DAY 8

WIN! Pulled it out, mofos!!!!

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

Over HERE I was saying "fuck it" re: going for a walk tonight. And then just now, out of the corner of my eye, I think I thought I might have seen...Grandma arm fat. Wtf? Am I fucking kidding?

There's finding a grey hair, there's not being able to get it up, there's getting caught jerking off to that funny picture of a squirrel water-skiing, that shit happens to every guy eventually. But this? Granny fat? Really?

Putting on my sneakers. I'm getting a W today!!!!

Can We Talk It Over in Bed?

Dropping Keith Sweat's name in the post below reminded me of MY GAY MOMENT.

Hit It, Bob illWill

I "have a band", Hayday - go to the link on the right and download the album for free!!! And by "have a band," I mean that once every two or three years the right people will fall into my lap, and we'll play a show with the same old crap songs I've been slugging around for years to the same 4 people obligated enough to come, and then having gotten some excitement back I'm continue after the show, thinking okay, now I'll restart everything and go about playing/recording songs that weren't written in the Nixon Administration (first one), but then the endless frustration of trying to find a drummer goes on for weeks until I finally find somebody and, masked through incredibly high levels of beer along with being thrilled there's a warm body hitting the skins (not in my usual way, here I mean playing drums), will be all excited for a while, until after a few weeks it becomes apparent that the drummer DOES suck, that I really was that drunk and desperate to make myself believe "he's the one!!!!" so that I can get back to rocking in the free world on a normal basis, therein sapping all the energy I had built up and then I'd eventually figure out a way of firing him without firing him ("I'm being shipped to Iraq/incredibly sick/died") and spend months laying around bitching and crying and moaning until the whole process starts up again. That's pretty much the extent to which my band "exists" these days.

And then earlier today I get a call from my little brother, illWill, who is calling to warn me that there is a band in Colorado that is named THE HEYDAY, and he's worried about it and will I call him so we can think of what to do. I don't know if that's sad, or funny, or if it makes me wanna fucking play drums with my face while simultaneously playing guitar and singing, "fuck anybody else!" etc. God bless illWill, the little bastard :)

Years ago Hayday went down to Richmond to play a show, about an hour away from where illWill was currently going to high school, and he came to watch big bro blow the roof off the place. Of course his being in high school and obviously underage (and him being an fucking Eagle Scout) presented a small concern, but we just told him to help lug the gear in, looking like he was a part of the "road crew" or something, and try to look older than he looked at the time - think Opie, but younger and with glasses. And then take a nother few years off that. After we were loaded in he was all worried and nervous so finally I pointed to a booth in the corner off to the right of the stage; I said go sit over there, look inconspicuous and just don't move, don't go anywhere, and he'll be fine.

So the show starts and I'm pulverizing people's face with my rocking, cuttin' heads with anyone who had the balls to take me on as I, I mean we, changed people's lives. For about 35 minutes...then I guess their lives went back to normal, I dunno, I am not a social scientist.

So after the show everyone comes up to say how great the show was (duh!), and as it's Richmond I got a lotta friends and family there (Brothatime!! and Sistatime! were both in da house), and after awhile I hear someone shout-whispering to me from across the almost-now-empty room, and it's illWill. Still pinned in the seat, not having moved an inch since I told him to sit down. and he loudly whispers "can I go to the bathroom now?"

Poor kid had had to piss for the whole show, but was told to not move, and didn't move, not wanting to fuck anything up, to the point of almost gotdam pissing hisself. Fucking illWill. Here's to you buddy! :)

ps - neither the song or photo are from the Richmond show. Fuck it, what'm I, a fucking curator?

Hope You Had Fun (live 11_6_07) - Hayday

And fuck it, cause I like you people, here's sumpin nobody's heard - a slow jamz, Keith Sweat number for you ladies. A very serious song. Cough.

NEVER SAY GOODBYE -

Dick Jive-Talking

The Fourth Bee Gee nails it HERE:

I’m not entirely sure that Dick Cheney’s predictions on foreign policy have borne a whole lot of fruit over the last eight years in a way that have been either positive or, to the best of my recollection, very correct.

by saying what I said HERE a few months ago: who the fuck is listening?

Dick Cheney has miraculously gotten pretty much EVERY SINGLE THING WRONG during his time as vice president - a position he attained by being the guy Bush asked to find his vice president. Hmm. His worldview and foreign policy and decisions on a war he helped create out of thin air can only be described as defiantly incompetent.

So instead of rolling my eyes and thinking "what a crock of shit," maybe I should be wondering "why the fuck are these two men even on tv anymore?" I mean, for all the bloviating by people like myself over the years about how "evil" these guys are, now that they're gone it's a bit easier to realize just how flat-out incompetent they were. So why should we keep having them coming back on tv with their "expert advice" - Rove re: how the Republican Party should conduct itself, and Cheney on how to keep the country safe. As in two things these dudes were completely terrible at.

If I'm an airline pilot and commit a crucial error that results in my plane crashing yet I survive, I can understand tv shows wanting to have me on as a current events story. But I doubt I'll be asked to come back repeatedly to give advice on what airlines should be doing about airplane safety.

Meritocracy Is Funny!

Soon as I posted THIS POST, I went over to Ta-Nehisis Coates who posted THIS from Glenn Greenwald:

They should convene a panel for the next Meet the Press with Jenna Bush Hager, Luke Russert, Liz Cheney, Megan McCain and Jonah Goldberg, and they should have Chris Wallace moderate it. They can all bash affirmative action and talk about how vitally important it is that the U.S. remain a Great Meritocracy because it's really unfair for anything other than merit to determine position and employment. They can interview Lisa Murkowski, Evan Bayh, Jeb Bush, Bob Casey, Mark Pryor, Jay Rockefeller, Dan Lipinksi, and Harold Ford, Jr. about personal responsibility and the virtues of self-sufficiency. Bill Kristol, Tucker Carlson and John Podhoretz can provide moving commentary on how America is so special because all that matters is merit, not who you know or where you come from.

