Well, at least I think I'm funny.

Last Post

2006-12-20T10:13:00.000-05:00

This is my last official post at this address. Please change all your bookmarks, links, and blogrolls to point to the following:

http://www.andylykens.com/blog

For more blogging goodness.

Dear The Porcupine

2006-12-18T15:39:00.000-05:00

Dear the Porcupine,

Thank you for being so pointy and having so many bristles. I would like to use you as something to keep business cards separated on my desk. I also would like to note that I have not accidentally run over a porcupine in my car. Please don't poke me for others' wanton and rampant driving. Your name is funny!

I wonder if you're good at blowing up balloons. Probably not! I'll bet you'd try to help but end up popping more than your fair share.

Some people think you can throw your quills, but they're wrong! It's just a rumor! Can you use your quills to write if you dip them in ink? I bet that's handy when it comes to writing letters. Letters like this one.

Does the postman get hurt when he tries to get your envelope from you? I bet he does. But he probably understands. Maybe next time you can just leave it on the ground and walk away, rather than trying to hand it to him. Because I know you want to be cordial, but it would save him hundreds of dollars in pricey bandage fees.

Have a good day,

Andy

p.s. Wikipedia says you're slow, but you'll always be first in the race for my heart.

Snorers

2006-12-18T09:33:00.000-05:00

I'd apologize for my current lack of posting...and former lack of posting...except that I know no one really cares. In fact, I doubt any of you even noticed because I'm so hilarious and insightful that you can read one of my posts 100 million times and still not be able to fathom all of the intricate intricacies and delicate delicacies. Anyway I've been away basically for two weeks doing stuff for work and am getting a bit of a break.

My time in Salt Lake City has been a pretty enjoyable one except for one thing - snoring. You see, I'm a fairly light fall-asleeper. That is if I'm awake and there isn't some ambient buzz or hum going on, I can't fall asleep. Dead quiet is no good.

Unfortunately for this trip, my company didn't have the foresight to book our hotels more than a month in advance so I am having to share a room with my co-worker...who snores. It sounds like he's at the national flatulence convention giving a speech on donkey farts which he emulates with his sinus cavity.

I hate snorers.

I hate snorers because there is literally nothing they can do. Though I think most causes of snoring have something to do with being overweight, there is no instant fix. If they sleep on their side they always end up turning on their back. Ear plugs don't help for me. There is nothing circadian or rhythmically consistent with the snore. The volume, the phrasing, the timbre, it's different and differently jarring with every elephantastic inhalation.

Two nights ago the boss got drunk. And smoked several cigars. We hit the sack around 1, I woke up at 3, tried to get back to sleep until about 4 - then gave up and grabbed my computer to work on my presentation due in a couple days.

But what can a snorer do? Say they're sorry? They're not sorry. Being exhausted and not being allowed to go to sleep is nothing you can apologize for. Can they lose 50 lbs over night? No. The bottom line is, they can't be empathatic at all because they have no idea what it's like to put up with it. In my experience, people who snore have no problems sleeping in a room with others that snore.

Well screw you jerks, every single one. I'm sick of having to deal with other people's problems because they refuse to lose weight. If you snore, hit the damn treadmill already - or by a breathe-right strip for God's sake.

Idiots

2006-12-11T10:10:00.000-05:00

It's difficult thinking you're smarter than everyone. To be fair though, I think I'm just musically and technologically smarter than everyone. My friends tend to be people who either rival me in these areas or are very smart in other areas - so we compliment each other nicely. But I digress, I merely mean to say that I think I know everything about music and electronics.

I know what you're thinking - "why do I continually read this blog? It's terrible!" But give me a chance. You see, my snobdom is completely justified and this is largely due to the following establishments:

1. Best Buy
2. Record labels
3. Circuit City
4. Radio Shack
5. Cable Companies
6. Internet service providers
7. Any sort of "support" line.

Anytime I walk into a Best Buy I automatically know that no one in that store can possibly help me find what I'm looking for. Ever. I once made the mistake of asking someone years ago:

Andy: Hi, I'm looking for a firewire cable that's mini on one end, and then the regular size on the other.

Best Buy Employee: Firewire?

Andy: ...yeah, you know, looks like a big USB connection kind of.

BBE: Our USB cables are-

Andy: No. It LOOKS like a USB cable. It is NOT a USB cable.

BBE: Oh, yeah, I know what that is, follow me...

I follow the guy to some shelves where he promptly removes a USB cable from a hook and hands it to me. I look at him in utter amazement at his stupidity.

Andy: This is a USB cable.

BBE: Yeah, I think that's what you want.

Andy: ...no. FIREWIRE. It's also called IEE1394.

BBE: I don't think that even exists, and if it does, we don't have it.

Flabberghasted I turn and leave him to his USB-cable wonderland of incredible idiocy, where Captain Moron presides over the residents of Simpletown and fends off knowledge and comprehension skills and keeps everyone at a 1st-grade reading level.

5 minutes later I find the exact cable I need and leave.

This happens all the time. I can't count the number of times I've walked into one of the above establishments and overheard the salespeople and customer service people selling the entirely wrong thing to people because they have no idea what they're talking about. I always intervene. The salesperson ALWAYS insists they're right and naturally the customer believes them over me (and who wouldn't? That polo shirt and wrinkled khaki pants just shriek "I'm a sophisticated professional.") and they buy the wrong thing.

I just shake my head and think "yeah, I'm real sure Vanilla Ice here knows exactly what he's doing and doesn't spend 6 hours a day smoking weed and polishing his bling, dreaming of the day he can put huge rims and an even huger spoiler on the back of his used Honda Civic and blast dance music or reggaeton from his car, tripping on E, and dancing with glowsticks."

Don't even get me started on cable companies and their ridiculous "customer support" lines. I love that the first question they ask is "did you try turning off your computer and turning it back on?"

HEY JERK. YES. EVERYONE TRIES THAT. ITS THE FIRST THING WE DO.

For some reason they never believe me either. "Well, can you do it again for me now?" I usually say no and tell them to skip to the more complex steps. They typically get lost and confused after I tell them everything I've tried and just end up telling me they "need to go do some research" and put me on hold for 20 minutes while they put the phone down and try to plug up the steam coming from their brains for having participated in a conversation with someone who's problem can't be solved by plugging something in or unplugging something that shouldn't be plugged in.

To end on a positive note, I would like to give major props to Cingular. Despite my hatred of their recently-lousy phone selection, their customer service is stellar. If someone doesn't know how to solve my problem, they connect me to someone who does. No matter how complex my questions get, their tech-guys always know the answer. It's great.

Don't even get me started on the music/record labels thing.

A special guest.

2006-12-01T17:14:00.001-05:00

This little fella dropped in to say hello!

Have a good weekend from the Tiny Skateboarding Monkey!

Dancing Peeing in the streets.

2006-12-01T13:21:00.000-05:00

On my walk back from my company lunch today, I had about 4 blocks to cover. I decided I'd stop in and grab a coffee at Starbuck's once I paid the bill as well, just because it's Friday.

As I'm walking down the sidewalk I see a man stop next to a large truck. I'm not sure if he was the driver or not, probably not, but he had his hand on the side of it like he was going to open it up.

Next thing I know he's firing a stream of urine into the puddle collected from this morning's rainstorm in the gutter on teh street. His back was turned thanks to what I can only imagine was divine intervention:

Pee-er: Man, I have got to go me some pee!

Jesus: Hold on there Full Bladder McGoo.

Pee-er: Yes?

Jesus: You can't pee on the street! At least turn around for Dad's sake! I mean if you want to be seen as an animal I'll treat you as one, how's that?

Pee-er: What do you me--

(Jesus grabs a nearby newspaper, rolls it up, and proceeds to hit the man on the nose with it)

Jesus: BAD! BAD! NO! BAD!

Pee-er: AH! Stop! I have to--

Jesus: (in a calm but enraged voice, between clenched teeth) There *smack* are *smack* establishments *smack* all *smack* around *smack* here *smack* that *smack* have *smack* bathrooms! *smack*

Pee-er: You broke my urethra!

Jesus: What a waste of a perfectly good copy of The Village Voice.

I thought to myself, "What kind of a person does this?" And "Who could possibly raise such an ignorant person?"

I then answered mysef, "A disgusting PCP-addicted jerk who most likely doesn't have a job and steals from babies, grandmas, puppies, and...oh, I don't know, a church. Choose your denomination or religion of choice and feel free to change the word 'church' to 'temple' if necessary. As far as who could raise such a person? Here's a brief list:

1) Franklin
2) A chimp (multiple chimps could probably get the job done right)
3) Multiple chimps under Franklin's supervision.

In disgust I open the door to Starbuck's. Upon entering I notice a line. Great. Oh well, I'll just wait my turn and get my coffee. You know, because that's what ~~people¹~~ civilized people do. Not 30 seconds later does Mr. Pee-er McStreets come in and saunter to the front of the line. At this point I think to myself, "alright, he's probably just going to ask where the bathroom i....oh wait a minute. What's this excellent example of 'why birth control is great' up to now?" So what does he do? He asks for some ice water.

Alright buddy, you just emptied your bladder onto the street and the first thing you can think of is that you can't wait to get your hands on some ice cold water? Then he asks for something else, I couldn't tell what. The next thing I know he's given a capuccino cup with who knows what in it (probably milk or a tiny cup of coffee...or maybe some extra prick-sauce because he was running low) and he takes it and proceeds to dump sugar in it. Next thing you know the barista shouts "ICE WATER" in a tone that says "who the hell comes to Starbucks and asks for ice water?"

I couldn't believe it. This stupid bastard pees in the street, cuts in front of 7 people in line, pays NOTHING, and is out of Starbuck's and on his way with his conspicuous bag of...well who knows (the weird thing about 6th Ave and Broadway in the 20's is that there's lots of people walking around with opaque blue and black bags).

You know who I was most mad at? Myself. I should've shoved that stupid jerk into the truck and said "THERE IS A MCDONALD'S ACROSS THE STREET! I wonder if they have a bathroom?" Or at the very least said something in Starbuck's. I was furious with myself. Maybe my New Year's resolution will be to start standing up to jerks who think they can flaunt very basic societal laws like lines and public urination. I mean do people really want New York to turn into some miserable hell-hole like, oh, I dunno, Miami? I sure hope not.

Here are some other things I'm guessing are on this man's daily agenda:

1. Get all high, laugh at stuff.
2. Poop on street - may or may not follow peeing on street.
3. Camp out for "A Christmas Story" marathon on TBS. Realize it is on TV. Get all high instead.
4. Find dog. Ask it on a date. Feed it a roofie. 'nuff said.
5. Steal dog's food. Eat half, try and sell other half.
6. Listen to headphones. Wonder where I got these headphones from. Figure out I probably stole them.
7. Jones for some tacos.
8. Cut in line at taco bell. Ask for ice-water. Realize forgot to order tacos - too used to just ordering ice-water.

Anyway, I hope karma catches up to this guy in a bad way. And come next year, watch out if you start blatantly flaunting society's laws. Because I am not standing for it any more.

~~¹Excluding people who live in Miami~~

A good day with iTunes.

2006-11-29T16:18:00.000-05:00

Ever had one of those days when everything is pretty normal? Some stuff makes you mad, other stuff makes you happy, but in general you know when you look back on your life you know you won't remember it. You won't remember it because you didn't have a big fight or meet your future spouse or win an award or see someone tap-dancing naked on the eiffel tower or run into Jesus or the Tiny Skateboarding Monkey or Jesus AND the Tiny Skateboarding Monkey in a Skate-or-Die for original NES tournament.

That has been my day today.

But then iTunes did something it does only once in-a-rare-enough-while where it plays a bunch of great songs in a row. The streak doesn't seem to stop. It just keeps going. It picks exactly what you need to hear, what you want to hear, what you haven't heard in a while, what you've been missing musically. I love it.

Anyway, here's what it played for me (in order of most recent to least recent):

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious - Harry Connick Jr., Songs I Heard
You And I Both - Jason Mraz, Waiting For My Rocket To Come
Gravity - John Mayer, Continuum
Uquinsil' Ubada - Ladysmith Black Mambazo, Raise Your Spirit Higher
You Don't Know What Love Is (alternate take 16) - Bill Evans & Tony Bennett, Together Again (Remastered)
Hip Funk - Grant Green, Complete Quartets With Sonny Clark (Disc 2),
Straight, No Chaser - Quincy Jones and His Orchestra, Quintessence
Off the Top (Gravity Wheel) - Bela Fleck and The Flecktones, Little Worlds (Disc 1)

But I don't even have my running shoes!

2006-11-26T12:44:00.000-05:00

My Thanksgiving break was pretty darn good. Lots of food, some hanging out with old friends, spending a week with the fam, and offending minorities. Yes, apparently I'm racist.

Those of you that know me know that I am not a racist. However, you also know I often times take delight in being disagreeable just because I think it's funny. One of my common practices is to take something I know someone to like or have some allegiance to and automatically declare that I hate it or that there's something wrong with it. In practice this often turns out to be hilarious and entertaining to everyone around me and good times are had by all and everyone likes me and we all become the best of friends and I end up making out with a hot girl. Alright fine, so a lot of people think I'm an asshole, but I'm not - alright I sort of am, but for the sake of humor, not because I actually dislike people...most people...some people...anyway.

A girl I used to work with came into the club I was at with Erik and introduced me to her friend. At this point in the night I was fairly far along on my goal of filling up the dishwashers of the local bars so I don't remember how or why it came up, but I don't remember asking or mentioning it. Moreso, I think it was just stated to me - "This is my friend, her husband is Puerto Rican."

If you'll refer back a paragraph or two, you probably won't be surprised to learn that my response was "I hate Puerto Ricans," followed by crossing my arms and shaking my head in an obviously fake sternness.

Well, that was it. The next thing I know the girl storms off and my ECW comes over and tells me I've greatly insulted her and her husband. "What?" I said.

"You said you hated Puerto Ricans. You should apologize." she replied.

"I'm not apologizing because your friends have no sense of humor," I responded.

I realize it's not funny to say you hate someone. Actually that's not true, I don't realize why you wouldn't find that funny. I tell my friends I hate them all the time. In fact, if you cruise over to Erik's blog, you'll find derogative comments on pratically every post. Don't even get me started on Jay. Anyway, the conversation continued...

"Andy, they have gone through a lot of crap being an inter-racial couple in central Pennsylvania. It's hard for them."

"Okay."

"So are you going to apologize?"

"No."

ECW returned to her position at the bar next to her friend (which, by the way, was only about 15 feet from where myself and Erik stood). Now, maybe I was being a bit insensitive, and maybe Erik was too (he was standing next to me during all of this and overheard everything), but we started to come up with all kinds of ways I could "apologize." And they were hilarious. And we thought so. And so we began just cracking up:

"I'm really sorry...sorry you're Puerto Rican! Because I hate Puerto Ricans! As I said earlier."

"I'm really sorry...that you're a whiny little girl."

"I'm really sorry that you married this awful biatch of a woman."

(in a sensitive tone) "Look, I wanted to come over and apologize. I don't hate Puerto Ricans. I just hate you. And your wife....you're both very, very ugly. So if you have some attractive relatives, don't think I hate them. I misspoke and I feel terrible."

This must've looked pretty bad to the offended seeing as how after anytime we were approached by one of their party, Erik and I burst into uncontrollable laughter just seconds after they resumed their seats.

Anyway, Erik and I had pretty much moved on and our friend who manages the place came over and said "Andy, what did you say?"

"I didn't say anything!"

"He says you called him a 'dirty spic.'"

Erik and Andy commence laughing hysterically.

"All I said was that I hate Puerto Rican people." I then found using this as a defense to being accused of calling someone a 'dirty spic' hilarious for obvious reasons. I then explained to my buddy how it all went down and he said something to the effect of "I knew you wouldn't say that and I told him that."

After a little while I noticed my bladder was full of urine. I decided I'd go to the bathroom since that's typically the remedy for such a dilemma. After I took care of business I walked to the sink. Looking to my left, I noticed my buddy talking to the enraged Puerto Rican guy. At this point I felt bad. Not for saying I hate Puerto Ricans. But for my friend (the bar guy) who had to deal with this whiny girl of a man. Having to put up with idiots gets old fast so as I approached the sink I look at the Puerto Rican guy and say: "Hey man, sorry about that, just jokin' around."

His response?

"I'M NOT EVEN FUCKIN' TALKIN' TO YOU RIGHT NOW!"

"Nice. Okay, see ya later."

See? I tried to do right by him. He really is a whiny little girl. I needlessly apologize to this stupid jerk and he explodes and swears at me. If I would've been wearing a hat, I might've turned it sideways and said "THAT'S IT, YOU WANNA GO?! YOU WANNA GO RIGHT NOW?!" I might've thrown an "esse" in there somewhere to really get him riled up.

On my way out I stopped by the guy's wife and ECW just down the bar from Erik.

"Hey, I just figured I'd apologize before this gets blown out of proportion. You see, I live in a Puerto Rican neighborhood in New York and I doubt I'd be able to set foot there if I actually hated them all. I was just joking around."

Her response was a much nicer one and she was able to accept my apology, rather than swear at me. Though she ended her comment with something a little stupid, at least she tried to make a reasonable argument...she failed, but at least she tried.

"Thank you, I really appreciate that. It's just that we've gone through lots of crap living in this area and being a mixed racial couple. You shouldn't joke about stuff like that. How would you feel if my husband walked in here and called you a stupid white-cracker?"

"...Bad...?"

What I wanted to say was: "I would assume he was joking and would tell him that I hate Puerto Ricans. And if he seemed serious I'd write him off as a stupid asshole, and tell him I hate Puerto Ricans. Because I'm not a small girl...you know, like your husband Sally over there."

(Me, needlessly apologizing...at least she was receptive)

Maybe I don't understand this hyper-sensitive undying allegiance to a country you don't live in just because your parents were born there. Or a country you left behind years ago. Or to the color of your skin. It could just be me. Does that make me racially intolerant? I hope not. I tend to get along with pretty much everyone as long as they're not a stupid asshole - but whether or not you're a stupid asshole has nothing to do with where your passport is issued and if I happen to think you're one, I promise it's not because your skin has a darker hue than my own. It's because I just don't like you as a person.

