December 31, 2008
The thing about my wife is …
She doesn’t like it when I wake her up in the middle of the night to croak “oil can” like a heavily-medicated Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz. Say perhaps, that just at that moment, I had a stroke and a heart attack … and the only words that I could get out were “oil can”, which I thought were symbolic enough for her to realize that I’ve had two incredibly unlikely-for-my-age major health issues at the same time.
I COULD HAVE DIED.
Insensitive, I tell ya’.
December 28, 2008
I quit smoking 153 days ago. Yes, I’m still counting it out by single days. No, I didn’t just calculate that number; I’ve been tracking it every day. It would be kind of poseurish to do that just for this piece, wouldn’t it? In any event, I’m still miserable. Absolutely, 100%, bay at the goddamn moon miserable. I hate it. So I maintain that I should be allowed to smoke. The isn’t even the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my Irrational Needs Wishlist, but it’s top of mind at the moment so we’ll start here.
Now, technically, I’m allowed to smoke cigarettes presently. I’m over the age of eighteen. I’m not an inmate in a correctional facility. I don’t live in an airless vacuum. Despite these qualifying factors, there are things keeping me from doing so. These things must be eliminated.
The Rules
Criteria #1: Must be able to tell my children not to smoke without destroying my own credibility.
I’ve got a few ideas here. The first, and most simple, option is brainwashing. No, no, I know what you’re going to say: you shouldn’t brainwash your kids. I maintain that it’s perfectly acceptable in this situation because my intentions are noble. I just want the kids to never smoke. It’s not like I want them to become child stars or birth cellar-babies to sacrifice to Satan or anything. Lighten the fuck up; my heart’s in the right place and absolutely no one will be moving to Jonestown.
Plenty of people brainwash their children into believing in Jesus or the [frankly more credible] Easter Bunny. It’s not like I’m telling them stories about the invisible man in the sky who wants you to hate people because they consider cows sacred. It’s that I want them to live long lives. Perhaps they’ll find reasons to want to that I never could. I hope so.
My heart’s in the right place.
Ok, I can see that it’s going to be difficult to sell that one.
How about hiding and lying? Before you immediately discard this one, consider that it’s a strategy that has worked for countless people over time from Pilate to Liberace to Clay Aiken; nobody saw through any of those people’s lies. I’ll be fine.
So I’ll smoke for the remainder of my life, perhaps as many as twenty whole years, and just refuse to admit that I’m a smoker. I’ll pretend that I work in an opium den to explain away the smoke smell. Fuck, that’s bad. OK, ok. I work in a casino. We’ll still have casinos in twenty years, right? The ban on fun isn’t allowed to take effect until I die.
My heart’s in the right place.
Still not perfect.
Let’s come back to this one.
Criteria #2: Must be able to maintain reasonable level of health
My definition of “reasonable level of health” doesn’t include living past 60. So, for my own sake anyway, cancer risk isn’t necessarily a big deal. I feel like people shouldn’t really live past the point at which they can no longer fuck without assistance. Or, I should say, the point at which anyone should want to fuck without assistance. I mean really, at eighty, with giant saggy balls that swing to your ankles … the only thing you should want to do is buy a shovel and start digging. Sex should be the last thing on your mind. Really. Pack in it, you’ve already seen every single episode of the Golden Girls.
No, I’m looking to make it through a winter without bronchitis. This is really my definition. I wouldn’t mind death so much, but feeling like you’re going to die just blows. I’m not interested in that. I’ve had bronchitis between four and eight times each winter for the last ten years; it’s gotten kind of old. I’ve enjoyed not being sick so far this winter. I want to keep that.
The persistent cough will also have to continue to stay hidden. I’ve enjoyed not having that. Perhaps someone can invent smokeless smoking. Don’t even suggest any form of chewing/oral tobacco. This is not what I mean. Dip, snuff, chaw, etc. are to be used only by people that have sex with their sisters. It’s in the Constitution. Look it up if you don’t believe me; article II, section III, passages orange through purple calico.
Criteria #3: Must maintain present tobacco budget
My present tobacco budget is approximately zero dollars per week. I’m going to have to stay at just about the same place. It’s not that I don’t have the money; it’s that it seems silly to spend it on cigarettes when there are perfectly good opportunities to buy lap dances from midgets with prosthetic legs that I’d have to pass up on.
Should I leave them out in the cold?
In this economy?
Clearly, I can’t. That’s just fucking heartless, B. How could I possibly live with myself?