Haha!!!!! Greenwald then later writes

UPDATE: Just to underscore a very important, related point: all of the above-listed people are examples of America's Great Meritocracy, having achieved what they have solely on the basis of their talent, skill and hard work -- The American Way. By contrast, Sonia Sotomayor -- who grew up in a Puerto Rican family in Bronx housing projects; whose father had a third-grade education, did not speak English and died when she was 9; whose mother worked as a telephone operator and a nurse; and who then became valedictorian of her high school, summa cum laude at Princeton, a graduate of Yale Law School, and ultimately a Supreme Court Justice -- is someone who had a whole litany of unfair advantages handed to her and is the poster child for un-American, merit-less advancement.

Awesome.

Meritocracy Is a Wonderful Thing

So Meghan McCain prides herself on being a woman with a "take no shit attitude." Certainly one of the great "Cinderella" stories of our time, right? For a young lady to triumph over being born the daughter of a billionaire heiress and a Washington insider Senator who ran for President and somehow, against all odds, deciding not to take any shit from anybody is certainly something to be admired, no? Good for her. A role model for young women everywhere who are ballsy enough to be born as such. You go girl!

This reminds me of THIS post I've re-done a few times here:

1) Big Ben’s big accident yesterday reminded me that a few weeks ago Dubya met with the Steelers at the White House to congratulate them on the Super Bowl victory. Dumbass couldn’t even make it through this little playful ceremony without saying something completely inane:

About halfway through the season, some people were counting the Steelers out, Bush said.
"They said you didn't have a chance," Bush deadpanned. "I kind of know the feeling."

Cause yeah, if you’re born into an amazingly rich and powerful family, get into Yale even though you MIGHT be retarded, get handed a Major League Baseball team, have the keys to the White House while your dad is vice-president/president for 12 years, and then get handed the presidency even though you might not have actually won, I guess it’s natural to feel like the deck’s stacked against you. Poor guy.

Beautiful Girls

My boy from softball Kevin is the only other person I've met who has seen and loves Beautiful Girls, so I'm musing down memory lane HERE:

For some reason, “Beautiful Girls” is on my “if it’s on, I’m watching” list. I don’t really know why – it’s a kinda good movie. Not a great movie. Does have an unbelievable cast. And Uma Thurman plus Mira Sorvino plus Lauren Holly plus a pre-pube Natalie Portman makes it an easy movie on the eyes (sorry Rosie and Martha Plimpton.) Some wincingly bad lines, in particular most of Portman’s “old-soul musings.” And gee, a piano sit-around featuring “Sweet Caroline” so everybody can jump in on the “bum-bum-bum!”s. Great.

There is a coziness to the flick; maybe it’s the snow. I don’t know. I’ve always agreed with the big climax, the speech about beautiful girls, even if it’s over the top.

A beautiful girl can make you dizzy, like you've been drinking Jack and Coke all morning. Se can make you feel high with the single greatest commodity known to man--promise. Promise of a better day. Promise of a greater hope. Promise of a new tomorrow. This particular aura can be found in the gaze of a beautiful girl. In her smile, in her soul, how she makes every rotten little thing about life seem like it's going to be okay. The supermodels are bottled promise. A beautiful girl is all powerful, and that's as good as love.

I’ve always said, seeing a beautiful girl is a gift from god. Walking down the street and seeing a mind-blowing beautiful woman is about the best thing that can happen all day. Yes I’ve stared too long and gotten the dirty look, but I don’t mind. You'd think really hot women wouldn't even notice dudes staring at them, you'd think they'd be used/numb to it. Or maybe it's just me they don't want looking. I dunno. No, I’m not gonna run up and start hitting on her. I'm not going to follow her home. I just keep walking and smile a simple “thank you” to whoever invented beautiful women.

Think Progress

The tone of the media is important. As in you click open THIS POST and immediately think "holy crap, the secessionists in Texas are going bonkers." But then you see that 200 people were there. As in 0.000008% of the population of Texas. As in way fewer than the tens of thousands of people who I assume read ThinkProgress every day. And while it's kinda fun to read about that stuff cause it's always fun to watch and make fun of idiots, you gotta wonder why it's even news that gets presented that seriously on such a large platform. Interesting.

The Manny Tapes Final Chapter

From January 2008:

I’ve noticed that when I’m with the boy on the train, the speed of said train is in direct proportion to the boy’s behavior. If he’s sitting placidly, quietly looking around giving the ladies the goo-goo eyes which lures them into my own web of seduction, the fucking train hurtles down the track like it’s me at the Pizza Hut buffet when the meat lovers pizzas come out. Fucking a, we get to our stop so quickly I’m almost disappointed, since for once he’s quiet and not bothering anyone so I’m able to relax and take a breath. BUT. If he starts chirping, if he starts squealing and bitching or crying, well well well whaddya know, the fucking thing slows to a goddam crawl. As the passengers around me get annoyed and give me dirty looks cause the kid’s shouting, you can almost hear the train going “hhhhheeeeeeeeeey, what’s this, Xmastime in awkward situation…let’s slow this thing down, see what happens!” Fucking a. Grrrrr!