My hope is that in the future when people hear me say something like "I hate ____ " they know I don't actually hate it. It's called sarcasm. I learned it from Roseanne Barr and the Golden Girls.

Stuff This!

2006-11-22T18:42:00.000-05:00

Thanksgiving has always been a great time of year for me.¹ The family gets together, friends come back home, and a general good time is had by all. Aside from the occassional boredom that sets in due to State College being a holiday ghost-town, I typically have a blast.

This year will only be slightly different as my only good friend to be cool enough to come back to town is Erik.² Yes I'll be drinking $2 drinks in uncrowded, smoke-filled bars, populated by townies come home to devour turkey and hangout with each other; one of the few times of the year the crews get back together to see how everyone is doing and say hello to the people from high school they never really talked to and then walk away saying "that guy is pretty cool afterall."

I also have a huge reason to be thankful this year. My apartment search yielded a cool apartment containing some cool roommates in a cool area of town for a cool amount of money...is it just me or is it getting chilly in here?

Yes, my roach-infested kitchen and rain-soaked room heed way to a waterproof apartment and pest-free cookery. It'll also be nice that my euro-trash afflicted-I'm-cool-with-it-so-you-should-be-cool-with-it overly-sensitive passive-agressive pot-smoking non-dish-drainer-emptying hippy-roommate will not only no longer annoy me, but she's moving to Japan to boot!³ And her lame, easily-confused over-protective possibly-female over-every-night boyfriend won't be around anymore either⁴. So a shoutout thanks to the new roommies (who could possibly be reading this right now if they googled me during the roommate search process), you've already improved my life.

So I hope that all of you have a great Thanksgiving too. Go home and get stuffed on stuffing and other Thanksgiving foodstuffs. Take your triptifan-induced naps and burn your eyes out with hours of football all the while enjoying "pass the gravy" and "nice to see you agains" and the "remember when..."'s and all the other great things that come along with killing an overweight bird, cramming celery and stale bread up its ass and toasting to the year's successes. Happy Thanksgiving to one and all.

¹Stuff it Jader!
²Stuff it Nolan, Gavin, JB, and Franklin!
³Stuff it old roommate and stuff it Japan! (oooh! The double-stuff!)
⁴Stuff it, jerk!

What happens...

2006-11-20T16:30:00.000-05:00

What happens when Chuck E. Cheese gets in trouble? Does his mom scream:

"CHARLES CHEESE YOU GET DOWN HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!!!!!" up the staircase?

Probably.

My dog can fly.

2006-11-16T15:02:00.000-05:00

Franklin: You know Indiana, I'm having a really great time flying with you.

Harrison Ford: Thanks, but my name is--

Franklin: And I love your work. Say! Did anyone ever tell you you look just like Han Solo?

Harrison Ford: *exasperated sigh*

Re: Mean Poultry

2006-11-14T13:41:00.000-05:00

As I was checking my Yahoo! mail today I saw the above advertisement in my inbox

Naturally my first idea of emailing a jerk chicken was that Yahoo! had somehow acquired a particularly rude fowl and were trying to teach it simple internet functions and typing skills. "Amazing!" I thought to myself, "that has got to be one smart bird!" Then I wondered what people would write to a Jerk Chicken, and what exactly a chicken could do that it would be qualified as a jerk?

Look at him. Thinks he's so cool. What a jerk.

Does he sleep with the hens and not call them back? Does he eat all the corn? Peck at children? Oppress the gays and blacks? I can't be entirely sure...but of course I can always venture a guess in the form of a preposterous scenario:

(Andy is walking down the street, minding his own business, on his way...somewhere...when all of a sudden he bumps into a chicken...)

Jerk Chicken: Baw-kawk!

Andy: Pardon me sir-chicken! I didn't see you down there. I profusely apologize and hope you have a lovely day.

JC: Why am I here?

Andy: Jesus? Oh I see, there's some confusion. You see, Jerk Chicken abbreviates to JC. Which happen to be your initials as well.

JC: Ah, I see. Well then, carry-on, I'll just be on my merry way.

Jerk Chicken: Baw-kawk! Bawk bawk!

Andy: Sorry about that sir chicken. Anyway as I was saying, I'm very sorry, now if you'll ex--

Jerk Chicken: Bawk bawk ba-kawk!

Andy: Well, that's rude of you to say. And I'm neither gay, nor black! I merely bumped into you by accident. I didn't mea-

Jerk Chicken: Ba-kawk! Bawk bawk bawk! bawk.......bawk bawk!

Andy: Sir, if you please! There's no reason to bring mothers into this.

Jerk Chicken: Baawwwwwk! Bawk bawk ba-kawk!

Andy: Well screw you too you stupid bird! I have half a mind to-!

(Jerk Chicken begins pecking at Andy's feet and legs, and doing that thing where chickens don't really fly but they kind of try to, and it's pecking at Andy all the while)

Andy: God! Stop! This doesn't even hurt it's just annoying! And you smell like a barn!

Jerk Chicken: *peck*peck*peck* BA-KAWK!

Andy: Ahhh!! This chicken is such a jerk! Someone get this maltempered roost-dweller offa me!

(Tiny Skate Boarding Monkey comes skating around the corner)

Andy: *gasp* TINY SKATEBOARDING MONKEY!

(...and gets hit by a car)

Andy: awwww. DAMN YOU JERK CHICKEN! YOU KILLED TINY SKATEBOARDING MONKEY!

Jerk Chicken: Ba. Kawk.

Andy: You don't care? Well, one of these days Jerk Chicken, you will get yours...one of these days...

(flash into the future. Andy is at work checking his email when at least he sees an opportunity for revenge)

Andy: Email a Jerk Chicken! FINALLY!

Dear Jerk Chicken,

Remember when you killed the Tiny Skateboarding Monkey? That was terrible. He was only trying to help. Shame on you.

Love,

Andy
There, that'll teach that bastard.

Yeah, that would teach that bastard. Stupid Jerk Chicken.

Me Dot Com

2006-11-13T10:00:00.000-05:00

Hello readership. For those of you who are actually brave/bored enough to come back and read my blog, it's time to update those blogrolls!

The new site? Why it's quite simple:

andylykens.com

Now honestly, could that have been any easier?

I'm going to be working on classing up the whole joint - see if I can't get the new crappy blogger-beta to import to Word Press - but in the meantime, switch those links!

Toot toot, bitches.

2006-11-09T11:25:00.000-05:00

The other day Erik and I were talking about how funny it would be if there was a pan-fluting championship. A pan-fluting championship that was reminiscent of the underground hip-hop scenes in 8-mile.

Guys with totally pimped out pan-flutes toot-toot-tooting their way to fame, glory, and bitches. And of course, the ultimate role model being Zamfir. I decided to use my below-average photo shopping skills to pimp out Zamfir. Peep it.

Oh Zamfir, you get all the bitches. Toot toot.

Why I don't vote

2006-11-07T09:54:00.000-05:00

Today is voting day. People get up early or leave work early or go on their lunch break and go cast their votes for people that hold positions that don't really matter to me, other than the fact that my taxes pay their salary and also for the programs they institute that will likely fail or have a very small impact on my everyday life.

But I shouldn't say "I don't vote" because it's not entirely true. I do vote if I think there's someone out there who deserves it. Someone who isn't a complete jackass who's just going to make things worse when they go into office. Someone who doesn't spout mindless political garbage, answers questions directly, and does what they think is right, not what will get them more votes. Alright, maybe I should say I never vote.

Idiots really bother me. To me, most all politicians are complete idiots...or assholes...or just completely irresponsible. The main reason I can't vote for these morons is because I think to myself "which person was this in high school?", "do I think they've changed since then?", and "Am I smarter than them?" I tend to have a high opinion of myself, at least when it comes to doing the right thing and being an overall decent human being - so they typically miss out the latter question. The two former are fairly inconsequential, because typically the answer is "that kid who wanted to be everyone's friend so he bribed them with candy" and "no."

And what's up with the ads on TV? Honestly. Who bases their vote on seeing them? They're all the same! They just slander the other candidate, or say they don't slander the other candidate and do it anyway. I want to see a really funny political
ad. Maybe one with a poop joke. Or something like "don't vote for X guy, he's a nerd!" I don't want someone who tiptoes around peoples feelings. Call babies ugly, tell people they're fat, and for God's sake outlaw reggaeton.

People that vote get to me too. Telling other people to go out and do their civic duty. Go to hell. I don't want to have support someone because I hate them less. That's like me giving you two choices at dinner, and forcing you to like one of them. And the choices are poop and vomit. Vote if you want, cast your worthless opinion, watch your elected official piss away your money on some programs that mean well, and then jack up their salaries and pensions and live in gorgeous apartments.

Chances are my biggest problem in politics is that I don't know enough about it. I'm sure most of you think I'm some big dullard now who is uninformed. But why is it important for me to be informed about someone else's opinion? I can see the importance of voting, but not in voting for a lesser of two evils, or between two people who are both going perform at the same amount of ineffectiveness.

Oh I get it, you're a terrible mom.

2006-11-06T14:23:00.000-05:00

Far be it from me to judge peoples' parenting styles. I don't have any kids (as far as I know) and I don't really want any for at least a while, but it seems to me there are a lot of crappy parents in ~~New York~~ New Jersey and Brooklyn.

Now when I say "crappy parents" I don't mean these are bad people. I mean they're stupid people. And as we all know, stupid people shouldn't be allowed to have kids.

You're probably wondering why I'm on such a tirade about this today, and it's because I spent a decent amount of time on the trains and subways this weekend. During the week its not so bad. I guess the kids are in school or something. But on the weekend, coming back to New York from Trenton on the train, if I see a lady with kids, I immediately try to find a car farthest from them.

Last night I get on the train and there is a lady and she's got, I dunno, a couple kids. And I immediately thought "alright, I am not sitting on this car because as soon as the train starts to move and I close my eyes, those kids are going to begin shrieking."

So I went one car down, took my seat, and waited for the train to depart. As the engine started tugging the cars down the track, sure enough I hear the kid immediately begin screaming at the top of his lungs - through my head phones, an entire car back. I'm glad to have learned my lesson not to sit in the same train car as misbehaved children and their parents who try and shut them up with soda, candy, or severe public beatings (I once saw a woman on the subway literally push her 3 year old son the face, slamming him into a subway chair, when he made too much noise).

Then on the subway after my train ride I'm happily riding home when we stop at 14th street and 3 "moms" come on, each with a kid - all rowdier than the last. These kids, who can't be older than 3 or 4, have yo-yos. Now, in case you're not familiar with a yo-yo, it is a plastic sphere split in the middle with string wrapped around. These kids had their yo-yo strings dragging all over the floor of the subway, and then were putting them in their mouths. Then they started hitting each other with the yo-yos and the moms just laughed and laughed. Then the moms took the yo-yos away to which the kids demanded "GIVE IT BACK!" and started to scream. Of course the moms complied and the kids continued to hit each other and make plenty of noise to disturb everyone on the train.

Yeesh. These "moms" were maybe 22 years old. MAYBE. They were definitely younger than me. I can't imagine having kids now, not to mention 4 years ago. Anyway, nice job moms. I'm sure your kids won't grow up to be whiny, spoiled jerks.

What's the point of this post? I don't know. I hope I don't become a terrible parent someday...of course, I will probably be 30 before I even have a kid so I won't have to worry about Math homework or catching Maury Povich on the TV in the process. That'll allow me to concentrate more on ~~listening to reggaeton at obnoxious volumes~~ parenting.

Charts and Graphs

2006-11-03T11:03:00.000-05:00

I'd like you all to pay close attention to the following pie chart. It's very important:

At Last

2006-11-02T16:23:00.000-05:00

Well as ~~many~~ two of you may know, my phone was lost, tragically, this past weekend. Friday night came around and the Fat Vampire found himself in Williamsburg¹ for a Halloween party and...well, due to the fact that the only pants option for a Fat Vampire is sweat-pants, my phone went kerplunk into the back of a cab and sped off and away from the Lower East Side never to be found again.

As many of you know, this, in some ways, was devasting. Not because I lost all my numbers (thanks Bluetooth!) and not because the phone was any good (circa 2003), but because I wasn't ready to buy a new one yet.

My readership knows I've been patiently waiting since...well, since time began, for Cingular to get off the bench, step up to the plate, and bowl a strike. Well, they still haven't. Apparently there's some cool stuff on the horizon, but I was planning to wait until after Christmas.

However, since my phone recovery proved fruitless I was forced to get a new phone. I know what you're all thinking: "Man, this guy is an idiot. I am wasting a good 3 minutes by reading this trash. Why do I do this to myself...ugh. Maybe one of these links on the side is better. Let's see here...Superbee's Philosophy *click* Oh God. Just when I thought blogs couldn't get any worse! QUICK! Send me back to mediocrity paradise! Shew. Anyway...where was I..."

Now I couldn't just get some crapo-phone feature on Cingular and waste my "upgrade status." And I didn't want to buy the super-awesome phone I wanted because, well, it's about $500 and I have a nice digital camera anyway. So I went on Ebay, found something suitable I can resell in a few months (if I need to), and got it for about $80 less than I thought I'd have to pay.

Enter: The Samsung SGH X820. An astounding 6.9 mm thin, this thing kicks the RAZR's ass and leaves the SLVR lying in a pool consisting of its own vomit, urine...and...oh, I dunno, mucas. My only complaint is that it doesn't sync with iSync on a Mac - eh, whatever. The bluetooth works with everything else on my laptop so I don't really have any complaints.

So to all of you who have ever thought about calling me but were using the fact that I recently lost my phone as an excuse, welcome back to non-excuse land. Where action is king. King of Spills.

¹This is a whole other post I'm working on.

You poor, poor nerds.

2006-11-01T09:55:00.000-05:00

We all love MySpace. Well, all of us with the exception of maybe the guys who invented Facebook and Friendster. They probably don't love them. Though I wonder if they have accounts on them? I bet they do. What a bunch of jerks.

At any rate this post isn't meant to be focused on MySpace, but rather a certain aspect of the advertising on it. I'm sure if you've ever logged on you've seen ads for a dating service which I think is called True - though typically I'm distracted from any actual information on the ad and you'll see why in a moment.

It's an internet dating service and the ads always have the most smokin-hot girls in them in the most suggestive poses and I must say, I always look at it whenever it pops up. Here's an example of such an ad:

(Hummunahummunahummuna)

All I have to say to this is: Yeah right. I'm not sure if any of you have ever peeped an online dating service before but I will tell you this - there are as many girls who use online dating that look like this, as there are blog posts about tiny skateboarding monkeys. If you want to see what they really look like, well, go to a bar and find the girls who aren't getting hit on. Because I can garauntee you, the chick in the above ad will never have to go online to find some dude to hit on her(pending some horrible accident).

I feel bad for all the nerds on MySpace, or all the douchebags whose pictures are of their super-ripped ads, who click on this link and expect to find really hot chicks. Actually, I don't feel sorry for the douchebags. I hope they get hit by trucks mostly. But those poor nerds. They click on the link thinking maybe they have a shot at a really hot girl for once, and they're totally mislead.

Then, as I was refreshing my screen to get more shots of equally hot girls for the True service, ANOTHER dating service popped up - you're gonna love this: Hot Enough.org is a site that actually screens members and only allows really attractive people into their dating service. Oh man, I couldn't think of a worse idea.

Do you know how many people qualify themselves as hot? It's ridiculous. I have heard some ladies talk about their friends and say "yeah, she's beautiful" and I'll just scowl silently, take a step behind the girl, and shake my head at the poor sap she's suckering in to an ill-fated set-up.

The moral of the story is, don't fall for any of it. If you want to find a date, do it like the rest of us: go to a bar, get drunk, and settle. Because it's still better than anyone you'll find on Match.com.

My Costume

2006-10-27T13:44:00.001-04:00

I never have a good halloween costume and this year is no exception, except that this year, I do. I'm adding an unconventional twist to a quite trite spectre. I'm going as a vampire. Now, I know what you're thinking, "God, this post is terrible." Well, shutup and read on. I mean, I guess you can't shutup because you're not actually talking...unless you are, then you're just crazy. Crazy like a fox. At any rate, hear me out. I'm not going as just any vampire. I'm going as a fat vampire.

You see at first I wanted to go as something utterly stupid. Like a pillow. A box. A bottle of water. Something that people would see and say "that is the dumbest costume ever." The problem is, it'd actually be pretty hard to do that. Next I decided I was going to just cover my face with red blush, and spritz myself with water and go as "The hottest man alive." Get it? It's like a play on words. Am I physically hot? Or am I...physically...hot...what? Well at any rate, I canned that idea.

Then I started to think about vampires because one of my friends said "oh just go as a vampire." I realized you never see a fat vampire. We're talking about a creature that sleeps all day and does nothing but eat and live for eternity. I imagine a vampire who was skinny wouldn't be the norm. Then I thought about the great back story I could provide:

Person: Hey, what the hell are you supposed to be?

Andy: (showing fangs) I'm a fat vampire. Duh.

Person: Why a fat vampire?

Andy: Because I have a slow metabolism.

Person: Really?

Andy: Yes. And that causes me to gain weight. I'm also at a high risk for diabetes.

Person: Why don't you just suck some blood to replace your blood.

Andy: First of all, I eat the blood, I don't transfuse it into my veins. Also, how could I possibly be fast enough to catch someone to suck their blood? I'm fat.

Person: Can't you turn into a bat?

Andy: Yeah.

Person: So why don-

Andy: A fat bat. Have you ever seen a fat bat? No way I'd even be able to think about lifting off. You don't know anything about fat vampires do you?

Person: No I don't.

Andy: Well, you need to go to the library and get a book or something. Noserfatu. And that's not a typo.

Person: Typo? We're talking.

Andy: Shut it. Or I will bite you and eat your brains.

Person: That's a zombie.

Andy: A fat zombie.

Person: What?

Andy: Vampire.

Person: I'm leaving.

Andy: Have a nice trip!

Person: But I didn't tri--

Andy: (puts his leg out and pushes Person so they trip) See ya next fall, jerk!