So, if I have to keep it up with the midget whores, and we’ve demonstrated that I do, what else could I cancel out? Eating? What am I, a meth addict? That’s never going to work. The longest that I’ve ever gone without eating was four weeks, and that was only because I’d just seen Kathy Bates naked in About Schmidt. Fucking movie. And let’s face it, it made me really hard to deal with. Wasn’t fair to anyone.
So yeah, I’m going to have to steal them or accept a Big Tobacco sponsor on my blog. So Phillip Morris, you’re giving them to me for free anyway – shouldn’t we throw up a banner?
Choices
I’ve laid out a few of the ways that I could go with this, but I think that the path I should take is pretty clear at this point.
First, I have to figure out a way to cure cancer. This will ensure that my kids will be ok, even if I do destroy my credibility and they follow my shamefully bad example. I’m going to start work on this tomorrow. Sean Connery has led me to believe that it has something to do with fire ants. I’ll start there.
Secondly, I need to fit myself with hot-swappable lungs. Perhaps I’ll invent the first artificial lungs that plug into a USB.
Thirdly, for the sake of the crippled midget meth addicts, I’ll be stealing all my smokes from now on. Sorry Big Tobacco, it’s time to think about the [really] little guy.
That was uncalled for.
Conclusions
Ultimately, I’m not a scientist and even if I were … I’d be a really bad one because I’m lazy. So these things won’t work. I guess I’ll just have to agree to quit not quitting and admit that maybe there’s something in me worth saving yet.
I’m probably wrong, but what does a bit more misery hurt?
November 28, 2008
So I’m pissed off and I have no one to blame but myself. If I had any foresight at all, and I like to think that I do, I would’ve seen this coming. But I’ll back up to the beginning …
I was at Walmart two weeks ago. I was buying four new tires for my car, and as much as I hate Walmart their tires are quite inexpensive. Anyway, four new tires would take a while at any place, but at Walmart it takes forever. My estimated wait time was four hours. So, I thought, no big deal; I’ve been trying to make my way through this massive “books you should read” list and I was about to begin Frankenstein. I would read that. Well … I really disliked it. Thirty minutes in, I was banging my head against the wall in the waiting room imagining three and a half more hours of that.
A devastatingly simple solution eventually came to mind; I would go check out the Walmart book section. It can’t totally suck. Right? There’s got to be something there for a person that considers themself literate. Not. so. much. I don’t know why I didn’t realize this in advance, but their book selection is really piss-poor. Your choices are basically: romance novels, Clive Cussler novels, The Secret (yaaay), the sanitized Walmart top sellers list, and picture Bibles. As much as I love drawings of Noah and his magical mystery ark of fantasy, I was unimpressed and depressed. How the hell was I going to make it through 210 more minutes of this. How? I can only play the Guitar Hero demo for so long before the store employees begin to become suspicious of the guy rocking out with a circle of kids around him (happened twice already - yeah, I’m almost 30). How was I going to get through this?
Then, I saw a book out of the corner of my eye that made me turn my head. It was a book that I’ve heard of. To this point, nothing that I’d heard didn’t make me want to make fun of it. I couldn’t read that crap. I like literature written by important people rather than trash. As an aside, I’m kind of a douche. Anyway, back to the story … so, my sense of fairness kicked in, aided perhaps by my desperation, and I thought “I really shouldn’t make fun of this if I’ve never even read it - maybe I could read it today for three hours while I’m stuck here anyway and I’ll feel better about taking shots at it.”
This is how I came to purchase Twilight by Stephenie Meyer.
I understand if you never listen to anything that I ever say again.
I may join you.
So here’s the thing: I liked it. I’m as shocked as you are. This comes with provisos, of course. It’s no great literature; this is not a book that fourteen year olds will be forced into reading by an overzealous English teacher three hundred years from now. It just isn’t. But … it’s entertaining.
As I read through Twilight, I thought: “OK. Vampires are real. They’re really hot. They like to drive fast. I get it. I’m intrigued for some reason.” Then I realized that I had finished the book … in less than 24 hours. I had devoured it; doing little else aside from sleeping from the point I picked it up to when I put it back down.
So I had decisions to make. Should I read the next one? Twilight is the first of a four book ’saga’ - ick. Should I tell anyone that I read it? Let’s take the second one first. Upon finding out that I was reading it, my wife made fun of me non-stop for approximately a week. Let’s examine that. I was ridiculed by a woman that reads Dean Koontz books. Koontz actually writes with a crayon and his ‘novels’ are printed on construction paper. Was I really looking to admit publicly that I’d read it? Not hardly.