On a side note, it does actually pay to be a dude when bringing a baby on the train. If you’re the mother, people expect you to be some sort of miracle worker, juggling 4 kids on your lap while baking a soufflé and inventing Soduko – if one of those kids squeaks out one peep, everyone gets bitchy and rolls their eyes etc. But a dude, hell, everyone’s mildly surprised you’re even able to put pants on the kid before bringing him outside. When the kid starts chirpin you can put on your harangued, beleagured “oh my god im so fucked” face and everyone gives you a pass, just thankful the kid’s still fucking alive. “Poor bastard” they think “gee whiz, poor guy, look at him, doing his best. God bless him.” One for the dudes!!


















"Hahahahaaha! Xmastime, your next stop should be the boneyard, you fat stupid fuck!!!"

Getting Shitfaced Today

If you see me on the street, run away.

Soul Asylum is a Better Band Than You'll Ever Be.

Period.

I Am Going to Write a Book Just So I Can Use This for the Cover

via The Girl Who (boycott lifted)

My Cousin Vinny

I've probably seen it 25 times, yet I have never NOT laughed out loud during the scene with the stuttering defense attorney. Fucking awesome.

Carry On, I'm a Dumbass

When I was a kid one of my super-slices was Carry On, Mr. Bowditch. I must've read it five times, so you can imagine my surprise to find out over 25 years later that although the book if fiction, Bowditch was a real guy. The "Father of Maritime Navigation," he wrote The American Practical Navigator, which I have no desire whatsoever to read; but I would like to read Newton's Principia, which I vaguely remember being mentioned several times throughout Carry On, Mr. Bowditch and might've been a clue that the kid was a real person. Oh well.

I've asked to borrow Principia from my friend Helen, who said yes, as soon as I learn how to pronounce it correctly. Sigh.

Also, I'd like to one day have a use to show off and use that bit where the A and E get stuck together. What the fuck IS that?

WaPo Timing

Sully points to some dude wondering how the Washington Post can publish an article on torture on the backs of so many anonymous sources. I myself wonder about the TIMING of the article, as in who will play a drinking game with me tomorrow morning during which every time Dick Cheney says "Well, if you look at the article in the Washington Post..." equals a shot?

DAY 6

Back to .500 :(

Fucking Dominos.

Winner Winner Chicks and Dinner

Matt Yglesias links to an article yammering about feminism and how it's affected dating rules when it comes to paying for dinner. I don't really know or care what they're on about, I see things like "class relations" and "striving for relative rank" etc and my eyes glaze over, but my time with the ladies has taught me that the paying for dinner thing goes like this:

- If she makes no mention of letting her pay for the meal, or her portion, you might be getting lucky later on if you don't turn into a complete fucking idiot.

- If she mildly and politely protests, putting on the 'ol "oh let me pay for mine/some" act but doesn't actually pay, you MIGHT get lucky, but it depends on how the rest of the evening goes. Your shark material had better be en fuego.

- If she DEMANDS that she pay for her dinner, and DOES, you have just wasted $100 and will be spending the night jerking off to your old girlfriend Heather Thomas.

Seems fairly simple to me.

BREAKING NEWS: Before Today, Oasis Were Together

Fat and Depressed

I'm feeling the effects of my caloric meltdown and am depressed as hell about it. So I need something to pick me up, and I've decided that it's admirable for me to admit to you people that I am both fat and depressed. Which, as I wrote in this AMAZING DEBUT PIECE IN MY FASHION HERALD WRITING RELATIONSHIP, is something dudes don't generally do:

I've found it's hard for guys to admit publicly they're fat - I never really did it til here. We always say things like "hey hey, I'm the big guy!" or some stupid shit. But the fact is we should be saying "hey hey, I've got 7 years to live and the last person to see my dick was my mom when she was fishing around in the crotch of my Toughskins!" Big, husky, whatever, we never say we're fat. Unlike a woman, who will set their alarms earlier so they can have more time to tell everyone they see how fat they are. Is there anything better than watching two chicks whose ribs you can see trying to out-fat each other? Like watching Tito and Jermaine Jackson trying to out-brother each other. Absurd.

It's the same thing with being depressed, a dude will never come out and say "I'm depressed." Women? No problem. Well, mostly cause they all think they're 400 pounds I guess. A dude and a girl could spend the day both doing the exact same thing: laying in bed staring at the wall depressed outta their minds. Yet ask them what they did all day and you'll get two different answers.

GIRL: "Oh god, I laid in bed all day depressed out of my mind. Cried my eyes out, ate a cake, cried for a few more hours. Oh god, I'm so depressed. Oh yeah, and don't forget I'm fat."

GUY: "just some bullshit."

I feel better already. I'm amazing.

Baseball, Memories, Brothatime!

Al Lieter just told the story about him running in the outfield before a game and getting hit in the head from batting practice 400 feet away, which reminded me of THIS:

One time my brother bet me that he could hit me with a rock from all the way across the yard. About 125 feet away. Not only that, he told me, but he could hit me while I was running from one side to the other. HA! I don't recall what we bet for - maybe it's that if he hit me he'd get to go to a great college and become a success, and if I won I'd get to figure out how to get shitfaced on $3.75. Either way, seemed like a sure bet to me as I lined up across the yard in one corner. My brother found the appropriate rock, tossed it up to himself a few times, then looked at me and yelled "go!" I took off running, kinda half-trotting to be honest, prolly chuckling to myself. About a third of the way I looked up, just as he was letting loose. "What a loser" I'm thinking, running slo-mo like in Chariots of Fire. I see the rock coming, I'm thinking "ah there it is, nice try asshole." I can still to this day feel the way my neck was cocked as I was running, watching the rock sailing towards me. "Hmm" I started thinking, "this might actually be close. Ha!" Running, looking, running. "Wow," I'm lightly musing, "this is gonna be REALLY close. Hmm." Running, looking, running "Matter of fact, I might be crazy, but I think-" BAM!!!!!! Not only had this fucker hit me on a full run, he hit me right smack dab on the fucking temple. Miracle he didn't hit my eye. Twas a long walk back across the yard with his smug face waiting for me. Still can't believe it. Fucker.