I know, that dialogue went absolutely nowhere. But anyway. A fat vampire. I hope everyone has a great All Hallow's Eve. Make sure to have your parents inspect all your candy before you eat it. Now cram it!

Thanks, Beta Blogger

2006-10-20T15:15:00.000-04:00

Sorry kids. I switched over to this new fandangled thing and now it's all messed up! Oh well, guess I know what I'm doing this weekend.

All I Want

2006-10-19T22:05:00.000-04:00

This probably won't be funny, but 6 beers into a night being bored, well, that tends to unfunny me pretty fast.

All I want lately is to play piano. Is that weird? Probably. I love playing piano. Let's set the record straight though, I am not a good piano player. But lately, all I want is to buy a piano so I can sit at it 8 hours a day and play the damn thing. I can't listen to music without thinking of playing the piano. And when I was a kid and quite my piano lessons and my mom said "I hope that someday you really miss it!" well mom, you win again. In fact, you demolished me. 'Cause now that's all I want to do. Just play piano. Jazz piano.

Probe Droid

2006-10-19T15:36:00.000-04:00

My boss was on the phone with a client this afternoon. There's really nothing interesting about this - well, typically there isn't, except the guy he was talking to had an interesting voice.

I sit across the room from my boss and I could hear this dude through the phone's handset. I was like "Hey! I recognize that voice!" I immediately IMed Erik because I know he takes great delight in stupid crap like this.

"You know that black droid that the Empire sends to scout Hoth in Star Wars, Episode 5, the Empire Strikes Back?"

"yeah."

"I think he's on the phone with my boss!"

"Oh wow. He's got a job in music?"

"Yeah, apparently."

"He's got all those extra arms, great for multiple synths."

"He'd also make a great engineer."

You know which droid I'm talking about right? The one that sounds like it's saying "nerdsinthesystem.nerdsonalert." through a stoma voicebox over and over again? Oh, oh, you want me to put a picture up? Oh, because you don't get it? Well that's FINE! That's just GREAT! Here it is, simpleton:

Since we'd already given this thing an occupation, and had a face for it, the next step was to involve it in some ridiculous scenario. That scenario begins....NOW!....wait, wait...NOW! no no, wait, wait....NOW!

Guy at Work: Hey, Probe Droid, go get me a coffee! This one's cold!

Probe Droid: My name is Lawrence! I have feelings you know! Gosh!

GAW: Are you going to get my coffee or what? I am very busy!

PD: And I'm not busy?! You can't boss me aroun-

GAW: Look, just, go. Get. The coffee. I can't take your back-talk today!

PD: FINE! This isn't even part of my job you know?! I am a complex machine capable of performing highly difficult tasks and operations all at once, and I don't need you demeaning me!

GAW: I don't know why-

PD: (in a harsh whisper) Ever since we slept together you've been treating me terribly at work! Well I've had it! You can get your OWN coffee from now on! (PD takes the coffee and mechanically dumps it on the ground, then drops the cup. This isn't very dramatic as it's actions are fairly slow due to it's innate roboticism...and faggyness)

GAW: (matching his tone) I told you from the start it was just a one night thing! I don't know where you crafted these fanciful, romantic ideas of yours! You're certainly not programmed for THAT!

PD: Well, after today? All the others around the office will know what you're not programmed for!

GAW: Hey!

PD: That's right buster! (PD turns and turns to float out of the room) Nerdsinthesystem.Nerdsonalert.

GAW: *sigh* Probe Dr-I mean, Lawrence. Wait.

PD: (slowly turns around, leaking a single, robo-tear) Yes?

GAW: I didn't mean to hurt your feelings...in fact I wasn't even sure you had feelings at all, because you're a ro-

PD: DON'T YOU SAY IT! DON'T YOU CALL ME A ROBOT! I love you Ted. I...Love you.

GAW: I Love you too.

(They embrace. The end.)

That's pretty much how I imagine it would go if a probe droid was able to find work somewhere. It would be gay, and fall in love. You know...because its a probe droid.

The Punching Game

2006-10-18T14:34:00.000-04:00

I was eating dinner on Monday with some esteemed colleagues of mine. Hooray for lobster! Anyway, one of them mentioned that he got to meet Bono on the Friday previous to which I immediately responded "I hate Bono. If I ever met him, I'd punch him in the face."

This brought up an interesting round of conversation where we all started stating people we'd immediately punch if we met them. Here's my list:

1. Bono
2. Ashton Kutcher
3. The guy who invented the RAZR
4. The guy who's idea it was to have the RAZR come out in multiple colors.
5. The guy at Cingular who decides what phones to add to their plans
6. Lee Corso
7. Lee Corso
8. Lee Corso
9. Bobby Bowden
10. Carlos Mencia

Who would you punch?

The Daily Grind

2006-10-16T09:45:00.000-04:00

This morning on my walk to work I stopped in at Starbuck's to grab some coffee. If you just pictured me walking behind the counter, turning on the coffee spout, and just grabbing at the coffee while it pours out of the spigot, well, you may share half of my brain.

Today I didn't feel like suffering 3rd degree burns was a good solution to the chill in the air so I instead ordered my coffee like any normal human being - by mumbling at an incoherent teller who looks less excited than a coma patient on sleeping pills.

Starbuck's always forgets my order. Always. I'm not sure I've ever been to one where I haven't been waiting a few minutes only to be asked "What are you waiting for sir?" But I'm used to it, I cope, I'm a pretty laid-back guy so it never really bothers me. In fact, it makes me laugh.

Anyway, this morning I got my coffee and took it over to the fixin's bar to throw in some cinnamon and sugar, when all of a sudden a man burst over next to me, touting the disposition of an angry troll and a haircut that...well, let's just say that Boris no doubt had his way with this man's head.

Troll man takes the lid off of his coffee to put stuff in it and is immediately outraged at what appears to be a very normal looking cup of coffee. "How the hell am I supposed to drink this!!" he shouts, dumps the coffee into the trash and then spikes the cup in after it. He then stormed over to the counter to belittle the poor employee who merely did her job.

I stood there laughing at the guy and thought "That poor bastard just allowed his entire day to be ruined by a cup of coffee." Lately, I've been laughing a lot more. I used to get fired up about stuff or mad or upset, now I just laugh at things. And the more I do it, the more I realize how stupid it is to get angry or stressed about stuff - especially something as small as a $4 cup of joe.

Of course, then I imagined what it would be like if I were to answer his rhetorically idiotic question:

(Andy is at the fixins bar, the troll man comes up, sets his coffee down, and removes the lid...)

Troll: How the hell am I supposed to drink this?!

Andy: Oh here, let me help you. (Andy takes the cup of coffee from the man and holds it up to his mouth, holding his other hand under the man's chin). Now, when I say "drink," you open your mouth and I'll dump this coffee in there. Then you're going to need to swallow.

Troll: ...You're joking righ-

Andy: DRINK!

(Andy begins pouring coffe into Troll's mouth as he's speaking. The man sputters a bit as the coffee is obviously quite hot. The Troll knocks Andy's hand away, spilling the coffee everywhere.)

Andy: Aw, you spilled the coffee everywhere!

Troll: WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?

Andy: Well, I'm not sure. But among my many flaws is the fact that I never catch on to rhetoric.

Troll: You practically burned my face off!

Andy: I love that movie.

Troll: Really? I thought it was okay. Not Travolta's best work. But Cage shines, I'll give you that.

Andy: Oh really? Because I'd say it's the other way around. Question: If you had to pick someone's face to trade with, who would you pick?

Troll: Scott Baio!

Andy: Wow, you didn't even have to stop and think about that did you?

Troll: Why would I?

Andy: I'm not sure. Probably because you fantasize about him...you know, sexually.

Troll: I keep forgetting you don't understand rhetoric.

Andy: What?

Troll: Rhetoric.

Andy: I don't understand rhetoric. If I had to change my face, I would change it to a monkey-face. I wouldn't have to worry about a Halloween costume, and then I could potentially shrink myself and learn to skateboard.

Troll: ...ok...

Andy: Well I'm going to be late for work. Good luck with your coffee. If you need imbibition help in the future, please do let me know.

I bet I would've easily saved that guy a good 15 blood pressure points. Oh well. Whoever you are troll-man, I hope you didn't let that coffee ruin your day. Good luck.

Home Again, Home Again

2006-10-11T13:29:00.000-04:00

I just wanted to let you all know that I won't be posting again until next Monday. I'm taking Thursday and Friday off and going home for what promises to be the best weekend to ever end a week since weeks have needed to be ended. Penn State vs. Michigan. I am amped. Sitting in the student section for this game might just be my greatest accomplishment ever.

My ridiculous posts will be back in effect soon enough. WE ARE!

Grey's Lobotomy

2006-10-09T13:04:00.000-04:00

I watched Grey's Anatomy for the first time last Thursday night. Well that's not exactly true. Technically it was the second time, but the first time I wasn't really paying attention and talked through the whole thing - oh, if only I had been smart enough to do that the second time around.

Everywhere I go it seems some girl I know can't wait to watch Grey's Anatomy or put up a quote from it in her away message. When The Office ended and Deal or No Deal came on I quickly reached for the remote so my exposure to Howie Mandel's shiny head and unpolished humor would be minimal. I started looking for one of the seemingly many new dramas on TV: Heroes, The Nine, Studio 60, then I quickly realized none of them were on. However, as I was flipping I recognized Grey's Anatomy and thought "What the hell? I've had two beers."

I'm not sure how exactly to describe my feelings toward the show. First of all, I found it utterly useless that it takes place in a hospital. They could easily transfer all these "doctors" to work at a Gap in a mall and they'd accomplish just about the same amount of doctoring as they do in the hospital.

Second, Most of the dialogues were women either trying to figure men out, figure themselves out, or just whining about things in general. The (I'm guessing) main character (chick from Old School) was all upset because she couldn't choose between one of two men and she was a surgical intern so she wanted to be wooed properly because she didn't have a lot of time to get it right. Ugh. If I wanted to listen to women complain about things I don't care about, I would answer my cell phone when Erik calls.

Also, the guys on the show are totally ridiculous. One of the dudes couldn't tell his girlfriend he didn't want to move in with her. Please. If I had a girlfriend (and I imagine after writing this post I never will again) who asked me to move in and I didn't want to, there would be nothing stopping me from making the "slcchhh" face, telling her no, and then turning on football.

If I was one of those Irish dudes what's-her-face is trying to date, I would split faster than a horny gymnast. I mean those guys are getting completely played. I'm not sure that Robin is a doctor, but I know the other guy is. If I were to give him advice it'd go something like this:

Andy: Hey dude, what's up?

Doc: Hey Andy, I'm sad.

Andy: Oh, why's that?

Doc: This girl I like is seeing another guy, and I don't know what to do?

Andy: Man, your hair is making you a co-star!

Doc: Huh?

Andy: Seriously. Do you have a team of people work on it in the mornings? I am the last person to know anything about style or fashion - but that hair is just remarkable. Is it real?

Doc: Well...yeah, but we can talk about my-

Andy: Look at it! It's like someone froze the ocean and painted it glossy, jet black!

Doc: Ugh. Can you please-

Andy: If I were a tiny monkey I would buy a skateboard and make your hair my own personal skate park. I'd be the tiniest skating monkey ever! People would come from miles around and say "hey! Look at that tiny monkey skate!" I could charge admission!

Doc: Are we going to talk about my girl problems?

Andy: Your what? I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention. I swear your hair just waved at me and blew me a kiss.

Doc: I'm having girl problems!

Andy: Oh right. Dump her. You're a doctor you moron. Take your hair and go pick up whoever you want. Duh.

Sorry ladies. I know the majority of you love this show, but I just didn't get it. Then again, my dream is to be a tiny, skate-boarding monkey. So what do I know?

No One Cares

2006-10-09T10:15:00.000-04:00

The best part about blogging is that no one really cares what you have to say. Ever. No one cares about your personal life. No one cares about your opinion. No one cares how much you hate your friends. No one cares if you're consistently unfunny. In fact, if you were to say, delete your whole blog, I'm guessing no one would care. Sure you'd get a message or two "oh we'll miss you!" or "please come back and write soon!" But really, no one cares.

The fact of the matter is, people don't really like reading blogs because they care about you. They like reading blogs because they can read them and go "what a freaking idiot." Or, if they happen to know you, "man that person is just full of shit all the time and is nothing like they claim to be." In my case its "Wow. He honestly thinks he's funny? Honestly?" Or they like to hear themselves talk and give advice. It's human nature. I love giving people advice. It's great. But does anyone ever listen? No. Because they make up their mind before they even ask you for advice. They already know what they're going to do. The only reason they follow your advice is if it happens to coincide with what they're already thinking.

Wouldn't it be great if people just told your opinion means nothing to them? The world would be a lot better off. The idiots would probably segregated onto their own islands. Man, a whole island just for idiots. Can you imagine? I can...

Andy: Hey friend, how's it going?

Friend: Oh it's going great!

Andy: Good to hear. What's makin' your life so easy?

Friend: I'm going on vacation this week.

Andy: Oh sweet, where to?

Friend: Idiot Island!

Andy: Oh man, I've heard about that place! I've always wanted to go there and poke the locals with sticks.

Friend: Yeah I can't wait. I hear there's lots of self-important people there to kick.

Andy: Oooh!

Friend: Anyway, the train leaves in 20 minutes so I'd better get a move on.

Andy: Yeah - let me know earlier next time, I'll come with you. We can laugh at how intellectual they think they are.

Heeeeeeeere we go.

2006-10-05T23:43:00.000-04:00

I just wanted to post this before it actually happened. So everyone can point to it and say what a genius I am.

I predict that "Hug it out, bitch" will become the most over-used phrase, literally, overnight. You will hear it everywhere you go starting tomorrow (Friday). Get ready, because uninventive douchebags are about to run it into the ground.

Your Last, Terrible, Option

2006-10-05T17:17:00.000-04:00

The first blog to say goodbye that I really enjoyed was intern Andy's. Then The Daily Dump called it quits. Next thing you know, Spinach Dip peaces out. Now the lovely Monkey Pants is claiming to have had her fill (for at least the time being). And while these blogs represent the institution of blogging to many, well, I'm glad to see them go.

I know what a lot of you are thinking "But Andy, I really enjoyed reading those other blogs and I thought you liked them too. Why would you want them to go?" The reason, my friends, is this: My blog is terrible and ridiculous. I can't be expected to compete with consistently funny humor the likes of Intern Andy's or The Daily Dump's. My writing is at the very best sub-par compared to Spinach Dip's, and let's just say if I blogged about my personal life like Monkey Pants...well, there would be a lot of blogs with simply a date, a time, and a list of things in my refrigerator.

You see folks, it's all about standing out in a crowd. And when the crowd leaves, then it's just all about standing. I'd like to send a big thanks to the bloggers who have quit and would like to encourage all others to follow in their footsteps. It's kind of like I've gone from being USA to being TBS. Instead of tuning in every now and then, people are going to start dropping by on a regular basis- still not really expecting anything great (nor should they, because they won't get it), but still looking for something better to do than just sit and stare.

I pledge to you all that I won't leave you stranded. I'll continue to write mindless humor, poor music reviews, and shabby observations. I'll always be here to be your TBS, MTV, and heck, maybe even someday NBC. Just because I can't write, doesn't mean I'm not determined.

Dear Non-Flushers

2006-10-03T20:43:00.000-04:00

Dear Non-Flushers of floor 9,

First and foremost I realize you may not be able to read this letter, seeing as how you can't figure out how to flush the toilet. However, being the generally amiable person I am, I figure I'll give you the benefit of the doubt of, at the very least, a high school education (note: "high school" indicates the grades 9-12 in the American Educational system - not a school located at the peak of a mountain or run by Snoop Dogg and Cheech and Chong).

There is a serious matter I'd like you to consider upon urinating: flushing. Flushing is defined in the dictionary as "To be emptied or cleaned by a rapid flow of water, as a toilet." As complicated as this process sounds, it doesn't actually involve any need of yours to "empty" anything, nor does it mean you have to clean something. Quite the opposite in fact, it requires you simply to pull, or push, a lever (in any direction). It's pretty amazing. The "rapid flow of water" comes as if from nowhere and washes away your pee - leaving a whole new batch of fresh water for the next person to pee into.

This may not seem like a big deal to you, seeing as how not flushing doesn't affect you at all. But to that guy who has to use the urinal after you? Well, it's a pretty big deal.

You see, your pee smells bad. Maybe it's your constant diet of Budweiser and chicken-fries, I don't know. I do know that you are certainly not well-hydrated and you don't take any vitamin supplements. The next person that has to pee has to deal with your stinky pee. It's really gross. If you haven't noticed our bathroom is classless enough without emitting the stench of a malnourished man's urine. I mean, my God, just standing there for the .03 seconds it takes to do the flushing you couldn't be bothered to do is enough to make me want to puke. If you flushed the toilet, it would eliminate the smell of your tepid pool of penile swill from the bathroom. It would also signifigantly diminish "splashback."

Splashback is what happens when you pee at the urinal. It's bad enough to get your clothes and hands slightly misted by your own urine, but to think that someone else's is mixing with it and creating a hybrid, uber-pee, is disgusting. You might be surprised to learn that I don't want your pee on my hands or splashed onto my pants and belt. I'll tell you what. I'll make you a deal. You flush when you're done urinating, and I won't hold your face in the urinal when I see you leaving the bathroom stinking of the recycled 40 of Old E you drank last night before your trip to KFC.

In closure, I'd like to thank you for at least trying to read this. Please, for the sake of humanity and to avoid its regression to prehistoric times, flush...damn you.

Sincerely,

The King of Spills

Orifice Manager

2006-09-28T11:24:00.000-04:00

This week has been and will continue to be a good week for me at work. The reasons are many but basically it boils down to me taking Friday off, and, most importantly, my office manager's battle with a rhinovirus.

I work in the office with just him, so when he's not here I have free reign of the territory. Don't get me wrong, I like having my boss around. He's a good guy and we get along, but sometimes it's nice to have the place to yourself. Its pretty cool for me as I get to keep the thermostat where I want, can get up and walk around, crank my music up, dance, pee in the corner, throw things, catch things, and host elegant tea-parties and act the part of a proper gentleman. But what gets to me is that he's still sick and came into the office today.