Would I read the next one? I decided that I was intrigued enough by the first one to justify reading the second one, as long as I didn’t tell anyone that I was doing it. Yes, I’m quite secure. Thanks. So I went to an actual bookstore (Barnes & Noble) to buy it and discovered that they only had it in hard cover. So I thought … is this worth nearly $20 to me? Ultimately, and I don’t get it either, I decided that it was.
So I read New Moon and enjoyed it for the most part. OK, so now there are werewolves. They’re huge. They bay at the moon, run temperatures of 108 all the time, yadda yadda yadda. Look, I’m not proud of it, but all of these things I can buy. For the most part I enjoyed New Moon. Not the best thing ever, but it did present a problem. Would I buy the third book?
So let’s review before I answer that question. Basically, I’ve spent several days and more money than I’d like reading semi-trashy watered down supernatural romance fiction written for teenage girls that either a) are stupid or b) cut themselves. I’m feeling really really fucking cool. Right, but back to the decision surrounding Eclipse.
So I bought it, and the final book Breaking Dawn, in hard cover no less. This has done wonders for my self-esteem. Eclipse continues the love triangle between the werewolf, the vampire, and the girl who can’t get out of her own way. It’s good. I hate to say it, but it is. Meyer draws overhanded, almost omnipresent, fucking constant even, comparisons to Wuthering Heights and … I can see it. Kind of. Love triangle. People that are bad for and to one another. Two of them are supernatural figments of your fucking imagination. Wait … what? So anyway, yeah. I moved onto the final book happy that I’d soon be done and back onto things that I wouldn’t mind admitting I’d read.
Breaking Dawn is the name of the final book rather than a German bondage flick. I mention this so that you know too. It opens as the wedding of the girl and the vampire approaches. Because you know, in post-9/11 America it’s so easy to get fake ids good enough to pull off an entire fake life like the Cullen [vampire] family does. Anyway.
Right now, I’m 200 pages in and I’m not sure that I’m going to finish. I’m fairly annoyed. Yes, I’m already 2000 pages or so (in less than two weeks - I’m so cool) into the Twilight Saga and I may put it down and never finish it. Why?
As I’m sure this essay shows to this point, I’ve treated this like ridiculous, fun, “summer” reading [if you will] that always teetered on but never really crossed the absurdity boundary. Obviously, I don’t believe in vampires and werewolves. But they’re common enough in legend and popular culture that I can accept their presence in a fantastical story with clearly-defined rules that aren’t too absurd. I am only human after all. If, for instance, the Cullen family could all turn into bats all of the sudden it would piss me off.
Which brings me to the thing I’m upset about. All of a sudden, like 150 or so pages into the fourth book of the ’saga’, Meyer tells us that Bella (dumbass girl) is pregnant with a fucking vampire succubus that is eating her alive from the inside. I’m so disgusted that I had to read that, let alone type it, let alone tell you all about it. Fucking a. This was not in the rules. This was never mentioned. It was never close to possible. What the fuck? I mean, I could buy it if they had sex the first time and it killed her because he had a massively strong vampire dick or something like that. Hell, I could even understand if having sex with him gave her some kind of vampire ovary junk disease or something where her fucking fingers fell off. But a demon baby eating it’s way out? What the shit?
So that’s why I’m pissed; both at Meyer and myself. And this is why I don’t think I’ll ever finish despite the time and money that I’ve put into it.
Who the fuck am I kidding? I’m off to read this crap right now. Disgusting idiot I am.
October 2, 2008
So it’s been a while. What’s it to you? Of course, I’m being sarcastic, both of you are very important to me. I’ve been busy. OK?
Few thoughts on Sarah Palin:
I promised not to ramble on about anti-intellectualism, so I’m cutting this off here.
I’d weep for the world, if it weren’t all so funny.
June 25, 2008
So Don Imus is at it again. I know that you’re probably all as shocked as I am. Who would’ve thought that a racist would make racist comments again? It’s especially troubling because of the severe punishment that he received last time. What happened again? He lost his job, got his contract paid out in full, and then got another contract after having six months to dodder around his ‘cancer ranch.’ Most people would’ve learned their lesson.
You may remember that the last time he referred to the women of the Rutgers basketball team as ‘nappy-headed hoes’. This time he attributed Pacman Jones’ six arrests since being drafted to his being African-American.
I’m beginning to think that Imus has made a deal with Al Sharpton. Imus will keep saying dumb shit and Sharpton will keep attacking him for it. Classic dog and pony show. Doesn’t that make a lot more sense than thinking that Imus is just the world’s largest fucking idiot?