Cause of Death of Guy Who Was Awesome at Clicking "Play" On His iTunes Still a Complete Mystery

The 10 Essential Steps to a Perfect Cheeseburger

Most interesting to me is him saying not to worry about "overworking the meat," something you hear ad nauseum these days. Interesting.

From Al Dente:

1. Use 6 oz. of meat per patty, no more and no less. Don't guess; weigh it.
2. Shape it with your hands into patties. Ignore the common advice about not "overworking" the meat.
3. Liberally salt (use Kosher salt) and pepper both sides. Salt is the glory of red meat; don't stint.
4. Make a deep thumbprint in the middle of each patty (it evens out the burger when it cooks, don't ask why).
5. Refrigerate the patties until you're ready to grill. You can salt and pepper well ahead if you'd like.
6. Make a HOT charcoal fire.
7. Liberally oil both your grill and the meat before you start.
8. For medium-rare, grill the meat EXACTLY 3 minutes on one side (grill lid closed) and 2 minutes on the other.
9. Add the cheese, cover each patty with a burger cover, and cook for 1 minute more.
10. Remove the meat and quickly grill the buns (the only civilized way to eat hamburger buns).

HEADS UP!

THIS EPISODE of BH 90210 is on SoapNet right now - follow along with Xmastime!!! :)

Ted Kennedy Funeral 7

The word "sexy" never shows up in eulogies, does it? Is my own funeral going to be the first time it makes an appearance?

Why Marley is My Hero/Idol/Reason for Getting Out of Bed and You're Not:

via Facebook:

Other Person: Truthfully, this type of language ("Mawkish hagiography") is why people that don't live in DC hate you.

Marley: Truthfully, if that's the peg they need to hang their hat on, I guess I have no problem with it. It's just, there are so many better reasons to hate me than my kick-ass vocabulary.

But I'm diggin' you as a workin' class hero. I hope to be able to exploit you.

Hmm. Look Who LOOOOOOOVES Socialism. Hmm. INteresting!

Hey, "Stupid" Doesn't Have a "C" Either, So Give Him a Break!

If you were to take him seriously enough to do so you could make a looooong list of Why Glenn Beck is an Idiot, though I must say until today I would not have thought of "doesn't own a dictionary." Wow.

vid via Sully.

(bonus footage - don't look now, but Michelle Malkin might be rocketing past Monica Crowley and Laura Ingraham on my "Right-Wing Nutjobs I Wanna Bang Out" list HERE. Congrats, Michelle! Keep it up!)

Ted Kennedy Funeral 6

Wouldn't it be great if the Obamas perpetuate stereotype and wail/cry/throw themselves on the floor throughout the funeral? Shouting out "Amen!!!" constantly during the eulogies? Camon, it'd be funny!!

Ted Kennedy Funeral 5

Teddy Junior. Finally some laffs and emotion. For chrissake what are we, Methodists?

Am I a bad guy for seeing Teddy's widow and thinking "hmmmm....single"?

(stalking on facebook...)

Ted Kennedy Funeral 4

Yo-Yo Ma playing the cello. How original. Wouldn't it be amazing if as a practical joke Teddy had insisted that he loved Poison, and demanded that Bret Michaels play Every Rose Has It's Thorns at his funeral? Drawn-out, super-serious 19 minute version, not a dry eye in the house. Congressmen would be so knocked out by Teddy's balls in doing this they'd finally say fuck it, we'll give him the healthcare thing.

Ted Kennedy Funeral 3

The Kennedy grandchildren. Seriously, is it genetically impossible for this family to produce a woman I'd like to bang? Wtf?

That kid's gonna get HAMMERED by the right for bringing up healthcare.

But then, I'm pretty sure this family's gettin hammered today anyway (McRimshot)

Am I high, or did the guy with the worst-fitting sportcoat ever just say "as my uncle Teddy told thousands and millions of people..." What? Thousands AND millions? What the fuck?

Okay, maybe I'd hit Rory. If she changed her fucking hair. Fucking christ. I'm not running a charity here.

Wow, Has It Realy Been a Year...

...since we first started fucking in my mind met?

Ted Kennedy Funeral 2

Is this a joke - seriously, is this priest the rabbi from Seinfeld? Putting me to sleep. For fuck's sake; if there ever was a rollicking, raucous Irish funeral with drunk motherfuckers bringing down the house, I would think this would be the one. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Ted Kennedy Funeral

I didn't realize it until the priest said it, but Jean Kennedy is the last kid of that generation. That'd be pretty cool, right? Outlasting everyone out of 9 kids? Especially when they're rich!!

Also, I just calculated the average age the boys/girls lived to (if Jean dropped dead today) (god forbid):

Dudes: 48.5
Chicks: 73

The girls outlasted the guys by a quarter century!! And that includes Kick, who was killed at 28. All the others made it into their 80s. Wow.

I can't really say I'd do any of them. Good looking dudes, not hot chicks. Yeesh. Nature's greatest practical joke!

The Manny Tapes Final Chapter

We'll always be intertwined because of one thing: Vodka or Juice?