My immune system is pretty awesome. It's like the ~~pirates~~ ninjas of immune systems. I'm talkin' throwing stars, nunchucks, katanas coming at any sort of foreign threat. My lymph-nodes are to viruses what talent is to Damon Wayans. But the long and short of it is, don't come to the freakin' office if you still sound like you've crammed a sock in your nose and your orificium are still leaking more fluid than...a...a...something that leaks a lot of fluid.

If you're one of those peoples who would rather go to work and be sick then use a sick day, remember: You're not staying home for you, you're staying home for the delight of your co-workers.

The Weekend

2006-09-27T15:47:00.000-04:00

Living in New York has taught me a lot of things so far - like how to take a zombie's head clean-off with a shotgun, or how to trap and cook rat when your paycheck runs out 3 days after you get it. But all-in-all it has taught me how to be single.

You see, every time the weekend rolls around I typically look for something to do during the day. At first I used to look for something at night too, but that has gradually gotten better as I actually get invited out now (well, most of the time anyway). But being single in Manhattan can get pretty old as when you want to say, go to a movie, the zoo, a museum, a jazz show, whatever, you have to do it alone. I even find myself walking to places just because it will take up more time that I'm not just sitting in my apartment flipping through the channels for ~~Felicity reruns~~ some kind of sport.

I'm sure most of you know what I'm talking about and it's not a strictly New York thing for sure. Just moving to a new city it takes time to make those really good friends. You know, that person you can call just to hang up on because you think it's funny. Or the other person you know you can ask to do anything because their mind is just as numb as yours and they just want to get out of their apartment too.

This weekend I'm headed home. It's a good friend's birthday and, well, $1 for a mixed drink just kind of makes life a little sweeter (if not blurry). I've also got some buddies of mine from my studio in undergrad who also enjoy drinking - and sure, my parents are there too (just kidding Dad).

Anyway, this post was supposed to be about how nice and weird it is to see green and trees and mountains everywhere when I head home from the city. I guess it got kind of sentimental. But whatever. At least I didn't resort to another Jesus and Satan dialogue.

Wow.

2006-09-26T16:56:00.000-04:00

I don't really work in the "music industry." I work kind of along side of it. Every so often, someone who has no clue what my company does decides to send us a demo of their CD. Typically we listen to them, have a laugh at how terrible it is, and then throw it away.

I got this one yesterday. It is quite honestly the funniest letter I have ever read. But not because of the poor grammar and obvious Miami-like language skills. But because it appears that he had his 6 year old brother write it for him. I've left out his contact info and last name so, if you want to contact this guy...well if you want to contact this guy you should be shot.

And the head shot....

Yes ladies and gentlemen. The most preposterous untalented 9 year old ever...from 1986.

I only wish he would've included a CD of himself "singing" and "playing" guitar.

Work Bathroom: Now featuring...soap!

2006-09-25T14:26:00.000-04:00

My office is really classy. Alright, not really. But it isn't so bad. It's a big space, I don't have a cubicle, I do have a window, we even have a box of beer hats. I'm not lying. A whole box. But we don't have beer. I've been meaning to remedy that but usually I'm so hungover by the time I get to work the last thing I want is another beer.

What is not in my office is a bathroom. We're just in a big room and the bathroom is down the hall, shared with the other small business on our floor. Before today it was run down. It was kind of like having to go to the bathroom at a gas station. Not a nice gas station like sheetz, but a run-down, Alabama bathroom. In fact, I'm really surprised I don't have to ask for the key from a 5-toothed inbred nick-named "Shankers" because of his underdeveloped left leg and penchant for saying "Shanks!" instead of "thanks!" And when I'd ask him for the key he'd eye up my "city-clothes" and spit into a spittoon. Then he'd look at me all squinty-eyed and tell me not to steal anything. "Okay I won't!" I'd say and roll my eyes. Then he'd threaten me and we'd become best of friends. We'd start a horse-training business and sell horses to the circus. Then, after various failed side-projects our company would go bankrupt and we'd be put in jail for tax-evasion. Then I'd kill him with a shiv in his sleep.

But today there was a big change. After I finished peeing I went to the sink to look for the hand-dispenser of soap and got ready to wipe my hands on my jeans when, upon further inspection, a soap dispenser! And not just any old soap, that fancy kind that just turns into foam when you squirt it from the machine. As I prepared to wipe my hands on my jeans, I then saw the paper towel dispenser. I couldn't believe my eyes!

Soap AND paper towels! Things are looking up. I mean seriously, everywhere I go. Ants, dogs, Aunts, cats, people, it's really weird. Just gazing skyward. And I say to them "what are you doing?!" And they just keep gazing skyward. I don't know why.

But I have soap. And paper towels.

A New Trend in the Dating World

2006-09-25T09:59:00.000-04:00

Looking for this hilarious post?

TOO BAD!

This will solve your problems...

Hilarious

2006-09-22T15:34:00.000-04:00

I don't think I'm funny today.

Jeans or peep show? You decide.

2006-09-21T09:20:00.000-04:00

A few months ago I had to throw out my favorite pair of jeans and by that time, well, I hadn't been wearing them that much anyway. So of course my second favorite pair of jeans got the upgrade to numero uno (that's Spanish for "Favorite pair of jeans") but, unfortunately, they too will soon have to be thrown away.

Both these pairs of jeans are the same age - just over a year old. Which I guess is okay, but for someone who is used to wearing clothes for 4-5 years, it stinks. I wouldn't be stressing about it so much, but now ANOTHER pair of jeans is going to have to be retired soon too - and these are like less than 6 months.

I'm sure at this point you've moved on to another, funnier, more interesting blog. But, in the rare chance you haven't, I'm rewarding you with the reason why I keep having to retire my denim. It's kind of a sensitive area for me, well, it's a sensitive area for any male really, and in this sensitive area is where my jeans tend to develop holes. They start off pretty small but they grow quickly into sizeable vents.

Now it isn't like I go commando (well, not everyday anyway), so I can usually continue to wear the jeans until the holes really become a problem. What really gets me is that I have to buy more jeans. I hate shopping. I don't know what looks cool and usually I just end up frustrated and empty-handed. I would just buy the same ones as my cool jeans, but they don't have them in the discount stores anymore, and there's no way I'm going to pay the $225 that Bloomingdale's wants for them.

If anyone happens to know a brand of jeans which doesn't spontaneously create it's own ball vents, I'd be happy to hear of it. Or if you happen to know where I can get a pair of Earnest Sewn's for around $70.

Return of the Album

2006-09-20T09:52:00.000-04:00

An interesting thing happened to me the other day. Well, not really interesting. In fact this whole ~~post~~ blog is uninteresting. Nevertheless, something happened to me the other day. Man, I really need to work on my grammar. It didn't happen to me, it happened to my iPod. And when I say "it" happened, I mean "I" happened. Alright, so then: I happened to my iPod the other day.

If you're wondering what that means, well, take a gander up at the web address you're currently at. I'm called King of Spills, not because I fall down a lot, but because I am constantly knocking things over or dropping things. My iPod is no exception. The other day I dropped it 3 times.

The first time I dropped it was immediately upon coming into my office. Plop, right on the floor. It continued to work and I thought nothing of it. Then, on the subway on the way home, the cord from my headphones got caught on part of my bag and me tugging it was enough to pull the iPod free of the pocket on the side of my bag, and cause it to plummet to the ground. Again, I picked up the iPod and plugged my headphones right back in as it didn't affect it's performance in the slightest. Finally, on my way out of the subway, I dropped it on the concrete. Well that did it.

My computer can still see the iPod, but the display and buttons don't work, and it emits a smell like its insides are burning. I took it apart and fiddled around by my poor-at-best iPod repair skills didn't really help me out at all.

This is all a really long story to say that I am now back to using my standby from over 3 years ago (yes, my iPod is really old): My minidisc player. It's not even a newer minidisc player that's smaller and can read those extra-long play minidiscs you can stick mp3's on. I have to record stuff to it in real-time - meaning I have to plan which album I'm going to listen to the night before I want to listen to it.

(The MZ-R50)

I really thought I would hate not having 10GB (told you it was old) of my music with me all the time. That I wouldn't be able to skip around depending on my mood or preference for that point in time. But, I did what I had to. Naturally, since I have a strong man-love for John Mayer, I recorded his latest onto a minidisc and have been listening to exclusively it ever-since.

I forgot what it's like to be dedicated to listening to an album. The iPod spoils people. There are definitely tracks on Continuum I know I would've skipped, but if I skip a song it's a good chunk of my listening time and I won't have music during my whole commute now.

It's nice to focus on an album again. It really gives an appreciation for all the hard work the artist puts into it(or an understanding that maybe they didn't put a lot of hard work into it - that they depend on a single to carry it off the shelves). The congruency of the sound is great too. To be trapped in such a small section of a given genre is actually quite liberating. It's almost like you're getting to know the artist better with each listen.

The other upside of the MiniDisc is the sound quality. Now, it's true, you can't really tell when you're listening to strictly mp3's all the time that they don't sound that great. But I'm using the same crap headphones I use with my iPod, and the difference was immediately recognizeable. I get to hear so much more - different sounds, backing vocals, stuff that otherwise kind of gets lost in the mix or isn't as clean.

Since I can't afford a new iPod until Christmastime, it looks like I'll be mini-discing a lot lately. So my question to you, my faithful readers¹ is - what are some good albums to check out? Don't just list random crap, try and follow these guidelines when suggesting things:

1) Jazz is always good - I particularly like piano and guitar (Bill Evans, Pat Metheney, Kurt Rosenwinkel, Brad Mehldau)
2) I do like rock/pop/indie but it should be very melodic with high-skilled players. If you say Arctic Monkeys, I'll kill you. I hate those guys that talk-sing (also I dislike the Strokes, and all the Strokes knock-offs that have become so popular).
3) I like sell out punk like Blink 182 and Fallout Boy (I dunno, maybe that's sell-out Emo).
4) I'm starting to get into older country like Johnny Cash.
5) I love the White Stripes.

Alright suggest away.

¹Reader

Lobster Hands

2006-09-19T14:17:00.000-04:00

Last night I went and got some lobster. Then, upon returning from dinner, noticed that I had "lobster hands." You know, where all the lobster-water spills on your hands and stinks them up? Why, what did you think I meant?

Continuum - A Review

2006-09-18T15:26:00.000-04:00

I'm not a huge "music reviewer" but since my current favorite artist just had an album come out, I figured I'd give it a completely biased (well, not completely) review, track by track. Here we go.

1. Waiting on the World to Change - For some reason everytime a new single of John's comes out, it is inevitably going to be the worst track on the album. If you only know JM's stuff through his singles, you have some serious listening to get to. I'm not nuts about this song. Sonically its great, but the subject of the lyrics, eh, whatever. I like the use of bells, rhodes, and hammond on the track but I just happen to be partial to that kind of sound.

2. I Don't Trust Myself - This tune has some great sounds on it. I can't tell if it's synths or the instruments just have cool effects on them. At any rate it's very cool. Lately John's had a couple tunes that have a more vintage and timeless 70's feel to them and this is one of them. The best part is they still sound new at the same time. If you've ever heard Eric Tagg, this might remind you of him. Roy Hargrove makes his second Mayer album appearance with some horn lines, nothin' too fancy. This is a great bluesy, laid-back tune. Good for enticing the ladies with.

3. Belief - I like this song a lot. You can really hear the influence the Police/Sting has had on John - I mean its glaring in this track. I'm also vaguely reminded of Seal when I listen to this tune. The chorus is probably my favorite melodic part of the song, though the lyric of it doesn't blow me away.

4. Gravity - A studio version of the same tune from the Trio album, this song shines. John is a very tasteful guitar player - he always seems to have just enough going on, but never too much. Gravity is a great example of what makes John a fantastic guitarist. Lyrically I love this song too. A good example of how John can express his feelings so that you just "get it." You listen to this song and say "Yeah, I been there." It's not love bringing him down, or anything in particular, it's some unseen force. I like that concept. I also like the addition of the gospel/blues backers in this tune at around the 3:30 mark. A nice touch.

5. The Heart of Life¹ - One of my favorites on the album and, now, of his period. This is a really great tune. It's a little George Harrison, a little McCartney, a little Dillon...a really nice mix of a tune. Very rustic. My favorite part of this tune is when it breaks open right around 2:25. It's a nice release of the tension created up until that point. Great lyric and guitar solo as well. This song is great in its seeming simplicity.

6. Vultures - Another studio version of a Trio track, this is another timeless one of John. It sounds like he went back in time to write this song. I really like the lyrics for this song as well. To me this whole song is a never-quit attitude in the face of constant opposition or doubt. Pino's bassline is great and provides a nice even-keeled drive.

7. Stop This Train¹ - The guitar reminds me of "Mother Nature's Son" on this track. He uses a technique here on the guitar where he finger picks and hits the low string with this thumb at the same time providing a really great sound. I love the lyrics to this tune. I also like the piano interlude giving the tune a sort of Nick Drake feel. Again John's mastery of tension and release is apparent towards the end of the tune at 3:34. Fantastic. It's hard to find songwriting like that anywhere right now. I'd also like to note how good his falsetto sounds on this track.

8. Slow Dancing in a Burning Room - Another one with an older, kind of timeless feel to it. Maybe it's the blues of these tunes creeping out that makes me keep thinking that, I'm not sure but I like it. What I really like about Mayer's tunes is the music suits the feeling so well. This song has its own slow burn about it. It sounds cliche but if you're listening to the track it makes sense.

9. Bold As Love - A Hendrix cover. I think it's done very well and by the only guitar player in the spotlight right now who's actually good enough to pull it off. Even his sound is a close match of Jimi's.

10. Dreaming with a Broken Heart - I'm not crazy about the piano at the beginning of this track. It doesn't seem to be the right instrument until the chords start - the arpeggios might've been better suited to another sound. However, I love the chordal motion by the piano when it takes over. Not one of my favorites on the album, but in the past I've thought the same thing about certain tracks and then after listening to it a bunch I start to find more to like about it.

11. In Repair - "Too many hours in this midnight." Awesome. I like this track a lot. It's one of those where you hear the beginning and go "eh" and then it keeps getting better and better as the seconds tick on. I think this song is stronger lyrically than musically overall, but it's a very nice tune. Kind of a tidying up of all the questioning of himself he was doing on Heavier Things.

12. I'm Gonna Find Another You - I feel like this song was written by and for Nora Jones. A really great song and the horn lines are classy. Classy like an oyster bar in New Orleans if that makes any sense. Another blues track worth its salt though it weighs in at under 3 minutes.

Overall a great new effort by John and once again he's redefined himself. Overall these tunes are pretty radio unfriendly so you might have to saunter to the record store to grab this one to really hear all the good stuff on it.

¹My two favorite tracks on the album, at least so far.

Lying to People

2006-09-15T12:23:00.000-04:00

Nothing is more fun than lying to people, especially when intoxicated. Don't get me wrong, I'm a fairly truthful guy and it's not like I'm trying to lie to people to get them to sleep with me or owe me stuff or anything iniquitous. But since the weekend is coming up I figured I'd pass off one of my favorite passtimes for you all to try out this weekend - if you don't already do it.

It works best if you go out with a couple really good friends who you know will automatically back up whatever you say and hopefully add to it. The idea is to keep the lie going, keep it believable, and try to make your partners in crime¹ break-up with laughter so that the lie is given away by the person who laughs. It seems a little ridiculous to lie merely for the pleasure of making someone else be responsible of "getting caught" but it really is a fun game. Here's one my two roommates in Miami did one night - I can't remember all of it word for word but this will give you the idea.

(Brewer is talking to two girls. Jables and Andy are nearby...)

Brewer: Yeah, I live with those two guys over there, we went to high school together. We all even played defense on the high school football team.

(Andy and Jables make their way over)

Andy: Dude, you telling out football stories? This guy (indicated Brewer) was nuts. We called him PF-15.

Girl 1: Why did you call him that?

Jables: Because he was constantly late-hitting people and getting personal fouls.

Andy: It was a little ridiculous, I mean these guys would clearly be out of bounds or on the ground and POW! Out of nowhere!

Girl 2: Oh geez, Brewer you don't seem like that kind of guy-

Brewer: I know. It's just that Strong Safety mentality. When I was out on the field I couldn't control myself - I usually never even heard the whistle blowing the play dead.

Andy: Yeah. I remember you got thrown out of so many games - remember when you broke that guy's collar bone?

Girl 1: Oh no!

Jables: It was unbelieveable. Stretcher and everything - Brewer was not exactly a fan favorite for the opposing team. Nor a pinnacle of sportsmanship.

Andy: Not that Jables is one to talk. Although you never really flagrant fouled, you just kind of played the dirtiest line-backer position of all time.

Girl 2: What do you mean?

Brewer: You know, face-masking, just random little dirty stuff while no one was watching. Didn't you poke that guy in the eye once?

Jables: Dude, you should've heard what he called my mom. I don't stand for that shit.

Girl 1: (to Andy) What did you do?

Andy: I was just fast as hell. I ran the forty in 3.8 seconds until I broke my ankle Jr. year. Then I was down 4.8. It sucked.

Girl 2: Isn't that incredibly fast?

Andy: Yeah, fastest ever actually. A lot of people dogged me and said I cheated but I could catch anyone. Until the ankle injury of course. I was just never the same.

I'm gonna end it there but this was basically what we did at every party. Sometimes we'd even be in completely opposite places (like if someone lived in a house, we would be corroborating stories in the front yard that came from the back yard, etc). It would continue as long as we could keep straight faces.

Anyway, go out there and have a fun weekend. I'll be the guy who's the center of attnetion, talking about his days spent post-college in a Spanish Mission working as a mule for the local drug cartel.

¹NOT Partners in Kryme, the singing duo responsible for "T-U-R-T-L-E POWER!"