Pacman Jones has been out speaking with the media. He’s like the bad kid who’s just happy that his sister finally did something wrong. It’s like “see mom, I may have set the cat on fire but Beatrice is pregnant.”
Imus’ latest punishment? Jones has said that Imus “will be in his prayers.” Good Christ! How depressing does that have to be? I’m in Pacman’s prayers? Oh man! I’m a fuckup. Didn’t he just shoot a guy? Didn’t he bash a stripper’s face into the stage because she picked up money that he’d thrown into the air too quickly? Clearly Imus is a bad guy, but Pacman’s prayers? You have to be in some rough shape to find your way into Pacman’s prayers. The man who has been arrested six times in the last few years feels the need to intercede with his creator on your behalf. Think about that shit. Amy Winehouse should be in Pacman’s prayers. Trust me, she’s going to need all the help she can get. I heard a rumor last week that she singed her eyebrows off trying to freebase a bible.
June 19, 2008
The English language is a funny thing. It’s beautiful, odd, and nuanced. Many things play a factor from the order in which you place the words to inflection to a variety of other things as well. Here are a few phrases that amuse me.
1. “I don’t have to defend myself to you.”
This amuses me for the simple fact that it’s entirely useless. Big waste of time. Why? Because this statement is always followed by the speaker defending themselves. Every. Single. Time. If you’d like to prove yourself to be the Mario Lopez of English speech, please use this phrase. Some day when I rule the world, all wastes of time will be outlawed and this phrase will go out with the rest.
2. “Mama didn’t raise no fools.”
No really, you’re an idiot. You’ve proven yourself wrong by your choice of words. Trust me; Word has spelling and grammar checking so I know these things. Honestly, what is this? Is it some desire to be folksy-clever? I don’t get it. Please don’t use it in my presence. I really don’t enjoy verbally bitch-slapping people, but I have no choice. It’s in my contract, if you will.
3. “Fuck me” or “Fuck me in the ass”
Is that an invitation? Could I be arrested if I take that literally? I’m speaking of the frustrated exclamation variants of these phrases. Quite obviously, “ohhh fuck me” is clearly an invitation and in some cases a plea to be fucked. “Fuck me!” and “Fuck me in the ass!” are a more thorny issue. I don’t understand. Please. Someone clear this up: does this mean that I can fuck you or not? I know that “no means no”, but does yes sometimes also mean no?
4. “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on!”
Wow, you really must not like me if you’re willing to fuck my horse too! Wait, you hate me so much that you’ll fuck me [and my horse]? I’m not sure that I understand the sentiment behind that. Is it that your self-esteem is so low that you think sex with you is a punishment? And what the hell did my horse do? If my horse is a stallion, does that make you gay? Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
5. “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!”
Really? Did you just hear the story I told you? It had nothing to do with me fucking a monkey, and come to think of it … you’re not my brother. You’re a liar and I hate you. I think I might need to fuck your horse.
June 7, 2008
Here’s the thing: I’m a pretty simple dude. I don’t really ask for much. I don’t really need a lot. I need bacon, fountain soda, and porn. There you go: my desert island ‘what would you bring’ choices. As you can surmise, I begin this all with a reason.
I’ve been going to the gym, as I mentioned here. Lately, I’ve been going a lot. I’ve only taken one day off in the last week and a half or so. A problem has developed. I just don’t have enough shorts. I had two pairs (and one pair of wind pants perish the thought), one red and one black. I’m washing them every day; I’m not a dirtbag. Now I know this, but does everyone else? You see now? The need for more shorts. I prefer Adidas mesh Basketball shorts. In the spirit of my opening, it’s not a very exotic choice.
After picking up a white pair at my local JC Penney’s (Upstate NY is clearly a fashion hub - New York - London - Paris - Albany … if I just had a dollar for every shopping bag that’s embossed on …), I was unable to find another pair in an acceptable color. I’m not going to wear bright orange as I’m not a fucking pylon. I’m not going to wear periwinkle. Sorry dude, just not going to happen.
So I decided to head on over to adidas.com to check out the selection there. I figured it wouldn’t be that difficult to find a simple dark green or yellow pair. Perhaps even gray. Well, it was quite the ordeal. After getting lost in the shoe section for a bit (Superstar fetish), I finally made it over to the shorts. HOLY FUCKING SHIT! Wicked confusing.