WXMAS

Every radio station east of the Mississippi begins it's call letters with a W.

Does anyone know why they chose the only letter in the alphabet that has more than one syllable? Seems counter-intuitive, doesn't it? Why would you choose the one letter with the HIGHEST chance of stumbling on when saying it into a microphone? Interesting.

More Ellie Greenwich

Earlier today HERE I mentioned Ellie Greenwich's songs being an influence on Bruce (in particular the operatic, over-blown teen epic Leader of the Pack, a virtual "Born to Run for Dummies"), which Backstreets also now writes:

Springsteen often covered "Then (S)he Kissed Me" during the Born to Run tour, and the Born to Run album is very much a descendant of the music that Greenwich helped to make, both emotionally and musically.

I'm both surprised and pleased with the attention her death has gotten. Though it's not realistic to use the over-dramatic "We should've written these things when she was alive!" clichés, it's nice to see her recognized as she deserves to be.

Cano Walkoff

From Peter Abraham:

Robinson Cano got a slider and he obviously crushed it. He also knew his numbers with RISP. “I try not to think about it in the game,” he said. “But I know. Some of it is bad luck but it seems like I hit better if somebody is on first or nobody is on. I don’t know why.”

I knew he has been atrocious with RISP, but the "I hit better if somebody is on first" bit strikes me as strange. Is it possible that this is because, as a left-handed batter, he doesn't see a runner on first as well as he would on second or third, and therein he isn't as affected/thrown off and is more comfortable in the box? Or am I crazy? Wtf? Has anyone heard of such a thing before?

Peanuts in Space

I was just reading about Scott Carpenter's orbital flight (2nd behind Glenn) and then I stumbled upon him getting the ultimate compliment: referenced in Peanuts!

Story HERE:

“Peanuts” and the Mercury capsule rescue

Today’s rerun Peanuts comic strip has Linus celebrating because his security blanket - lost when sister Lucy made it into a kite that got away and floated out over the ocean - was rescued by the Air Rescue Service. It concludes with a punch line that will baffle 95 percent of readers: Charlie Brown says “That Air Rescue Service is right on the ball” and Linus answers: “I’ll say. Lieutenant Commander Carpenter and MY blanket, both within five weeks!”

Those of us old enough to have been around when these Peanuts comics first came out will realize that this is a reference to the Mercury capsule that sank missed its landing target in the Pacific Ocean by hundreds of miles, forcing a rescue missue and tainting the career of Scott Carpenter, one of the original seven astronauts. Here’s NASA’s description.

This also lets us date the strip, since the splash-down occurred May 24, 1962. I was seven when it came out; boy, I sure loved Peanuts back then.

I still do! :)

Whoever Will Click the "Play" Button on iTunes Now? :(

Joe Strummer Week

The Manny Tapes Final Chapter

Guest Blogger: MANNY AND THE SHORT BUS

Every morning when he walks in the door, The Manny makes a big deal he's there, with a whole song and dance routine. He acts like some sort of singing clown; "hiya buddy, looks who's here!! I'm here!!"

Yeah, no shit you're here, I can see you. Unlike you when you're more than 6 inches away from the tv and desperately trying to read today's episode description for BH 90210, I'm not fucking blind. Which is ironic, since when you walk in the room, all light disappears. And you're here every day, quit acting like it's such a fucking surprise. If I wanna be surprised by a fat fuck who can't drive a car, I'll build a chimney. Jesus christ. Does this dude have the memory of a goldfish? (which, by the way, he eats by the bag carton room.)

National Healthcare

I am not good at being succinct, so I've prolly used up a million words here basically trying to say that it's one thing if we CAN'T do national healthcare - if the numbers came back and some dude in rolled-up sleeves and a visor, grease pencil tucked behind ear says "sorry, we can't do it," well, what can you do. But it's a very odd thing that there are so many people that don't WANT it done. Strange to me. It's one thing for a father to say he can't afford a new bike for his kid; it's an odd thing if the kid says he doesn't want it even if he could. Ah well. People are funny. And "odd" is a word I keep going back to when I think of people not wanting universal healthcare for the country.

Grrrr.

Trying to be funny can be very frustrating - sometimes you hafta choose between a joke that is more clever/esoteric for the 5% that will get it, and when they get it it will be laugh-out-loud funny, but leaving the other 95% shrugging their shoulders; and using a less-clever joke everyone WILL get, but it won't hit as hard. For instance, on THIS POST I wanted to use Teddy Who? instead of the headline I did use. But after a few minutes of agonizing I wasn't sure enough people would get the tone of it, so I went with the spell-it-out headline instead. Which everyone would get, but it would be about 10% as funny. And now I'm pissed cause I should've gone with that one. But I didn't. Fuck.

Fung Wah!

People used to make of me for going Greyhound to DC or Richmond instead of flying. Then I started taking the Chinatown bus, and they REALLY started making fun of me.

But I stand by the fucking bus - door to door it's almost as fast if not as fast as flying, at a fraction of the cost and a millionth of the hassle. Show up, board, rolling.

And this dude at the Post is blowing it up (for the most part):

The appeal is prodigious. The buses are cheap, convenient, well kitted-out and eco-approved. They are relatively hassle-free, especially because someone else is stuck navigating traffic. Baggage rules are more lax than on other forms of transportation, and there are no sneaky taxes or rules against carrying liquids, unless they have alcohol content.

