbed our bare ankles together or were cuddling on the couch together naked or anything - at least not that I can remember. Such family behavior only commences after Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner. Yet here I am with 3 fresh chigger bites on my person and no explanation of how they got there. Kimb is still 0 for 0 in the chigger bite charts and I don't know how she's come this far without any harm. If I were a chigger, I'd much rather burrow myself into soft girl skin over icky, hairy man skin. Any day. Chiggers are f*&kin' stoopid.
I'm guessing I must have put some socks on that may have been laundered at my parent's and there still may have been a few hangers on living on them. I thought I had quarantined and re-washed everything that I had used at the Ranch in the toxic Minneapolis waters upon my return to this fine city. But now that I think of it, I had a pair of socks in my backpack that I think I wore on Sunday when Chuck came over.
It could very well be that we had a cootie flying about in our bedroom that feasted upon me late at night. Last night before falling asleep we spotted one bobbing around like an idiot on the perimeter of the bedroom ceiling. Nothing makes you feel relaxed and ready for a good night's sleep like seeing a big fat mosquito lurking above your bed. All they see when they watch you shut out the lights is the word DINNER! blinking over and over again.
Whenever I'm out with a group of people, bugs will find and chew on me first. OFF! needs to make a special Micycle formula spray that masks my bug attracting pheromones. I would also prefer that it smell like gummy bears and could double as a non-stick cooking spray if that would be at all possible.
Only a short amount of time will tell whether these are chigger bites or just your standard issue urban summer cootie bites from a mosquito or something of the likes thereof. I'll be sure to keep you all posted, because I know you're all dying to know about how many bug bites I have and whether they're the painful lingering weeping kind or not.
Monday, August 1, 2005
Squeakless Squeaky Toy
Our doggy Beans is a fan of the squeaky toys. Moreso than most dogs I've known. Recently I have come to the conclusion that like a dolphin, she uses her squeaks as a form of communication. I know this because I rented a dolphin squeak decoder from the place down the street and have been processing her squeaky toy noises through it. Here's a few translated quotes I've received thus far:
"I know you're on the phone right now, but I don't care and am going to squeak this thing anyways."
"I sure am cute with this dirty pheasant toy in my mouth, aren't I? Listen - when I bite on it, it makes a noise!"
"I am going to accompany this television show you're trying to watch with some squeaking!"
"Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning!"
"Kimb's here! Kimb's here! Kimb's here!"
"I just ate out of the catbox and hope that this squeaky toy will help alleviate the strange taste in my mouth!"
"Boy, that walk was fun!"
"I want to eat our neighbor's lawn!"
Those are just a few.
Seeing that her squeaking sessions can last up to 5-10 minutes in one sitting, I've decided that maybe there can be a way for her to get her squeak on while at the same time not driving me to the point of wanting to drop kick the squeakies into a busy intersection for them to meet their makers. All I'm looking for is an occasional moment of silence so I can regroup every now and then.
After putting my thinking cap on, I've figured it out! I'm going to develop a squeaker that still squeaks loud and clear, but only does so at dog whistle pitch. Dog whistles are barely audible to the human ear, but dogs can certainly hear them (they're called dog whistles, for crying out loud). If Beans were to squeak something I could not hear, I would actually encourage her to squeak like she's never squeaked before rather than start to tweak after a couple of minutes. I would buy her so many squeaky toys that our place would look like those rooms that kids play in that are full of plastic balls. It would be like swimming in squeaky toys 24/7. There would be so many squeaky toys that we'd need snorkeling gear to ensure we'd be getting adequate amounts of oxygen. Other dogs would be jealous of all the squeakies Beans would have. We would get rid of the furniture because all we'd have to do when we wanted to sit is shovel a big pile of squeaky toys together and plop down. And of course they would all squeak and this would make Beans happy. I would buy so many that it would be safe to say there'd be a 5 to 6 foot accumulation of squeakies within one week's time. Even I would pick one up with my mouth and squeak it on occasion if that were the case. We could conduct strange experiments on the squeaky toys and still have an abundance of them leftover for Beans to play with.
I'm starting to like this idea! I'm contacting Hartz first thing in the morning and selling this idea to them.
Then after that, I'm going to develop a box spring that my cat won't want to crawl into and sharpen his claws at 2 in the morning on a daily basis. And a cat litter box that smells like fresh baked bread immediately after being eliminated in.
One thing a a time, though.
"I know you're on the phone right now, but I don't care and am going to squeak this thing anyways."
"I sure am cute with this dirty pheasant toy in my mouth, aren't I? Listen - when I bite on it, it makes a noise!"
"I am going to accompany this television show you're trying to watch with some squeaking!"
"Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning!"
"Kimb's here! Kimb's here! Kimb's here!"
"I just ate out of the catbox and hope that this squeaky toy will help alleviate the strange taste in my mouth!"
"Boy, that walk was fun!"
"I want to eat our neighbor's lawn!"
Those are just a few.
Seeing that her squeaking sessions can last up to 5-10 minutes in one sitting, I've decided that maybe there can be a way for her to get her squeak on while at the same time not driving me to the point of wanting to drop kick the squeakies into a busy intersection for them to meet their makers. All I'm looking for is an occasional moment of silence so I can regroup every now and then.
After putting my thinking cap on, I've figured it out! I'm going to develop a squeaker that still squeaks loud and clear, but only does so at dog whistle pitch. Dog whistles are barely audible to the human ear, but dogs can certainly hear them (they're called dog whistles, for crying out loud). If Beans were to squeak something I could not hear, I would actually encourage her to squeak like she's never squeaked before rather than start to tweak after a couple of minutes. I would buy her so many squeaky toys that our place would look like those rooms that kids play in that are full of plastic balls. It would be like swimming in squeaky toys 24/7. There would be so many squeaky toys that we'd need snorkeling gear to ensure we'd be getting adequate amounts of oxygen. Other dogs would be jealous of all the squeakies Beans would have. We would get rid of the furniture because all we'd have to do when we wanted to sit is shovel a big pile of squeaky toys together and plop down. And of course they would all squeak and this would make Beans happy. I would buy so many that it would be safe to say there'd be a 5 to 6 foot accumulation of squeakies within one week's time. Even I would pick one up with my mouth and squeak it on occasion if that were the case. We could conduct strange experiments on the squeaky toys and still have an abundance of them leftover for Beans to play with.
I'm starting to like this idea! I'm contacting Hartz first thing in the morning and selling this idea to them.
Then after that, I'm going to develop a box spring that my cat won't want to crawl into and sharpen his claws at 2 in the morning on a daily basis. And a cat litter box that smells like fresh baked bread immediately after being eliminated in.
One thing a a time, though.
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