Chuffing: An Epidemic

2006-09-14T15:00:00.000-04:00

You know things are serious when your best friend dies. And it's not that my best friend died, I'm just saying that's when you know things are serious. Your good buddy kicks off to see that big busty blonde in the sky and you just look around and say to yourself "It's real. Yes, it's real."

It is going to happen to kids on playgrounds everywhere. The guy they used to pick last in kickball will no longer be around. The person they used to push on the swing will have done their last superman only days earlier. Billy's first school crush won't have her ponytail available for yanking, nor will he be able to sneak a peek at her underwear. And maybe at lunch time no one will be at the "cool table."

A new epidemic has arisen in the United States and while most trundle about their everyday lives blindly to it, I would like to make my large¹ reading audience aware of its pandemic overtaking of schoolrooms everywhere. What am I talking about? You ask. Is he just making up stupid crap again? You suppose. I'm afraid it's all too real. "It" is called "Chuffing."

(Here we see an old photo of a middle-aged Chuffer)

Invented by the Dutch in 976 AD as a way to oust witchery from small towns, Chuffing is the act of huffing up chalk dust that has been dispelled by either grinding chalk up in a large complicated mill, or, more currently, banging erasers together. It was thought that chuffing was largely forgotten about once the majority of Dutch Witches had been chased into chasms or consumed by villager-lit forest fires at the ends of complicated traps into which they had been enticed by chuff-dust, but apparently its back.

(Here we see a demonstration of extracting a "Chuffing Cloud" from everyday blackboard erasers)

Parents in rural towns in the Midwest have been affected most so far and their cries of outrage are finally starting to be recognized by local media. They've had to start spanking again and they are NOT happy about it. Says Florence Mills of South Dakota about her son, Teddy:

"My son goes to West Central and yesterday when he came home he had a funny white powder all over his nose. When I asked him what it was he just ran to his room. I went through his bag and found two erasers he had stolen from school and noticed he had written in sharpie on his backpack - 'Don't Sotp Chuffin.'"

More stories are cropping up everyday about kids just like Teddy Mills. The kids get hooked when they're asked to stay after school to bang the erasers out and inevitably end up inhaling vast amounts of chalk dust. Here's what happens.

A child bangs two erasers together to disspell chalk particles into the air. Said child then steps into the cloud and inahles. The bits of chalk enter the nervous system through the lungs and the child is sent into a state of euphoria, not unlike the one achieved by hitting a homer in whiffle ball or calling their "crush" and then hanging up the phone immediately.

(Valerie Little in mid-chuff)

Valerie Little (pictured above) was kind enough to sit down and talk a little about Chuffing. Her story:

"It all started a few months ago. It was my last period of the day and I had just finished up drawing pretty stars on my social studies bookcover that I made myself out of a brown paper bag. Anyway, I was asked to stay behind and help clean out the erasers. This took about 15 minutes and I realized as I was leaving the class room I was high as a kite. I immediately told all my friends 'our days of sniffing glue and getting high off of empty hair-spray cans is over!' I started a local chuff-club and now it's practically all we do."

Sadly the mortality rate of a Chuffer versus that of a normal child is stratospheric. When will it end? Do your part and join your local PTA's efforts to stop Chuffing. I urge you, before its too late.

¹Small

Stop This Train

2006-09-13T21:25:00.001-04:00

This is probably one of the best songs written in the past 15 years as far as I'm concerned. It's on Continuum, but some cool kid was lucky enough to hear this tune when it was just a baby, and tape it for the rest of us:

Jesus John

2006-09-13T10:02:00.000-04:00

Go buy Continuum right now. It's worth it if the only song you like is "Stop This Train." But it won't be. More to come...

Here's something you haven't needed in a while

2006-09-12T15:53:00.000-04:00

Here's a list of supplies you used to need on a regular basis, but probably don't anymore:

1) A pencil box
2) A set of crayons, the more colors you have, the cooler you are.

3) A ruler
4) A new lunchbox, metal or plastic, with designated favorite cartoon on the front.

5) Of course, it also came with a thermos - useful for a cold drink, or some hot Mac&Cheese.

6) One of those small, cube-shaped pencil sharpeners

7) A couple folders with your favorite sports team/2nd favorite TV show.
8) A package of markers. Washable of course.

Anything I missed?

Crossing the Street: Harder than you'd think

2006-09-11T10:30:00.000-04:00

Last night as I was walking home to my apartment, all full of ice cream and gnocchi, I noticed a bunch of those metal sidewalk barricades lining the block my apartment is on. After reading some vague signs about when you can't park there and seeing no real information explaining the need for barricades.

At first I figured, since my neighborhood is largely Puerto Rican, maybe they were going to have a parade. It was then pointed out that a parade probably would not occur from 6pm-12am on a Monday night. But then I remembered how often I come home to find kids playing well past midnight and thought maybe the parade would happen.

Eventually though, I decided to just ignore it and go watch TV, like the good American citizen I am.

This morning on my typical walk to the subway the barricades were of course up, only now there was a big difference - I was boxed in on the sidewalk. The police weren't letting anyone through. I was told that in a few minutes the presidential motorcade was going to be coming by and then they'd re-open the sidewalks.

Not really caring about getting to work on time I told the cop I'd rather be outside waiting in the sunshine than going to work anyway at which point he said "well thanks. I've been called every name in the book so far this morning - you're one of the nice ones." At this point some jerk on a bike pedals up and upon finding out he couldn't cross the street for a whole 15 minutes he immediately started bitching and then gave up. A few minutes later he went back to the cop with a well-crafted arugment about why he should be let through.

I thought to myself "how ridiculous is it that this guy is bitching to the cop and then figured that if he had some really solid points the cop just might let him by." I wondered if I were a cop if anyone could talk me into letting them by. I mean I'm sure someone would be able to do it but I don't know what it would take:

Andy: I'm sorry sir, you can't pass through here.

Jesus: Dude, really?

Andy: Yes Jesus, really. I'm not allowed to move these barricades for anyone.

Jesus: Oh come ooooon.

Andy: Absolutely not.

Jesus: Look, my prime lime bar sales location is right across the street. All I need to do is get there and setup before -

Satan: Wokka wokka wokka!

Andy: Ugh. What is wrong with you two, and why are you constantly hanging out near each other?

Jesus: Don't look at me. Satan has been trying to follow me around and have my cool rub off on him for the past thousand years or so.

Andy: Don't you guys fight?

Satan: Nah, I gave up on that. Now I just try and sell more hot dogs than he does lime bars. Plus, do you know how hard it is to fight Jesus? He looks scrawny and weather-beaten, but man, he is one cagey guy.

Jesus: I'm telling you Satan, you're a good fighter, you just need to work on your footwork a little -

Satan: And be, oh, I don't know, THE SON OF GOD!

Jesus: Don't you start with me again! I told you he keeps his nose out of it! I fight my own fights!

Satan: Yeah right.

(Satan and Jesus stop and stare at each other briefly and then begin fighting like a couple of little kids - just kind of putting their hands out and slapping at each other and other basic rough-housing)

Andy: Alright, alright! Break it up you two!

(Andy moves the barricade to step over and split up Satan and Jesus and a man on a bike pedals through the opening and screams "see ya, sucker!")

Andy: Oh no you did not!

(Andy draws his gun and shoots the biker. He falls to the ground and bleeds quietly)

Jesus: Well we gave it a shot.

Andy: You mean you two planned that?

Satan: Yeah. He gave me $5 and told Jesus he'd buy some lime bars.

Jesus: I told him it wouldn't work - you figure people would listen to someone who pretty much can predict the future.

Andy: Well, I guess he learned his lesson! Anyway I'm going home.

Satan: Aren't you on duty?

Andy: Guys, the skit is over. I'm not sticking around. See ya.

Jesus: (together with Satan, waving) Bye Andy.

Deal with it. It's a Monday. I'll try to be more creative come Wednesday or something.

MySpace you are indeed a sage!

2006-09-07T13:35:00.000-04:00

MySpace bulletins are typically the stupidest things you'll ever read, and then if you don't repost them after reading them, you supposedly suffer a horrible calamity. Here is one that was posted today:

Blue eyes-
-People with blue eyes last the longest in relationships. They are kind, pretty or handsome & very good kissers.they always fall in love with there closest friends and never understand why, they are very funny and outgoing and don't care what people think or say,They are very satisfying and love to please.They can EXCEED your pleasure standards.People with blue eyes are very sexy and very attracted towards the opposite sex. The best of all. If you repost this and you have blue eyes you will have the best kiss sometime in the next 5 days.

-Green Eyes-

-Sex Addicts!!!People with green eyes have the most passion put into relationships, they have long lasting relationships. People with green eyes are also the horniest and most beautiful. They long for the touch of another. People with green eyes are very sexy and very attracted towards the opposite sex. They help others in need. They are the most atrractive eyes of them all. They get envied alot but it doesnt bother them. You will meet the person you're going to spend the rest of your life with if you repost this.

-Hazel Eyes-

-People with hazel eyes are very loveable. They are really hott and awsome to be around. Their relationship tends to be very honest cause if they aren't truly in love, the relationship won't work. They are very fun to be around but don't enjoy "pet names". They fall easily for their best friends. Can make anyone laugh no matter what they're mood! They don't care what people think or say about them! They are very satisfying and love to please. They would give anything to be with their special someone! They are very laid back and chill and love to just be around. If you repost this and have hazel eyes then you will be happy soon with the person who is on your heart.

-Brown eyes-
-STRAIGHT UP PIMPS!!!!!Sexy as hell,people with brown eyes are very attractive, adorable, love to make new friends. Will do anything for that special person. Kind and polite Can make anyone laugh or cheer them up. Loves to please the one they care for or love,very good kissers, are straight up WARRIORS, repost this if you have brown eyes, and you will find the one that you are meant to be with within the next 7 days

I thought it would be really funny if only one or two of the eye-categories was complimentary and the other eye colors got totally slammed. If I were to write a similar bulletin, it would probably look something like this:

Blue eyes-
-People with blue eyes last the longest in relationships and sexual intercourse. They are kind, pretty or handsome & very good kissers. They are very talented at writing hilarious blogs that makes everyone like them. They are very funny (or at least they think so) and outgoing and don't care what people think or say, but people care what they think and say because they're just so darn awesome. They are very satisfying and love to please. They can EXCEED your pleasure standards. People with blue eyes are very sexy and very attracted towards the opposite sex. If you repost this and you have blue eyes you will have the best kiss sometime in the next 5 days followed by winning a free trip to Greece and, what the heck? Winning the lottery.

-Green Eyes-

-People with green eyes are at the highest risk to suffer from bear attacks, shark attacks, poor hearing, and bee stings. Though typically amiable people, they have been subjected to government tests as children due to the right-wings hatred of all things green. Often times green eyed people enjoy life, though its typically short due to the clauses outlined in the first sentence. If you have green eyes and repost this, you will be fending off 6 bee stings in the upcoming year.

-Hazel Eyes-

-People with hazel eyes are typically assholes. They frighten small children with their cacophonous bodily noises and eat only low-carb diets. Their typical occupations include: jungle cat trainer, ferris wheel operator, and convicted felon. They also smell terrible. If you repost this and have hazel eyes then you will be hit by a bus. But if you DON'T re-post it, you'll be hit by two buses.

-Brown eyes-

-Dumbest. People. Ever. I knew this kid with brown eyes once who tried to eat a live chicken. It was outrageous. The thing pecked off his lips. People with brown eyes are regarded as slack-jawed dimwits who WISH they knew how to read because they like the glossy finish of library cards. Brown-eyed people that can read typically have no sense of direction and are tricked easily. Repost this if you have brown eyes and we'll send you a free library card! NOT! Tricked again, jerk!

2 Fantastic Blog Ideas

2006-09-06T12:41:00.000-04:00

That's right, I have 2 fantastic blog ideas. Unfortunately this is not one of them. Instead I wanted to write a little bit about my recent experiences.

I got a voicemail on Sunday evening letting me know that my landlord needs his apartment back. I have until October 15th to find a new apartment. This is actually a good turn of events because I wanted to get out of my place anyway. I'm getting kind of fed up with having a roommate that isn't a good friend...or a friend at all, and my place is a bit dumpy.

Inevitably when finding an apartment in New York one turns to Craiglist, the most useful useless internet tool on the planet. I found my last apartment on there and it has worked out in not working out. I figured I'd give it another go because I was so fortunate and so frustrated the first time around¹.

When you look for an apartment in New York, there are often times broker's fees. For those of you who have the luxury of finding apartments without brokers let me explain how it works: YOU find the apartment on craigslist, YOU meet the broker near the place, the broker shows up, shows you the place, and expects you to immediately take it so he can make his obscenely high fee - usually 13% of a year's worth of rent. When the apartment turns out to be a piece of garbage, the conversation goes something like this:

Broker: So, what do you think²?

Andy: Well, it's alright, but not what I'm looking for. It's a little smaller than I wanted, its pretty dark, the ceilings are pretty low, not enough closet space, and the rent is too high for what it is and the area its in.

Broker: Are you kidding me?! Do you know how hard it is to find what you want in this city? This is a great deal! How many other apartments do you know of for this kind of money in the city? It's fantastic amazing! Good luck finding something better. You will fail. I hate you now! I hate you for not taking this place immediately! You are stupid! You will never find a place to live! How long have you lived here?! How much is your rent now?

Andy: No, Yes, not it's not, quite a few, no it isn't, thanks, no I won't, I hate you too, I don't care, I know you are but what am I? Yes I will, about a year, I'm not telling, you'd cry.

Broker: Wait...what?

Andy: I'm gonna leave now...right after I pee on your shoes.

Broker: (sighs) This always happens to me.

And that's pretty much how it goes. You show up, hate the place, and then they get mad at you. The funniest thing to do is to tell them its too expensive. One time this guy said to me: "$2500³! Isn't that a great price?" to which I responded: "No, it isn't." He was furious and actually stormed out. I couldn't stop laughing.

¹If you've used Craigslist at all, this paragraph should make perfect sense to you.
²This exactly what they have said to me everytime - "what do you think?" What they mean is, "I half-assed my job and am fully expecting you to take this place now."
³This was for a 1 bdrm that I was going to live in with a friend of mine - we were going to put a wall up which costs like another $800. The broker new this. Granted the location was great, 25th and Park, but it wasn't THAT nice of a place.

My Technorati Number: A status symbol

2006-09-05T09:26:00.000-04:00

If you’ve talked to me about my blog before, chances are I've mentioned that no one reads it or comments or that I don't even really consider myself a blogger because I don't talk about "this person did that to me" or "you know what really pisses me off¹?" or "my life is in turmoil and my thighs are too big" or "why doesn't she love me like I love her?" or "do you know what my favorite kind of peanut butter is?"...alright the peanut butter one I'd probably write about² but you get my drift. My theory is that because my ideas are so typically inane and ridiculous that no one wants to read them because there is no way to identify with them. I am perfectly okay with this.

While looking for other things to do at work besides work and having run out of blogs to read and extricated as much information as I possibly could from sitemeter, I started poking around Technorati. This may be my eventual downfall. The 'rati is a pretty cool little site and for those of you who don't know, it gives you a rank and tells you how many other blogs link to your blog, and also how many blogs link to the blogs that link to you.

All the blogs on the right are sites that I read everyday. The list grows as I find myself going to a site more than once every couple of weeks, or if there's a particularly good post, then I'll add them out of principal. It's my way of saying "you wrote a good post, here's a cookie!" only I don't give out cookies and I don’t actually talk to indicate respect. I keep the cookies. And eat them. And I wash it down with respect. I'll also link to anyone who links to me (which is standard practice for pretty much everyone.... except for Alice, who apparently links to no one³. )

As embarrassing as it is I will now share with you my Technorati rating and link number so you can all laugh at me and say "Wow, you really are the only person who thinks you're funny. The title of your blog is so relevant now! I finally get it! But I still don’t find you relevant...or funny. In fact, this, if anything, has lessened my opinion of you such that if I saw you on the street, I would pound you into it."

As you can kind of see thanks to this blurry screen shot, my rating is at 246,459 and I am linked by 12 blogs.

You know that weird guy in high school who seemed nice but no one really talked to because he just wasn't cool enough? That's the kind of status I feel my Technorati rating gives me. I get invited to limited blogger happy hours due to this low rating and poor link-factor, then when I go, people say "oh, do you have a blog?" and I say "yes, yes I do. It's 'Well at least I think I'm funny.'" and they say "oh...that's nice." and then quickly look for a more famous blogger to talk to⁴ after a quick pat on my head for encouragement.

The point of all this isn't to complain or to seek out pity links and comments (though they're gladly accepted), but more to say that wouldn't it be funny if people started to take their technorati ratings really seriously and begin basing their lives and the majority of the conversations on this nerdy claim-to-fame:

(It's happy hour and many famous bloggers have gathered together to drink and socialize)

Famous Blogger: (enters, wearing a shirt that says "Technorati Top 50, bitch.")
What's up bitches? Cast your eyes upon my kicky shirt.

Famous Blogger 2: Oh wow. I'm only top 100 (indicating her shirt). Man I'm so jealous!

FB: Yeah I knew you would be. So ladies, who wants to makeout so I can write about it in my blog tomorrow?

Random Hot Girls: OOOHHH!! Please, please, pick me! Pick me!

FB 2: Man, that is sweet. I hope to crack the top 50 someday. I mean, people buy me drinks a lot and I sign a few autographs here and there, but I can't command the attention in a room that you do...wait a minute...who's...who's that?

FB: Who's who?

FB 2: That, over there - look!

Famous Blogger 3: Hey bitches. Technorati numero uno here. Yeah. That's right. (FB 3 has gone so far as to tattoo this rating into his forehead) I've written more entries about how miserable my life is and how much I hate the idiosynchrosies of others than anyone. And I swear...a lot. Because its hilarious. Tits. See? I just did it. Just then. But I took it kind of easy on you. You’re lucky. I’m so snide, its awesome.

FB: Oh damn. This guy ALWAYS ruins ma nerd-fame style!

FB 2: I hope he doesn’t drop the F bomb! It’s just so gutsy, creative, and powerful.