Of course, my own appreciation for a bus ride is based solely on whether or not I hafta sit next to someone; the pleasure factor goes from about 90% to 20%. Let's see what I've said here throughout the years on the subject:

Speaking of the Chinese, as usual I took the Chinatown bus down. I don’t know what it is they’re cooking up but I’m telling you, these people are up to something. I’m surrounded by them on their cell phones, screaming “ACH TUNG DOW!! TUNG DOW CHU CHU TUNG FOO DAH!!!!!!!” Jesus. A violent sounding language. MAYBE they’re saying “Plesse pick me up at the appropriate bus depot upon my arrival, say hello to Grandmama.” But they might also be saying “Damn right we’re blowing this shit up, starting with this fucking bus and Yellowstone. Free MY big swingin Tibet, Niggaaaaaazzz!!”

I actually heard a Chinese girl behind me finish a sentence with “ding ding ding!” Ding ding ding? Are you kidding me? I turned around, I thought maybe I had won a prize. It’s tough to be intimidated by a people who actually say “ding ding ding.” Is there an English equivalent of using the same word three straight times in a sentence? MAYBE when me and Op go out looking to get up in some tongety-tong tongs, but that’s about it. And he’s married, which surely the Chinese already know. Hmm. Velly intresting.

It’s the same thing if you go Greyhound – whenever I ride from NYC to DC, as we get near the Baltimore Travel Plaza the driver will ask if we wanna push through, or take a break. You can guess what the vote is. So he’ll say “okay, be back on the bus in 30 minutes.” I’m fuming cause we’re only an hour away, but these jackasses wanna stop for half a fucking hour. And then you know me – I think I have to be an Olympic sprinter, or I’ll be watching the bus pulling away. But I’m maybe starving, so I get off the bus, and it goes like this: SPRINT to Sbarro oh god, 3 people in line will take forever no time SPRINT to KFC fucking hell no time no time SPRINT to the vending machine and in a total panic buy purchase some Combos, of which I’m better off chewing on the back of the bus seat in front of me, SPRINT back to the bus and quickly find my seat, throw myself down in drenched in sweat and check the time and we only have…28 minutes left. Jesus Christ. But of course 30 minutes isn’t enough for these people, and it’s apparently against the laws of mechanical engineering for this bus to start moving again unless we’ve spent an extra 15 minutes waiting for people to wander back onto the bus, in absolutely no hurry at all. I’m clutching my fucking bag of Combos, keeping them in my jacket pocket so it doesn’t take up any space on the bus, and these people come back on the bus with three course meals fucking spread out. Buckets of greasy chicken, baked ziti in tin pans, unbelievable. NO hurry to get where we’re going. Same thing with class, these people are in NO hurry to get the fuck home.

And how much must it have sucked to be Peter Criss and walk in the day the band decides on who’s gonna be what character, and it’s like oh, great…I’m a kitten. Thanks, guys. Demon Spawn, Rock Star, Rocker Space Child, and Nermal. What the fuck. This reminds me of a few weeks after 9/11 when that bus outside of Nashville was attacked by a terrorist and a few people got killed. How’d that guy feel on Terrorist Academy Graduation Day when their assignments were given?

“Wow!! I’m gonna fly a huge jet into the World Trade Center! YES!”
“Me too!! Fuckin awesome! (high five)”
“I got the Pentagon! This is awesome!! What about you, Assid?”
“What the…Greyhound Bus?...where the fuck is Nashville? A bus??!! Oh, MAN! This is total bullshit!!!!!!”

Mostly, there's my love-dance with a pretty girl, memorialized here (after Sistatime!'s Grasserole of course)

Viva la Bus Fung Wah!!!!!!

GRASSEROLE! -

Teddy Kennedy Just Got Wiped Off the Front Page

Thoughts

On the train home tonight I wondered what would go through my head if I realized I was about to die. I figure I'd think the same thing anyone else would as the big sleep starts slowly closing my eyelids: "Well. This is quite a fucking surprise."

DAY 5

I'm McLoving counting calories!! :)

Cheney My BFF

Hey, for once I agree with Cheney; Sundays are fucking torture, as I mention HERE and HERE.

My Muff Diver Slice

Mr. Degeneres. Dang.

HEY CHARLIE- You Missed One

Ah, those Healthcare reform Town hall Meetings are fun to watch, aren't they?

One anti-reform Vietnam veteran also responded, “Why the hell should I care where Iraq is?”

Morality

I've written many times about the pointlessness (is that a word?) of using morality to convince people torture is wrong; morality is something that can't really be measured or debated in a serious manner. And I find it pointless in the healthcare debate also - while I think we have a moral obligation to have healthcare for everybody, I view it a fool's errand to use it to convince someone to change their thinking on the subject. It'd be like THEM asking ME "WWJD?" As histrionically emotional as I can get sometimes, I do recognize how pointless it is.

So I would think the argument would be more fact-loaded re: how a public option would SAVE us money, create jobs etc; but, just as pointing out that torture not only doesn't work but is in fact COUNTER-productive, these are not the times where people can be swayed with such things as actual information once they've dug in. Probably myself included (though I hope not.)

But it IS curious that even a left-wing dreaming pinko faggot commie like myself has so quickly resigned himself to the thinking that advocating morality is useless in such debates. It's funny to have to try to convince somebody of something while knowing how willing they are to spring into action for things like flags and Jesus in lieu of facts, logic, or reason, and yet not moved by the morality a situation might confront. Fascinating.

Just Got a Laugh

from my Office Crush!! (smashing my BREAK GLASS IN CASE OF EMERGENCY Canoe Cologne box on the wall by my desk)

The Truth Hurtz

Via Sully:

"People love honesty, but they hate the truth."