Now I thought it would be incredibly easy. Simple thing … Adidas Basketball shorts, preferably with stripes on the side. Fairly standard fare. Little did I know that there’s apparently a whole lot of science that goes into the Adidas shorts. They sell $80 shorts that have technology that hunts sweat like a hungry python in the jungle, complete with toothache pain-induced bad attitude. I found myself in this very bizarre world where I had to ask myself questions like “Do I want ClimaControl sweat protection or angry lion detective sweat protection?” Jeez, I don’t know. “What’s a split short?” “Wait, does fitted mean they’ll hug my nuts?”
You see the problem, of course, I had to wade through a river of exotic choices about sweat repellent and cut when I was just looking for THEIR MOST BASIC PAIR OF SHORTS. I did eventually find a few acceptable pairs, but God Lord that sucked.
I know that my whole problem is caused by a combination of my persnickety preferences and psychosis. Most people wouldn’t care whether or not strangers thought that they did laundry regularly. But I do, and at least I admit it.
June 5, 2008
So because I’m in an odd mood today, I’ve been thinking about running away to join The League of Assassins. The largest problem with this, of course, is that they’re not real. The League of Assassins are a group of comic book characters that have long fought against Batman and others. They’ve been led by Ra’s Al Ghul, Talia Al Ghul, and others.
I decided to lay out the Pros and Cons of LoA membership.
PROS
1. The money. I’d say that it probably pays fairly well. I don’t know that it’s ever been exactly stated that LoA members are well paid, but it’s a dangerous job with a fairly shallow applicant pool so you’d think.
2. Inter-organization conflict resolution methods. In the straight world, if you have a problem with a co-worker you have to sit down and talk it out - possibly with a third party. As a LoA member, you could just kill them.
3. Travel. You never know where you’re going to have to try to kill Batman next. He could be in Gotham, Nanda Parbat, space, whatever. You’re going to get to see the world.
4. Mobility. You won’t have to try to kill Batman at your desk. There will be no counting the bumps on the stucco ceiling above your desk. You’ll get to go outside and blow the stink off yourself.
5. Organizational propaganda. Every job has it. The posters and flyers, motivational and informational. The LoA doesn’t have really shitty ones like the poster of the cat that says ‘Hang In There’ under it.
They have cool shit on the walls. Like this:
and this:
6. Insanely low expectations. Largely speaking, you only have one goal: kill Batman. It’s safe to say that you can fail to do that for decades and keep your job. It’s like being a state employee, but you get to have a sword.
Cons
1. Batman. You have to get your ass beat by Batman constantly. You’d think that would suck. Would it suck as much as not being able to kill people that irritate you? You be the judge.
2. Dental. From what I understand, the LoA doesn’t offer dental. I don’t think that’s really fair. It would be bad enough to have a regular job that didn’t offer dental, but to have a job where you’re constantly punched in the mouth by Batman … you kind of need dental.
3. Vision. Perhaps if the LoA offered vision benefits their assassins would actually be able to assassinate someone. Big Picture People! Come on - Look at it!
4. The law. Membership in the LoA kind of automatically makes you an outlaw. This does technically cut both ways. Positively, it’s got to be easier to get laid when you’re a known criminal (just ask OJ Simpson). Negatively, you could end up getting laid in jail (see above). This goes into the con list because I really don’t want to get raped. I’m quite pretty so this is a concern.
I don’t know kids. That’s what I’ve got so far. It looks at this point like joining the League would be more positive than negative. I’m interested to hear your thoughts. I’m sure that I forgot something.
May 11, 2008
Why are we still talking about the democratic nomination? Why hasn’t Hillary Clinton dropped out yet? I don’t understand. At this point, Obama has a comfortable lead and nearly enough delegates for the nomination anyway. I haven’t heard anyone come up with a theory that shows Clinton having a path to the nomination that doesn’t involve undemocratically getting the nomination from superdelegates.
There are hardly any primaries left. What’s next? West Virginia. CNN is reporting that Clinton has a 43 point lead in the polls in West Virginia. SO. FUCKING. WHAT. We trust West Virginia to make decisions like this now? I don’t trust any state whose principal export is sister-fuckin’. One of the big issues on the campaign trail there is the price of coal. Yeah, really.
Seriously though, Obama has a delegate lead of about 150 or so. West Virginia has twenty-something delegates. It’s not going to make a bit of difference. The other remaining contests are Kentucky, Oregon, Montana, South Dakota, and Puerto Rico. There’s no way that she’s going to make up the difference in delegate count. She needs to quit. I need to not see her on my television.
And one more thing while I’m at it … Puerto Rico and Guam … why are they voting? We are all aware that there are fifty states rather than fifty-two? I thought so. Perhaps we should make them states or stop this nonsense.