(several women leave FB and immediately begin carressing FB 3 as he simply stands with his hands out, gazing up into the ceiling - as if somehow he'll be levitating a few inches off the ground to the tune of an angelic chorus any minute now)

Andy: Hey guys, is this where the blogger happy hour is?

FB: Yes, are you a blogger?

Andy: Well, yeah I am. But I –

FB 3: What’s your technorati rating?

Andy: Oh, well I’ve indicated it here, on my shirt, just like you guys.

(Andy points to the number on his shirt)

FB 2: …

FB: …

FB 3: …really? I thought that was like your sitemeter count or something.

Andy: Yeah. These things are so meaningless. Don’t you guys think?

(The bar gets silent and a tumbleweed rolls across the room. A glass drops to the floor and breaks, a woman screams, and somewhere in South Eastern Asia, an infant child is crying. Andy uncomfortably tugs at his collar.)

Andy: I mean. Important. Don’t you think they’re important? Haha…ha…heh…ahem. Well, I think I’m just going to be leaving now.

(Andy chugs the remainder of his beer, turns around to leave and on his way out someone tapes a sign to his back that says “Kick Me, Gawker links me less than once a week.")

FB: Finally.

FB 2: I am glad he left. What a trouble-maker. I don’t know anyone who actually jokes about their technorati rating…I mean..honestly!

FB 3: I certainly don't either. That seems ridiculous. You know what else is ridiculous? Anonymous commenters. There haven't been enough posts about that, OR riding on the subway. I'm gonna go do six more posts about each of those topics. Then, when someone posts about how New York bloggers suck, I’m totally gonna write a pithy rebuttal in their comments section. BOO YAH!

FB 2: Genius!

FB: That's why you'll always be number 1.

Now I'm destined to get a t-shirt that says "Technorati Rating: 246, 459" with a frowny face underneath.

For those of you that have found it in your hearts to link this lowly, un-famous, non-blogger I thank you, and big props to the classy dame at Gawker who occassionally finds me funny^{5.

¹Except when I write about Cingular. I hate you Cingular.
²Look for it later.
³thanks a lot, jerk.
⁴These are the most famous bloggers I have met. Except for Alice, but I'm not giving her any more love in this post.
⁵Not sure if you wanted your identity revealed so no link for you! (I'm turning into Alice)}

The longest run-on of all time.

2006-09-01T11:17:00.000-04:00

Today I was perusing through the blogs I usually peruse and something struck me. As I was reading I realized there is always a stark contrast between their blogs and mine: a point. Typically when I start writing something it's because I think of something funny and then I just randomly through something together and it ends up being nonsensical, ridiculous, and pointless. Today I'm going to try to take this to an extreme as I write the longest run-on sentence known to man using word association and see where I end up.

_________________________________________________________________

I started reading Spinachdip's guest blog this morning on blog soup and then realized that there's seldom a point to what I write always comes out a little ridiculous because I'll start off with a good idea about the lightbulb is probably one of the best, and most inspirational due to the amount of failures in life to me are people that don't really follow their dream about a hamburger eating him is one of the greatest lines in Seinfeld which my friend Erik and I call the golden standard jazz tunes are just not written by anyone anymore and I'm not sure its for lack of trying or just beacause standards are going to be altogether drawn from different sources of light coming from what they call a "light-box" can actually help cure SAD and now there is a cell phone that has a 3.2 megapixel camera is all I really want and stupid Cingular is really pissing me off because I've been waiting and waiting for my most recent commission check but (client not to be named) hasn't paid yet even though they said they sent the check out last week was great but this weekend I really felt the need to get out of the city and into some greener surroundings because as all New Yorkers know you just start to feel cooped up like a chicken in an egg under an incubation lamp in my room doesn't have a shade over it which makes the room heat up by a noticeable amount of Penn State graduates in the United States is something like one in six hundred more dollars and I am well on my way to buying a sweet new TV which I probably won't end up getting because I won't be able to decide what to do with my life even though I think I know a basic direction its hard to pursue a specific direction because there's so much cool stuff out there I'd like to have but then I realize it won't make me happy about going home this weekend and may even get to see the very first Penn State game of the season even though it's supposed to rain doesn't really bother me that much but it gets old after a few days of consistent practicing I think I've finally gotten some of my chops back and now I'm excited because I'm gonna get a (temporarily removed section) going on in New York each week and writing reviews of Franklin Talk are few and far between each episode has been a much longer period of time is going so fast these days I'm really just not able to believe that I might actually get a job and move to Italy within the next year I'd really like to improve my piano playing skill at Ultimate certainly isn't unsurpassed but I consider myself fairly good at pretty much anything having to do with art though I'm not really particularly honed in any specific skill other than trombone playing is one of the most satisfying things I do or have done and I miss being in a situation where I'm able to play Ultimate when I finally get my shoulder looked at and I'll most likely need surgery scares me a little bit but honestly the rehabilitation of my shoulder will be the hardest part of something really musically fulfilling all my goals will be tough but fair enough is enough.

___________________________________________________________________

Huh, interesting.

Well, at least 10,000 people think I'm funny

2006-08-31T11:01:00.000-04:00

As of Monday my blog* was slowly but surely creeping up to the high heights of getting my 10,000th visitor. Shut up. I know it's not a lot for most of you, but damnit, it means something to me.

I was pretty excited at this prospect and began coming up with things I could do to celebrate. I started formulating and contemplating, fornicating and coronating, fabulating and calumniating, and trying to come up with the coolest possible idea for a 10 thousand hit celebration**. But life never goes quite the way you want it to.

"But Andy, whatever do you mean?" you might ask. Well, due to my unfortunate foray into follicle folly*** and my over-active imagination I was featured on Gawker**** and, well, let's just say I was blasted well over the 10,000 hit mark within about 20 minutes.

Then I got to thinking it would be kind of nice to illustrate my brief history of blogging. Since my first post***** my blog****** has changed******* a lot. Mostly though, I try to amuse myself. I figured my 10,000th post shouldn't be any different. I mean, after all I've hated on Nickelback, ranted about techno, killed a fellow blogger 3 times in one post********, bashed america's idol, I've pretty covered everything. I even managed to up my life expextancy********* by like 40 years...and I've died.

So far I'd say it's been a pretty good run, and to all those people who come back time and again to read the senseless drivel I've become so consistent********** with, thanks. And I hope you'll stick around and keep reading despite all the quirks*********** I've developed from being generally odd...and a trombone player.

Anyway, I hope you've enjoyed reading my blog************ as much as I've enjoyed writing it*************. It's nice to know that people are willing to read the goofy ideas and silly scenarios I've been coming up with my whole life. Here's to 10,000 more visitors*************.

Sincerely,

Andy

p.s. In case I mis-linked anything, I apologize.

*SUCKER!
**like trying to see if I could OD on the dictionary.
***OOH! that was a good one.
****For the third time
*****Bet you thought it'd be interesting. You didn't? Oh.
******ba-zing. that's twice.
*******the last time I tried to pin me down. I'm back to pretty much doing whatever.
********sorry about that Dade.
*********So you get more crappy posts like this one.
**********I'm not sure why I linked this post here.
***********and maybe continue coming back because of them.
************See? I know when a joke is dead.
*************No I don't.
**************I just had to put one more sentence so as not to end on 13*************** *'s.
***************I'm very superstitious****************.
****************not really.

Whiff this!

2006-08-29T09:39:00.000-04:00

Every morning for breakfast I eat oatmeal. I think I made this clear in an earlier post, and if I didn't, well, consider this the post in which I make it clear and you can now reflect on the first sentence if reflecting on the earlier post didn't work for you. And if you don't think its technically reflecting to refelect on a reflection reflected upon only from moments ago, then perhaps you can reflect on it now, as it's been longer. At any rate I hope it's clear now that I eat oatmeal for breakfast every morning.

I bring it with me to work, dump some water in there (Poland Spring - because I'm half Polish*), and then nuke it on up. Typically upon placing it at my desk I'll then grab a fork** from our supply shelves to eat it. Then I return to my desk whereat sits said oatmeal.

Now I never claimed to have a great sniffer, but this morning was just different. Not unpleasant, just different. My oatmeal smelled like french fries. The beer-battered kind you get at The Deli (and then return because they're cold since they've been sitting under the damn heat lamp for so long - or because you saw an employee wipe a booger on them). I couldn't believe it. So I sat down in front of my oatmeal, thinking my nostrils were most likely being misled, only to find that the french-fry smell strengthened - like so many French people who-...ah who am I kidding? French people aren't strong at anything.

Then I got to thinking about why my oatmeal smells like french-fries. I couldn't come up with an answer. I don't eat fast food a lot (practically never) so it's not like I have an old Burger King bag sitting in the trash or elsewhere in the office. Potentially it could've been the toothpaste flavor I still had in my mouth interfering with the original oatmeal smell - or maybe it was the air conditioner - who knows?

Finally, I decided that if my oatmeal is going to smell like something other than oatmeal, french fries isn't so bad. It could've been much worse. Here's a brief list of other things I wouldn't mind my oatmeal smelling like:

1. Chicken
2. Bananas
3. Apple Pie
4. Frank Stallone

*And all polish baby.
**We ran out of spoons long ago.

Boris, You Bastard.

2006-08-28T18:43:00.000-04:00

I'm not sure what exactly my problem is...well, let me rephrase that. I'm not sure exactly what Boris' problem is. He's the kind of guy who makes a stupid joke and you laugh at it, but only because he barely speaks English. The type of person who is always trying to make a "business" connection even though he is a barber. He wants people to come back. He wants people to take business cards. What he doesn't want, is to do a good job.

Now, don't get me wrong. I appreciate immigrants about as much as everyone else...alright, well, at least as much as White Dade. But damnit, when you are cutting hair, the broken English in some sort of Eastern European accent just won't...cut it. It should really have clued me in. Especially my second time back.

The first time I went to this place to get my hair cut, Sergei did it. Despite the fact that I told him I just wanted him to trim it, he decided he was gonna go Jack Bauer on my follicoles - but he did a good job. In fact, when he was done I thought "Well this is the exact opposite of what I asked for but, at least it looks good." Oh, if only Boris could've been so lucky:

Boris: Hullo.
Andy: Hi.
Boris: Ok. How you want cut, this hair?
Andy: Uh...which one?
Boris: How shall I cut?
Andy: Just take a little off and even it out.
Boris: Okay.

That's what was said. Here's how Boris interpreted it.

Boris: Hey there chappy, what gives? Gimme some skin!

Andy: Hi, I'm a stupid b-hole for coming back to this place. Take my money!

Boris: Ok. What can I do for ya today? I have to warn you, I really suck.

Andy: Uh...you know what? I trust you. People that are terrible at things? Why, that's what I consider the foundations of a grade-A establishment. As long as you can read at a 3rd grade level, you're classy in my book.

Boris: So then, any vague ideas at least?

Andy: Just take a little off and even it out.

Boris: Okay, I'll cut off too much hair and leave it all lop-sided and weird looking.

Andy: That'd be perfect - say! You don't happen to have some rusty, old, barely-functioning scissors around do you? I'd like to purchase them for $100 and do my own haircuts at home!

Boris: Oh, as a matter of fact, I do. (rummages in those weird barber-shop drawers that every barber seems to have) Ah ha! Here's the pair I killed my wife and brother with, in order to sell their skin for the money I needed to move to America and start my lucrative, shitty, barber shop!

Andy: Lovely! Say, where's Sergei at? He seems to have an equally poor grasp of English, but still manages to do a good job.

Boris: Oh, I killed him too! Here at Boris' Barber Shop our motto is: "If you like your haircut, we don't suck enough...and we'll kill the person responsible!"

Andy: Why that sounds like a fine slogan Boris. You really have it all.

Boris: Yes, yes I do!

(Andy and Boris laugh uproariously together)

Long story short? I'm buying clippers tonight.

Behind the Podcast

2006-08-25T16:00:00.000-04:00

The summer of 2006 saw changes in the Middle East. China fired test missles, an American cheated to win the Tour de France, and Italy won the world cup. What do all these things have in common? Seemingly nothing, unless of course, you happen to be into obscure Podcasts.

Franklin Talk is a revolutionary podcast in that it features a dog, Franklin, who talks. Typically the shows cover everything from sports to current events, to Franklin's own hopes and dreams. The show was revered by many* as an "hilarious satire on the modern world." Some even went so far as to call it "the greatest podcast of all-time...including the future, which has yet to see many podcasts that may or may not be better than Franklin Talk. Putting me at risk of looking like a fool for saying this." But towards the end of July in 2006, a fatal mistep sent the show on a downward spiral.

One fateful night, after returning home from a post-work celebration, Andy slipped and fell in his room. As he struggled to get up, his foot landed on his laptop bag and...well, you can guess the rest from there:

The laptop was sent away to be fixed and Andy assured both Franklin and Franklin's listeners the show would be back up and running in no time. Unfortunately, this was not the case.

Apple took longer than necessary to repair the laptop and during this two week abscence, things started to quickly spiral downward.

Soon the loss of fame and notoriety Franklin had achieved doing Franklin Talk began to quickly dwindle. Crowds** demanded new episodes, and new episodes Franklin could not provide. Things took a turn for the worse. The following is photographic evidence chronicling Franklin's plummet into the seedy underbelly of Miami:

Here is typical Franklin behavior.

Notice he is sticking his tongue out. Franklin often does this to cool off, or, mock those he doesn't agree with or understand. This is normal Franklin behavior. Day 3.

Then things started to take a turn for the worse...

Notice Franklin's sudden concern and suspicious glance. It was at this time his paranoid behavior was thought to be indicative of a serious cocaine problem. day 5.

Then all hell breaks loose...

Notice the white powder located on the tip of Franklin's nose. Day 9

Several cocaine binges later and countless trips to the pound, and Franklin was on his way out with the American public. Things finally came to boiling point when this photo was leaked to the AP:

It was captured minutes before Franklin assaulted this duck, believed to be his cocaine supplier. You can see the duck's habitat is full of garbage like a true junky's, and perimetered by a thick chain for security from would-be attackers. Also, if you look carefully, you can see in the duck's eye's a look of terrified recognition...as if to say, "quack."

The question remains: Will Franklin be able to pull himself out of his slump? Will he be able to make amends with his listeners and the rest of America? Only time will tell.

Rumors indicate that Franklin Talk will be back up and available for download with a new episode soon. Let's just hope that the same level of professionalism, and the high quality content won't suffer due to Franklin's reckless lifestyle the past few weeks.

*few
**Well, Matt and Tiff.

Ears are Blind

2006-08-23T12:42:00.000-04:00

In my ever continuing quest to bring down all things I deem musically deficient I've found, perhaps, the most hilarious thing I have ever read. Yes, apparently the musically gifted Paris Hilton is moved to tears by her own music - that's how good it is:

"I, like, cry, when I listen to it, it's so good."

Really? Because I, like, jam forks into my ears just to try and ease the pain of hearing even a fragment of this "song." I mean sure, I cry too, but when I cry it's for the souls of the one thousand puppies whose souls are eaten by Paris Hilton in order to fuel her massive ego and self delusions of talent.

Then Paris goes on to describe typical crowd reaction to the song:

"People go crazy. They love it. Everyone's like, 'Who is this?' I don't tell. Because I don't want someone putting their phone up and recording it and making a ring tone off of it. I think when people don't know it's me, they won't judge it. But if they know it's me, then they'll be like, 'Ugh.' They won't even dance."

Yeah...right. The reason no one knows who it is lies in the fact that the "vocal" is so over auto-tuned that the voice could be the same one as the one on my computer that tells the time every hour. And she needn't to worry about people recording it on their phone. I can't even think of a stupid person that would want this as a ring tone...well, except maybe for Paris. But even then, that'd just mean she's breaking out in tears every time her phone rings. And there's nothing more embarassing than constantly breaking out in tears...oh wait.

Sometimes I wish I were rich and powerful solely for the fact that I would have the access and be important enough that I'd get to meet celebrities and tell them how stupid and terrible they are:

Andy: Hello, Paris Hilton?

Paris: Yes?

Andy: This is Andy. I really like your new single.

Paris: Really?

Andy: No. HAHAHAAHAHAHA. But seriously, I do.

Paris: Oh, I thought you were serious th-

Andy: PSYCHE! Honestly it is the biggest piece of garbage I've ever heard. But you might be able to go on tour with Kevin Federline. You two deserve each other. Pee in any Taxis lately?

Paris: Well, like, I totally peed on an upper-middleclass person the other day. Because he wasn't as rich as me.

Andy: Your dad's hotels suck.

Paris: Your blog sucks.

Andy: My blog is awesome and hilarious.

Paris: Touche Andy, Touche.

Andy: Right. Well, I'd love to stay and chat but (doing obi-wan kenobi voice) you have to go kill yourself now.

Paris: I have to go kill myself now.

Andy: G'bye Paris...FOREVER!

K Fed: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Now I'm officially the worst "musician" ever!

Did I mention I really want to have Jedi Powers too? No? Oh. Well I do.

This One's for Ralph

2006-08-23T11:17:00.000-04:00

Hey, hey there buddy. How's it going? I hope you're doing well. No, no I don't think we've met - I'd certainly remember. Anyway listen I just wanted to express a concern I've had lately. Well, you see, I'm a site-meter junkie. I chronically check it just like email or MySpace or my other email or my blog comments or Engadget Mobile.*

Anyway, I've noticed you've been stopping by a lot. You're spending a lot of time going through my relatively poor posts and reading up on my ridiculous stories and dialouges. I appreciate that, I really do. But I can't help but think that, being the head of a multi-million dollar clothing corporation, your time would be better spent...oh I don't know, coming up with more ways to put guys on horses onto shirts.

Maybe you can come up with longer collars, extra buttons, or, you know what? If you like my blog so much, maybe you could dedicate a clothing line to me somehow. Instead of a man on a horse playing some fru-fru horse-sport, why not the silhouette of me? Just sort of standing there and waving. Or maybe with my hands in my pockets.

Are you feeling a little lonely? I care about you Ralph. Don't waste away sitting at your computer all day. The love you'll receive from my blog isn't worth it; it comes at too high a price. If you just need a friend you can email me, maybe we can catch a ball game and have some hot dogs. I know what it's like to be lonely in a big city Mr. Lauren, but, well spending 3 hours on my blog looking at almost 20 pages...you must be deeply depressed.