I like this line, in as much as it also applies to these people living under some pipe dream that someday, if they vote in the right people, taxes will virtually disappear. If you want to be part of a society, and a country, grow the fuck up and instead of dreaming simply about lower taxes, start demanding they be better used. Instead of being an idiot and waving the flag when they use your taxes to pay Blackwater to fight a war that is a waste of time and money, demand they be used to better your commute, or for some sort of community program so your kid doesn't learn how to give blowjobs for money after school. Whatever, anything. Look at your paycheck today - your taxes will never be lower than at this moment. Ever. Even if you vote in George W. Reagan Limbaugh IV, they're still taking your money. And yet we have made it so that politicians hafta speak to us as if we're children, gently cooing in our ears that of course they're gonna lower taxes, even though they know they aren't. And WE know it too, but we demand to be coddled like babies, and in return screw ourselves over. Ergo, the quote from above. While in theory giving less of it sounds good, in reality making that the be-all end-all of your idea of politics and government makes you a politician's best friend: the fool that asks or expects nothing in exchange for the money's he's given away, all while bemoaning how incompetent Washington is. It's the equivalent of your parents telling you they're "disappointed in you" instead of giving you an ass-whoopin, allowing you to slink away unscathed "really? that's it? awesome!"


ps - of course that could change tomorrow if I win the lottery. as Sir Charles once said, "My family got all over me because they said Bush is only for the rich people. Then I reminded them, 'Hey, I'm rich'." ;)

It's Official: Stupid IS Contagious.

Ellie Greenwich Obit

I mentioned Ellie Greenwich dying HERE; her obituary in the New York Times is worth reading.

In 1964 alone, 17 singles by Ms. Greenwich and Mr. Barry landed on the pop charts, according to “Always Magic in the Air,” a 2005 book by Ken Emerson about the Brill Building days.

And I had forgotten Leader of the Pack, which obviously influenced anything Steinman/Springsteenish. Fucking christ.

Joe Gone Wild

Hey, maybe she deserved it? You never know with these smoking hot bitches; one time I punched a hot girl cause she wouldn't let me cum on her face.* "My jizz or my fist, baby."

But my real point is...Joe Francis was able to run away? Really? Isn't Brody Jenner 24 years old...AND THE SON OF AN OLYMPIC DECATHLON GOLD MEDALIST? All these pictures of him on the beach with his "perfect body," and he can't run down a 36 year-old man who's main exercise seems to be telling teenage girls to lift their shits up? Really?


* I'm lying; of COURSE she let me blow all over her face.

I Implore You to Boycott

The Girl Who. She's an anti-gout-ite!!!!!! Haven't we come too far for too long to put up with this? HAVEN'T WE ALREADY BEEN THROUGH ENOUGH?? And now we hafta endure this? Oh HELL no!! We are not animals, for god's sake.

Jerry: So you won't believe what happened with Whatley today. It got back to him that I made this little dentist joke and he got all offended. Those people can be so touchy.
Kramer: "Those people," listen to yourself.
Jerry: What?
Kramer: You think that dentists are so different from me and you? They came to this country just like everybody else, in search of a dream.
Jerry: Kramer, he's just a dentist.
Kramer: Yeah, and you're an anti-dentite.
Jerry: I am not an anti-dentite!
Kramer: You're a rabid anti-dentite! Oh, it starts with a few jokes and some slurs. "Hey, denty!" Next thing you know you're saying they should have their own schools.
Jerry: They do have their own schools!

McShitting

Speaking of the shitter, one time I was taking a dump at a McDonald’s in Richmond and some old black dude came shuffling up to the door of my stall and said “Let me suck it.”

Hmm, I remember thinking, I am not McLovin’ this.

Corporate Shitter

I've spoken here before about the absurdity of how intensely dudes wash their hands after merely pissing, scrubbing their hands for 5 minutes as though they had just handled nuclear waste. Which is something I think women might wanna think about next time they're about to let a guy stick his dick in her. Fucking christ.

The Manny Tapes Final Chapter

As next week is my last one as a Manny, I feel like I should revisit a "Manny Tape" episode each day. Here's one from September 17, 2008:

Whenever I call to The Short Bus for him to "come here" he eventually makes it to me, but it takes about eight tries. Not just of me calling, but him coming. He'll come running, get about 3 feet from me, and then turn around and go back to where he was, at which time I call again. This time he'll come about 6 inches closer, then take off again. Repeat, repeat etc; he's like a buzzard circling, getting closer each time. I don't know if this is a sign of OCD, or if when I say "come here" what he actually hears is "Hey, this is probably a good time to knock out a coupla shuttle runs." Weird.








"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Hey, maybe that's what you should do during one of your MANY buffet runs, you fat bitch!!!"

Freshman Year Inverse (for Cool Pops)

The Best Picture of Me Since Freshman ID Photo?

Mad Men

The House Next Door:

The push-pull over the Patio ad campaign is a reminder that this show could very easily be the best workplace drama on TV if it really wanted to. It’s just interested in different things.

The writer of this post seems pleased that it's "just interested in different thing;" as I've been saying for two years now, I want more machiavellian office shit to watch.

My problem with Mad Men is I don't care about any of the shit outside of the office. I like it in the office - the dealings, the shadiness, the snapping etc. Plus, it lends itself best to the colors and decor that we like to look at re: the 1960s.

I don't care about the wives, the homes, whatever. Yes, I know they're supposed to be a way of showing us more of the main characters' depth etc, but who cares. Just gimme office scenes! Plus, it seems like all these ancillary characters are just reasons to show different types of neuroses. Gee, housewives get bored? REEEEEEEEEEEALLY???!!?!! You can't just have a normal housewife; no, it's gotta be housewife who does things like inexplicably breaking a dining room table in the middle of the day. Camon.

MORE OFFICE STUFF!!

1995

February: Broke up with college girlfriend, kicking off my greatest pussy run to date. "Man, it's ALWAYS gonna be like this!!" I remember thinking.
March: Sistatime! came from her high school (she was a senior) to visit. First time I had ever drunk beer with Sistatime! And by "drunk beer with Sistatime!" I mean bought her beer and then sat through a pledge trying to tell me he "liked her." Grrr.
April: bought first computer (on the very day I met Eric Craft), was one of only two people I knew were online: me and RRTHUR. 2400 bps modem; could upload about 2 paragraphs an hour, which would blow you away like it was landing on the fucking moon.
April: hooked up with a girl who as I was about to "kick things up a notch" told me she had a boyfriend; to which I replied "yeah well, he ain't here, now is he?" NAILed it! And then her!
April: saw the Ramones for the last time, they played at my college and thanks to jennie fennell I got to hang out with them. I'm sure they were as thrilled as I was.
May: last time I ever saw my girlfriend, she was going home to Richmond, we starting making out. I told her she could only stay over if I got laid. She left.
May: Graduation Day!
May: Graduation Day + 1: the great pussy run ended. Going from BMOC to townie was harsh. They should warn people about this shit, there should be a fucking class about this....was I not at a pretend college, godammit??!?!??!.
August: went to Brooklyn to record the greatest ep of all time, changing music - nay, art, NAY - life as a whole. Did it in three hours, including teaching everybody the songs and 2 extra outtakes. AND probably broke for lunch.
August: got the best blowjob of my life cause RRTHUR left me alone, wasted, at the Halloween Bar with a "young lady" pouring beer down my throat with a hose so I'd fuck her. 300 pounds, yes (her, not me - it was 1995!); but still the best blowjob I've ever gotten. I guess she really HAD become great at putting stuff in her mouth.
Next Morning: woke up, had covered both her and her bed with urine. Snuck out to head back to RRTHUR's apartment, thinking hey, this is Brooklyn, she'll never find me, opened her door...it was right across from Rrthur's apartment. Christ.
August: Moved to Oxford, Mississippi. Yikes. First meal was at The Beacon, where the napkins are deep-fried.
October: bought my Telecaster in Memphis. $900. Hmm. That's paid for itself.
October: started a "band" with Rylo, which consisted of him tuning for 20 minutes, then yelling at me for 20 minutes, then him storming out. But we did crush Stagger Lee, 20 Flight Rock, You Can't Do That and Do Anything You Wanna Do. All, for some reason, in my nightshirt a la Charles Ingalls that my Aunt Pat had sent me. Hmm.
November: had THIS Thanksgiving. I promise you: this is on tape, and I will find it.
December: got my first real job after college, doing graphic design at Sir Speedy, a career field 1) I didn't really know existed and 2) neither did anybody else. But I called from the British pay phone on the Square, convinced him I had a Mac (a Proforma 475!) and was brilliant. Then I got stuck in a huge snowstorm in Virgina for 2 weeks. I do remember the last song I heard somewhere between Knoxville and Nashville before I stopped late night at a diner and called home on a pay phone to say I had gotten a job: PS I Love You. Slice.

Footnotes

I'm often fascinated by uber-footnotes in history; either in pictures (ie. who's the woman in the picture they always show kneeling over the body at Kent State?) or otherwise (ie Raymond Jones - to quote Wikipedia: The Beatles had recorded the 'My Bonnie' single with Tony Sheridan in Germany...Epstein's version of the story was that a customer—Raymond Jones—walked into the NEMS shop and asked Epstein for the "My Bonnie" single, which made Epstein curious about the group.") Who are these people? Has anyone ever interviewed them? That should be a whole book, interviews with these footnote people. There's millions of 'em.

Who's this guy, the kid who's in the famous RFK assassination photo? Cause it looks like the kid who played the young Henry Hill in Goodfellas. Hmm.

Is There a Call Girl Service Called Flesh Direct Or Did I Just invent It?

Roseanne (in checkout line): "Hey, look at what this guy is buying. Vodka, malomars, and a TV Guide. I’m guessing, single and staying that way."

I've always loved grocery shopping. The miles of food surrounding you, the colors, the choices, the piling it all into a cart, your own little world of food in a moving vehicle. There's probably something you could say here like "you can tell a lot about a person frmo what's in their shopping cart," but I don't give a shit about anyone else. I always liked mine.

When I was in college I started doing this thing where I would go to Harris Teeter and completely stuff the cart full of stuff. Complete shit I would drool over - all the frozen shit you're not supposed to eat, piles of biscuits, enough ground beef to make the cart sag with a groan. And then when I couldn't lay anything else on top...I would walk out. Leave. A dick thing to do, somebody had to eventually come put the shit back. I don't really know what possessed me to to it. I literally felt as if pulled by some force. "Okay. You're done. Great job. Ooooh, cameltoe, 9 o'clock! Leave."

So Fresh Direct is perfect for me - I can do all my fantasy shopping, get to the very end, get ready to "pay," and then...goodbye. Click. Gone. I shop as if money is no object, I have a a warehouse for a fridge and people to share it all with. Or as if I think a nuclear bomb will hit us in two days and I'm in my fallout shelter.

Now, for all I know there's some dude monitoring this shit online as it's happening, and he's rubbing his paws together, ecstatic about the "Big Fish" he's reeling in. Maybe there is, maybe there isn't I don't know. But it's my slice.

To the right are Tonight's Picks. $15K? Not bad. I've done better.