Look at the very least go out, get some sun on your face, some wind in your hair. I know your kids are really stupid and annoying but reading blogs about Jesus selling Lime-Bars all day isn't going to solve your problems. Maybe you could even play some polo. Whatever makes you smile, that's what I want to see you do.

Anyway buddy, I hope things are okay. Good luck with the ol' needle and thread.

*Yes, still waiting for a new phone...yes, still a huge nerd.

Fattest Weekend Ever

2006-08-21T11:44:00.000-04:00

After writing this post, it turns out Franklin read it. Minutes later I receieved an email with all the blanks filled in. So, here then, is how Franklin interpreted the post.

Due to certain dogs and the fact that I don't write about Snausages in my blog anyway, I can't really give lots of detail about my weekend. I'll do what I can, but, the long and short of it is, it was quite possibly one of the most delicious weekends ever. Probably the most delicious since I've lived in New York.

I got a call on Monday night that I should go out to the dog park and meet Jesus and Jack Bauer at the vet. I thought to myself, "Oh, that sounds like it'll be a lot of fun!" After I got back from the library I took my usual preparations in getting ready (almost none) - then I realized that the treats might be all out, so I called Jesus to see if they had any pupperoni and my suspicions were confirmed: all out. Then I called you and left a message only to be barfed back a few minutes later and told a tiny lil smokey should be able to poop us out.

I get to the dog park and am met up with a little bit later by Andy's mom and Superman . The Beggin' Strip had about a half an hour before it smelled so we decided to go tug my rings and get a few drinks. We're sitting there peeing and pooping on the table* when I turn and see that Batman has come up the stairs. If you know me, you can imagine my hunger and nose. Batman sat down at Jack Bauer's table and Superman went over to introduce you.

It was such a tremendous dump. Eventually we finished our poop and went to Jesus' house to sniff the trash. It was really complacent. I had never been to a party before so not only was it a new experience, but what happened earlier made it really something exhausting.

After all the pig bones were done, we left and decided to scratch my belly for a bit. Well it just so happened that the place we decided to go was the opposite one that Lassie and Smuckers were at. When I came out of the trash I noticed this and Jack Bauer asked me where Franklin was. I said "Oh, he's in the trash." To which Jack Bauer responded "Cool. Well we're going to lick . You should lick!"

So we did.

Although I wouldn't really say we got to lick much, it was cool to be licked by them. Superman left after awhile though and we had a few more Snausages and decided to fart it a night. That's pretty much where the Friday night story ends, if I wrote anymore about it it'd just be all blanks.

Saturday I finally got a freakin' Kong toy! Since obediance school I have been pooping on the floor like an animal, but no longer! Then Saturday night rolled around. Also a great night. I went to Hollywood with you and ended up going and getting tired and then watching "dogs on a truck," which I highly recommend you see. Just make sure you're itchy when you do so.

Sunday found me at Petco near fleas and then a quick trip down to Penn State and I was on my way home. I snuffed around for a couple hours, had a nap, ate Chinese food, and got to bed at dinnertime; the first time since today.

So all in all it was a really poopy weekend. I'd just like to smell jack bauer for the great ring-tug on tonight night. Fattest weekend ever.

Weekend

2006-08-21T09:38:00.000-04:00

Due to certain _______ and the fact that I don't write about _______ in my blog anyway, I can't really give lots of detail about my weekend. I'll do what I can, but, the long and short of it is, it was quite possibly one of the ________ weekends ______. Probably the _______ since I've lived in New York.

I got a call on _______ night that I should go out to _______ and meet _______ and _______ at ________. I thought to myself, "Oh, that sounds like it'll be a lot of fun!" After I got back from the _______ I took my usual preparations in getting ready (almost none) - then I realized that the _______ might be ______ out, so I called _____ to see if they had any _______ and my suspicions were confirmed: ______ out. Then I called _______ and left a message only to be _____ back a few minutes later and told a ______ ___ ______ should be able to ________ us out.

I get to the _______ and am met up with a little bit later by _______ and _______ . The _______ had about a half an hour before it _______ so we decided to go ________ and get a few drinks. We're sitting there ______ing and _____ing on the table* when I turn and see that _______ has come up the ______. If you know me, you can imagine my ______ and _______. _________ sat down at ______'s table and _______ went over to introduce _____.

It was such a tremendous ______. Eventually we finished our ______ and went _______ to _______ the _______. It was really ______. I had never been to a ______ _____ before so not only was it a new experience, but what happened earlier made it really something _______.

After all the _______ were done, we left and decided to _______ for a bit. Well it just so happened that the place we decided to go was the ______ one that _______ and _______ were at. When I came out of the ______ I noticed this and _______ asked me where ______ was. I said "Oh ______ in the _______." To which ________ responded "Cool. Well we're going to ______. You should ______."

So we did.

Although I wouldn't really say we got to ________ much, it was cool to be _________ by them. _________ left after awhile though and we had a few more ______ and decided to ______ it a night. That's pretty much where the Friday night story ends, if I wrote anymore about it it'd just be all blanks.

Saturday I finally got a freakin' _____! Since _______ I have been _____ing on the floor like an animal, but no longer! Then Saturday night rolled around. Also a great night. I went to _______ with ________ and ended up going and getting _______ and then watching "______ on a _______," which I highly recommend you see. Just make sure you're ______ when you do so.

Sunday found ___ at ______ near ______ and then a quick trip down to ______ and I was on my way home. I ________ed for a couple hours, had a nap, ate Chinese food, and got to bed at ______; the first time since ______.

So all in all it was a really ______ weekend. I'd just like to _______ ________ for the great ______ on ______ night. _____ weekend ____ .

*yeah that's right.

Sleep

2006-08-18T14:40:00.000-04:00

Sleep has been important to humans for as long as I can remember. And since I'm 26, that's...well let's see, I can't really remember anything until I was about 3, so I can remember 23 years. So then; sleep has been important to humans for the last 23 years. Before that it was regarded as generally un-Christian and rude. Those who slept were considered "radicals" or, more simply, "assholes."

I'm not sure when the decline in this archaic belief-system began to occur, but suffice it to say that I'm happy that since I was 3, sleeping has become socially acceptable and generally well thought of.

I've spent many long years striving to be a student of slumber.* I remember literally spending half a day in bed on the weekends and it was quite blissful and rewarding and...well maybe it was just a little lazy but that's what the weekends** are for anyway.

This past week has seen a critical stumbling in my ever-faltering steps taken at achieving max sleeping hours. Since my ventures into puberty, outside influences cause me to miss not just hours, but sometimes even entire evenings of sleep. Beer, hot girls, the list goes on and on. Well, actually it pretty much stops there. But there are lots of different kinds of beer, and lots of hot girls out there too.

Lately there has been an unjust combination of these things hammering away at the foundations of my own personal Land of Nod. It has been trying, it has been difficult, but I have perservered in spite of my far-below-average nightly sleephours.

But if the trend continues, well, I'm not sure what will happen to me...of course that won't stop me from making ridiculous speculations:

(Andy walks into his office on Monday morning...)

Boss: Oi Andy, how's it goin' geez?

Andy: Mmmuuhhh.

Boss: Right. Today you need to make sure you follow up with-

Andy: Semmuuhh...wh...feh.

Boss: Are you alright?

Andy: Taaa...uur...ooowwns.

Boss: What? Hold on.

(Boss removes his headphones)

Andy: I said take of your headphones! Jeez.

Boss: Oh right then. I thought you were mumbling.

Andy: No, you just had your headphones in.

Boss: Silly me.

Huh, not as zainy as I thought. Oh Well I guess-

Andy: Hey!

Uh....what?

Andy: Hey the dialouge isn't over yet!

Oh I'm really sor-

Andy: Yeah, I bet you're sorry! You stinkin jerk. Let us fin-

Boss: Who are you talking to?

Andy: Myself.

Boss: This is all very bizzarre. Are you sure you're feeling alright?

No, you don't understand, he's talking to me. I'm him but I'm the real him and he's the make believe me. Just like you're the make believe boss.

Boss: I'm make believe?

Yes.

Boss: Total mindblow!

Andy: Eh you get used to it. It's actually pretty nice because you can't get hurt or ever really die. And real me often takes pretty good care of-

(The boss' head explodes)

There's your mindblow.

Andy: Oh snap! What'd you do that for?

Got bored. this post is going nowhere. Plus I'm just waiting for him to leave the office until I go home. I figured at least I could get rid of him in some way, shape or form.

Andy: Well that's what happens when you don't get enough sleep.

Touche. Alright, I'm going home - I need a nap.

Andy: What am I supposed to do today?

Uh...here -

(Andy is suddenly surrounded by a huge room encompassing an awesome TV, video games, some hot-girl attendants, and beers)

Andy: Nice.

Complain again and your head explodes.

(Andy makes the "I'm zipping up my lips" motion)

So there you have it folks. That's what happens when I don't get enough sleep. I start to go a little bananas. Yeah that's right, bananas. Get it? GET IT?! I knew you would. You always do.

*And alliteration
**Note: Other days suiting this purpose are Monday, Wednesday, and occasionally Tuesday.

Thanks again, YouTube!

2006-08-16T14:46:00.000-04:00

Alright, I know, totally phoning these in, BUT, here's something else you need to see. It's pretty old and I've heard it a hundred times, but seeing him play it is unbelievable:

Thanks YouTube!

2006-08-14T16:29:00.000-04:00

Generally there is a lot of garbage on YouTube, and I think that's great and it's nice to laugh at stuff. But today I decided to do a search and came up with some COOL stuff. If you don't know who Bill Evans is, you need to watch this more than anyone. If you do, watch the way he plays. Unbelievable.

The Devil's Tote

2006-08-09T15:56:00.000-04:00

I was walking to work this morning and it was standard post-subway work-walk stuff: Hot girls inevitably going into Starbucks and the pleasure of fresh, cool air (compared to the subway which I can only describe as like being in some horrible Trash Sauna).

As I finished crossing the street an old man steps in front of me and then walks past. Naturally I was surprised to find he was pulling along one of those wheely suitcases. I stop on a dime as he continues on his old-man way. Slightly outraged, I grumbled my way into Starbucks and dreamed up this little situation:

(Andy has just exited the subway on 32nd St and is just about to cross the street when, similarly to the old-man situation, a passerby with a wheely-bag interrupts his stride)

Andy: Jesus! Watch where you're going!

Devil: Um, I'm the Devil.

Andy: I mean you couldn't just wear a backpa- wait. What?

Devil: I'm the Devil. You called me Jesus.

Jesus: Yeah?

Andy: Heeere we go...

Devil: Oh, hi Jesus. What's up?

Jesus: Oh you know. Another day another dollar. Lime Bars are selling today like they're goin' outta style! Shit yes!

Andy: Hey Jesus, would you mind telling the devil to stop using a damn wheely bag? It's really annoying

Devil: No one cuts me a break these days.

Jesus: Dude, I was f-ing crucified by my own followers. At least your followers only kill barnyard animals. Why don't you just buy a freakin' backpack?

Devil: I can use whatever I want!

Andy: Those wheely bags are so stupid. They just get in everyone's way, and the handles are to short anyway so you have to bend over to use them.

Devil: Well Jesus stands here selling his damn Lime Bars out of that big cart!

Andy: Yeah but, they're delicious.

Jesus: Right on my man. Also I'm Jesus. No one gets mad at me. Watch this.

(Jesus slaps an old woman right in the face)

Old Woman: Praise the Heavens!

Jesus: See?

Devil: Ugh. I hate you Jesus.

Andy: Duh.

Jesus: Alright bitches. I gotsta peace out. Catch ya on the flip!

Devil: Wait! I'll take a lime bar - Andy you want one?

Andy: Sure.

Devil: Two, two lime bars.

Jesus: 8 dollars please.

Devil: What a freakin' gyp - here.

Jesus: Pleasure doing business, suckers! Alright, time to bounce.

Andy: (together with the Devil) Bye Jesus.

Unless you can turn water into wine, I highly suggest you go buy a backpack. Do you really want the delay of hundreds of commuters and the broken hips of thousands of befallen old people on your head? I didn't think so.

Making The Hamptons Uncool

2006-08-08T10:38:00.000-04:00

Pretty much every weekend this summer has been a total bust for me, and damnit, it's not my fault. With a few minor exceptions, the best part of each week finds me IMing or calling everyone I know to see if they're going to be in town. Typically, the resounding answer is "Oh sorrrrry, I'm going to the Hamptons."

Well you know what? If you go to the Hamptons on the weekends during the summer, you are now officially lame. Yes, you belong to the elite club of the throngs of people that still think rollin' on E is cool (or even know what it means). You rent a house with 15 other people and still have to pay 2 grand for the summer just to see some guidos try to hit on girls who are out of their league. Meanwhile, the girls use the guys for free drinks and then go pop some pills and makeout with all the losers dancing to glow-stick music...and we all know how I feel about glowstick "music."

That being said, I have never actually been to the Hamptons. Why would I go? I'm too cool for it. WAY too cool. What do I do on my weekends during the summer? Well it usually consists of going to Central Park or if it's a bit rainy, going to the movies. Come night-time I'll go grab a beer somewhere chill with all the other people who are just too cool for the Hamptons. I also like to eat hot dogs. If I went to the Hamptons I bet I couldn't even get a hot dog:

Andy: Excuse me, sir?

Guy: Yes?

Andy: I'll have one hot dog.

Guy: Um...I don't have any-

Andy: With some mustard

Guy: I don't have any.

Andy: What?

Guy: I was just saying, I don't have any hot dogs.

Andy: Why not?

Guy: I'm a lifeguar-

Andy: Well I don't see you guarding too many lives right now. Go get me a hot dog!

Guy: It's not my job!

Andy: But I'll die if I don't get one, and you have to save me from dying.

Guy: Oh that's ridiculous, no one dies from not eating a hot dog.

Andy: I haven't eaten in 18 days. I will die of starvation if I don't have a hot dog soon.

Guy: Look, you obviously have eaten recently, you have a marinara stain on your shorts. You also don't look the least bit tired or emaciated.

Andy: Fine, if you don't make me a hot dog I am going to drown myself. What kind of place is this that doesn't have hot dogs?

Guy: It's a beach! I'm sure if you just walked a few hundred yards up to the--

Andy: I am not walking anywhere!

Guy: Well you can't bother me all day - I have lives to save!

Andy: That's funny, looking around just now I only see one person who has a need to fear death, and that, my friend, is you.

Guy: Ugh. Now you're going to kill me if I don't get you a hot--

*BANG*

Andy: I hate the Hamptons.

Let this be a warning to lifegaurds and Hampton-goers everywhere: ALWAYS carry hot dogs with you. Maybe you can find a way to infuse them with the stuff in glow sticks and just wave those around at your crappy euro-trash dance clubs. I'm sure it'll impress all the beautiful people.

If you need to find me, I'll be in Central Park, being too awesome for the likes of you.

I'll Supply the Limes

2006-08-06T23:45:00.000-04:00

Before I get started with this no doubt terrific post, I'd like to apologize to the people who were around when this idea originated. This will seem like old material to them. But since its new to you, anonymous reader, I'm posting it for your sake. Also, I know I've covered the subject of my death before, but I didn't go into any details about the actual funeral.

After discussing various possible mental calamaties indicated by what can only be appropriately titled as "brain pain," the subject of funerals arose. Typically, talking about funerals is a sad state of affairs, but when you're drinking Tecate, nothing is a sad state of affairs.* Anyway, it came up that a funeral would be best if hosted as a huge drinking jamboree. Your friends show up, you're there (albeit unable to make typical party rounds), and everyone just gets blitzed and has a blast.

Naturally, being someone who loves having a good time I concurred with this statement. Then I began thinking about what my funeral would be like all around - who would be there, what they'd talk about, what they'd do - if I were to die tomorrow:

(The scene is only a bit somber and a disco ball and colored lights bask the room making it reminiscent of a senior prom. There are a few kegs setup and the early funeral-comers are taking advantage of it.)

Friend 1: Wow, I can't believe Andy is dead.
Friend 2: Yeah I know. I also can't believe the babysitter is dead.
Friend 1: What?
Friend 2: You know, that old movie with Christina Applegate?
Friend 1: Total babe.
Friend 2: Babe-a-licious.
Friend 1: Babester.
Friend 2: Babe-aroni.
Friend 1: So how did she die?
Friend 2: What?
Friend 1: The babysitter, how did she die?
Friend 2: ...dude, I JUST said I was referring to that old movie with Christina Applegate.
Friend 1: Man, she's hot.
Friend 2: Totally.
Friend 1: It's too bad she died.
Friend 2: ...what?
Friend 1: Christina Applegate, it's too bad she died.
Friend 2: ...what is wrong with you?
Friend 1: Oh it's nothing, I just twisted my ankle. So this party is pretty cool, right?
Friend 2: Yeah it is, there are some SMOKIN' babes here!**
Friend 1: Definitely. But I was looking over Andy's will stipulations about how the party should go. And I'm cool with the pin-the-tail on the donkey, and the mandatory drinking games - but did you read the part about body shots?
Friend 2: Yeah, so what?
Friend 1: Did you read it closely?
Friend 2: No, I was pretty far away from it.
Friend 1: ...what? No I mean did you notice the part where it stipulates that during body shot time, you have to do a body shot off of the corpse?
Friend 2: Oh God, I think I'm gonna be sick!
Friend 1: I think I'm gonna do it off his arm.
Friend 2: Dude, what are you talking about? He's dead! I am not doing a body shot off of a dead body.
Friend 1: I would totally do one off of Christina Applegate's dead body.
Friend 2: That's gross, I wouldn't do it off of anyone's dead body.
Friend 1: What if she wasn't really dead?
Friend 2: Well then yeah I'd do it, that was a stupid question.
Friend 1: Wasn't it? Okay well, I'm gonna go do my body shot.
Friend 2: Yeah, might as well get it over with - it's a good thing we got here first. That way we can pick some real estate that won't be...more gross than it needs to be.

That'd be my last really great joke (and probably my first and only really great joke too). Of course, no one would think it was funny except for me...and I'd be dead.

*Except for maybe speech patterns and balance.
**Yeah, that's right.

Since when were they even a single threat?

2006-07-27T10:08:00.000-04:00

I was going through my daily perusal of blogs and upon reaching The Daily Dump I saw, perhaps, one of the most outlandish things I've ever seen in my life:

Double-threat? The last time I checked and each and every person on this list sucks at everything they do.

Paris Hilton-

Proclaimed Double Threat: Acting(?)/Singing(??)
Actual Double Threat: Being an Idiot/Being a huge bitch

Beyonce Knowles-

Proclaimed Double Threat: Acting/Singing
Actual Double Threat: Jiggling/Wiggling

Hilary Duff -

Proclaimed Double Threat: Acting/Singing
Actual Double Threat: Pooping/Peeing

Jessica Simpson -

Proclaimed Double Threat: Acting/Singing
Actual Double Threat: Left Boob/Right Boob

Tales from My Ficticious Life: Chapter 1

2006-07-26T14:25:00.000-04:00

I originally wrote this on June 12th but it wasn't going anywhere. So I figured I'd just finish it best I could and post it.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The death of my grandmother happened suddenly. She was in the hospital and had been throughout the weekend (Memorial Day weekend) and that's why I went home to visit. But when I left her, spirits were high, her color was good, and she kept asking about when she could get home.

I returned to New York on Monday night and started preparing for my trip to Spain. I was dutifully working on Wednesday when my cell phone rang. Checking the caller ID to make sure it wasn't some idiot, I picked up the phone. My mom then informed me that my grandma had passed away that afternoon.

A little shocked because she looked good when I left, I gave my condolences after conference calling with my dad and sister and mom and hung up the phone to begin preparing for a stressful next few days of making preparations to get to the funeral in Scranton, PA.

Everything went very smoothly and when Friday night rolled around I found myself at the viewing.

Viewings are pretty creepy. The idea is you get to see the person one last time before they're buried. In reality what you see is a dead body, hard as a stone and with a facial expression so creepy you'll pee your pants and shiver and then say "Man that was pee-your-pants-and-shiver creepy!"...and redundant.

I was milling about the parlor talking to relatives I've seen recently and ones I haven't seen so recently when all of a sudden I heard a blood-curdling scream. I didn't even have to look.

"Fucking zombies." I said whirling around.

My grandma's arms, which were resting at her sides just seconds earlier, were now straight in the air as she lay in her coffin. Next thing I know she's getting up.

I've made it my career to hunt down and kill zombies and I don't know if you seen one before (ahem, you're welcome!) they are quite scary. And even though typically one zombie doesn't worry me this zombie was my grandma. Not only that, but I was fully aware there were two more viewings going on in this funeral home that would be chock full of zombies by the time I got around to them.

So here's the predicament: Kill my undead grandmother, or kill the other zombies first, and then make my way back to grandma.

I'm sure as you all know if a zombie gets its hands on you, you turn into a zombie, and since I didn't want the rest of my family becoming zombies, I chose to go after grams first.

From underneath my duster* I pulled out my sawed-off shotgun. It's a pretty sweet little number. I always keep two shells in it should an occasion like this ever arise.

Shrugging I said: "I love you grandma. But you're a zombie. See you in hell."

BLAM. Right in her zombie-face. My family members shriek and I know they'll never forgive me. But when you're a zombie-hunting vigilante, sometimes you just have to deal with stuff. Stupid, petty, family stuff like "who's doing the dishes tonight?" or "but I set the table yesterday!" and "I can't believe you killed the zombie-grandma!"

As I push my family out the front of the funeral home and start backing out, the other zombies are in hot pursuit. Luckily they're slow zombies. Those fast ones are terrifying...and fast. I catch another pair of zombies in the chin - one wearing a blue leisure suit, the other a purple sunday dress with silver trim. Probably someone's great Aunt and Uncle at some point. Now? Just two dead zombies dressed up like someone's great Aunt and Uncle.

I slam the doors behind me as I reload my 12 gauge. Click, click, snap.

The reanimated corpses barge their way through the funeral home doors, splintering them. Then the weirdest thing happened. A funky bass line starts. It is familiar. It is timeless.

The lead zombie, sporting some sort of torn leather jacket/pants combo begins twitching to the beat.

Blast.

He dies and brains go everywhere.

"I will NOT tolerate choreographed dances to Thriller!" My grade-school 1st cousins look disappointed and grossed out. They'll thank me in a few years when they realize they don't have a serious case of the munchies...for their siblings.

My family members make it to their vehicles and rush to safety. The streets are desserted.

"Why is there ice cream cake all over the street?" I pose to a nearby undead as I shove the tubes of my sawed-off into his mouth. He moans. I squeeze the trigger. "Wrong answer, you devil's turd!"

A few more reloads and the zombies are all gone. My gun, still smoking from a hard day's work, is fire hot. I holster and trudge through the zombie carcasses, being sure to stomp skulls as I come across them, just in case.

I reflect on the choices I have made in life. Well, the choice. To kill zombies. Sure I'm not going to be the most popular or best-smelling guy, but damnit, I save lives and that's okay by me.

Smiling I walk down the street back to my family, my shoes covered in blood and ice cream cake. I love ice cream cake.

*I always wear a duster.

Rules of Walking in New York City

2006-07-24T11:14:00.000-04:00

This post is for all the tourists that like to come to New York. First off I'd like to state that yes, you are a tourist even if:

a) You live in New Jersey "close to the city*"
b) You live on Long Island
c) You come here all the time
d) You think you're not.
e) Queenies and Brooklynites you get a break on this one - but damnit, I'm watching you.

Alright, let's get started.

1. You are slow. Even if you think you're not, trust me you are. People who live in Manhattan walk at warp speed unless they are crippled. Even then they're probably faster than you.

2. Do NOT hold hands. It doesn't work. You're going to have to keep linking and unlinking and that's just annoying for everyone. If you'd like to show affection for the person you're walking with, wear a shirt that says "See that slow person behind me? I love him/her."

3. Do NOT just stop in the middle of the sidewalk. This is akin to slamming on your brakes in the middle of a highway. If you need to stop, pull over and make sure you're out of everyone's way.

4. When crossing the street, if the hand is flashing - GO! If the hand has just stopped flashing, you have 5 seconds, GO! If the white man is there, GO! The only reason you shouldn't cross the street, is if a car is coming - or if you're dead.

5. Yes, I know the store fronts are pretty, but if you see something you like in a window, just go the hell in the store. Don't stop to stare in the middle of the sidewalk and tell your baby daddy how nice it is.

6. When you inevitably don't follow one of these rules, don't get mad if you get pushed aside, sworn at, or run into. You don't have the right.

7. Avoid coming to the city if you're fat - you're just gonna have to walk a lot anyway. And let's face it, you didn't get fat by having a strong love of walking or getting places quickly.

8. If you need help getting somewhere, sure ask - but if you say "excuse me, sir" or something of that nature, we're going to think you're a bum or pan-handler. Just say "Where is X?" This is especially true if we are walking by you - your best bet is to ask someone standing still.

9. People standing still do not live in New York.

10. Your child's welfare does not concern me so keep your kid in the stroller or carry it... and if your tiny dog's leash gets wrapped around my ankles, I will punt it into traffic.**

*Okay, okay, if you work here you're probably in the clear...then again, you probably don't come to the city when you don't have to anyway.

**I just really hate tiny dogs - even if you've lived here your whole life, keep it away from me. No it doesn't look cute. No it doesn't need boots. And yes, you need to train the damn thing to walk properly. Even Franklin can walk properly.

Good Lord.

2006-07-11T22:39:00.000-04:00

I mean, this MUST be some sort of cruel, cruel joke that some asshole from my past is playing on me. I have friends who will testify to the fact that I said this would happen. I AM SO FURIOUS! I HATE YOU CINGULAR!

At the moment

2006-07-11T11:22:00.000-04:00

At the moment, Franklin Talk is the funniest and most creative thing I do...wow that's sad. But you should still listen to it:

Franklin Talk!

Update: Verizon Officially Kicks Cingular's Archaic Ass

2006-07-07T14:29:00.000-04:00

Verizon did it. They have completely and utterly redeemed themselves in my eyes. I had Verizon a while ago, and like the girl that sleeps with you on the first date, I lost total respect for them (after they slept with me on the first date). But yesterday, despite their whoredom, they've gone and not only equaled Cingular, but they have surpassed them. Game, set, and match.

Yesterday Verizon released a version of the Samsung P850 (available on Verizon as the...well what the fuck do I care, I can't get it). Officially becoming the first wireless carrier in the US to carry a 3.2 mega-pixel camera-phone. On a side note, earlier this week they also ammended their contracts to state Verizon customers could upgrade phones at the new-customer price after 1 year (something Cingular has done for a while). If you're on Verizon and haven't had a new phone in a while, I recommend shelling out the $350 this bad boy will cost you. It is totally sweet.

Incidentally after I found this out yesterday, I decided to do some nosing to see if I could find out what Cingular's plans are for their latest in greatest, you know, to see if they had anything in the works. Well I found out, but apparently I had predicted correctly; Cingular is releasing YET ANOTHER FUCKING RAZR. This one has iTunes and a 1.2 Mega-pixel camera. Whoop-dee-fucking-do. Thanks Cingular, but if I bought that phone I think the technology would actually be older than on my Nokia from 2004. Here's a thought - STOP SUCKING!

My new prediction? The phone Cingular releases next is going to be a RAZR that has iTunes, a 1.2 MP camera, and some retarded, useless, celebrity backing - Bono I'm looking your way. Folks, be on the lookout for the newest RAZR featuring U2. It'll cost an extra $50, but it will come with a bunch of shitty U2 songs on which Bono whines about poverty. The wall paper will be the Irish singer standing in front of his private jet in back of his giant mansion, holding an Ethiopian baby.

That's the Key

2006-07-05T14:12:00.000-04:00

Everyday of my life there is an annoyance with which I am getting greatly frustrated. Infuriated with even. I hate looking at them. I hate having them. I wish I could just throw them in the gutter. But I can't get rid of them. No matter how hard I try or how long I think, there is simply not a way beyond this huge impasse of my life....crabs. Just kidding.

The obstacle of which I speak is my ring of keys. I hate carrying keys with me. Two keys for my apartment, one for the office, one for the mailbox. I use to have a house key on there for my parent's house in Pennsylvania but I lost it one night.

If I had a car it might just send me surfing to the shores of insanity on a wave of madness all the while being ridiculed by lobsters and other sea-faring shellfish.

My plight, however, must be shared with at least a few other people as yesterday when returning from lunch I passed a locksmith who's storefront sign brandished the two most poetic words I've ever read in my life: "Keyless Entry."

Andy: Oh glorious day! Keyless Entry, I love you!
Locksmith: Yes! It is magical. But of course like every magic, this keyless entry holds a terrible curse!
Andy: Egads! Praytell shopkeep, what be this curse?
(The day darkens as the sun cowars behind a cloud. Shadows shroud the Locksmith's face and in his eye there's a devilish gleam)
Locksmith: All who install keyless entry systems in their houses must pay me a fee of $45 to install plus $100 for the system!!
(The sun quickly comes out and looks confusedly down at the Locksmith)
Andy: ...um...That's not...I mean is that really a curse? It seems to me like its just what you pay to get keyless entry installed.
Locksmith: ....I guess you're right. You're the only person who never ran away screaming after I mentioned a curse though.
Andy: Oh really? I mean it was a little weird but not that scary.
Locksmith: ...well I mean people don't really run away screaming after I mention the curse.
Andy: But you just sai--
Locksmith: I know what I said!
Andy: ...um...
Locksmith: ...Are you going to get keyless entry or not?
Andy: No, I'm too afraid of the curse.

(Andy runs away, screaming)

All in all it was a pretty bizzarre encounter, but in the streets of New York you can't really expect anything to be normal. But until I can summon up the courage, my keys will forever jab my leg as I stroll about the city in search of a non-key solution. Maybe I'll just become homeless. Then the only key I'll have is the key to my heart. Which I will give to my smelly, crazy, reckless, and equally homeless bride. We'll get married in puddles of our own filth and band our fingers - a soda bottle ring for her, a twist-tie for me. It'll be grand.

Call Me, Crazy.

2006-06-29T15:08:00.000-04:00

A while back my cell phone broke. Well, it didn't exactly break, so much as I placed it on the heater in my room and a very strong and quite visible charge of static electricity incapacitated 4 buttons. Three of them are the buttons on the outside edge of the phone (it's a flip), the fourth? The call button. Oooh, so close to still being functional!

For a while I would have to assign people to a speed dial number - which was okay, until I realized only numbers 2 through 9 were assignable. You couldn't, say, dial a 1 and then hold down the 9 for 19. That got real old real fast as, when you assigned someone to a speed dial number already taken, it erased the entry it was replacing.

Then I was lucky enough to go home one weekend and get my old school Nokia 6800. Fold-out QWERTY keyboard, no camera, and half again as thick as my iPod this phone just screams out "2002 technological achievement!" But luckily due to its age I was easily able to unlock it and pop in my Cingular SIM card and voi la, fully functioning phone (with a big crack down the middle of the screen anyway).

I have been waiting patiently to get a new phone from Cingular. The time has come and gone (March) in my contract when I could easily pick any of their phones and get the super cheap rate. Unfortunately, Cingular continues to disappoint me with phone choices.

Begin Rant.

The RAZR is the stupidest phone I have ever seen in my life. Ever. Yeah it was cool when it first came out, but I'm sick of it. If you have a RAZR and you didn't get it when it first came out, I'm sorry, I have no respect for you. If you have a RAZR and it's black, you'd really better fucking love AC/DC and getting your ass kicked. If you have a RAZR and it's pink, watch out, because I'm going to push you in front of the F (or the B or D depending on how quickly I feel like getting home).

The bottom line people, is that they are all the same phone, with the same technology from over a year ago and if you haven't been keeping tabs, technology from over a year ago is referred to as "artifact" when it comes to cell phones.

So everyday, and I mean literally everyday, I check Cingular for new phones. I would like to fill you all in on some of the new phones that are out there available for purchase without a plan. Samsung, Nokia, and Sony-Ericsson all have a phone that has a 3.2 Megapixel camera. They are no larger than other phones of those typical makes and models. The Sony-Ericsson one even has built-in software that will immediately upload your pictures to a blog. How cool is that?

What is the newest phone that Cingular has come out with? A blue RAZR.

Okay, I fucking get it. By 2007 you will be able to get a RAZR in every color in the Crayola 64 pack.

But you know what I really don't get? What I really don't get is why they're coming out with a gold RAZR. Yeah that's right. Gold. A special edition, Dolce&Gabana Gold Razr (and I swear to God if you just said "ooh! Cool!" I am murdering you in your sleep, as early as tonight...though I am busy most of the night pushing Jappy girls in front of the F train*).

Perhaps the most ridiculous part of all of this, is that every new color is priced like the original RAZR! That's right, for only $200 (that's WITH a 2 year plan) you can have your very own, stupid-ass D&G Gold RAZR. WHO is still buying these things?!

So Cingular, I'm not sure exactly who is picking all the "new" phones over there, but whoever it is needs to be fired, penniless, hairless, and...childless by the end of the day.

The only thing good about the RAZR is that my rage against it is keeping me in check so that I don't just buy one of their shitty other sub-par phones...unfortunately I'm worried that even that won't hold me back, and I'll soon be making a pricey purchase on Tiger Direct for the Samsung P850, Nokia N90, or Sony Ericsson K790a (yeah, I know all the model numbers by heart).

In closing I would like all of you to wish me luck. The men out there will understand that the combination of my old phone, the release of these totally awesome new phones, my rage at the RAZR, and my recent near-elimination of credit-card debt, is making it VERY hard for me to not just plop down $500 so I can look at RAZR owners, laugh at them, and then pee in their open mouths as they gape at my kick-ass cell phone.

*I know, I know, Jappy girls live in Murray Hill and would therefore be taking the 4,5,6 - but it doesn't tie in as nicely that way.

Hey, hey, hey!

2006-06-27T14:32:00.000-04:00

I was perusing Craig's List today, you know, checkin' out the free stuff people had and half-assedly (yeah, it's a word) looking for a bed, when I came across a dog.

This dog looks strikingly like Franklin (my co-dog from when I lived in Miami) and it was decided he's so similar in face, snout, and general appearance that he could easily be his brother.

At any rate, I greatly miss having my dog around (we teleconference to do Franklin Talk) and I really considered getting this dog - in fact I went so far as to send an email inquiring about him.

I also came up with the best name ever for a dog. And if one of you out there uses this I hope that when you tell people your dog's name you whisper quietly afterwards "thisnamewasthoughtupbyAndy." Are you ready?

Bill Cosby.

Hot girl: Hi, I'm Hot Girl, what's your name?

Andy: Hello Hot Girl. I'm Andy, and this is my dog - Bill Cosby.

It's just perfect! PERFECT! I can't wait to actually be able to get a dog so I can name it Bill Cosby. Come up with your own scenarios for introducing a dog named Bill Cosby. It's a great way to kill time at work.

*This may or may not be my real phone number. Try it and see!**

**I left this in here after I did an edit of the original conversation between myself and Hot Girl. I just figured I'd leave it in to screw with people.

And God Said "Let there be break-dancing!"

2006-06-23T09:34:00.000-04:00

I'm no God-hater, in fact, I really like God. I think he's really nifty. But unfortunately for all you super zainy Christians out there, I'm Agnostic. Really I don't know what to think except that I do believe there is some sort of positive all powerful force and generally if someone believes in a certain faith I think its great because it means they're following positive and good-natured values. Unfortunately some people take it a bit far.

My friend sent me this link. Apparently there is a new "museum" in which people actually get to talk to dinosaurs who tell them the "truth" about creation. This was a smart move by the uber-Christians. Everyone knows if you want to prove yourself right, the only way to do it is through talking dinosaurs.

At any rate, I got to thinking how much fun it would be to sneak into the "museum" and re-write the scripts. Here's how I think it would pan out...

The "truth-telling" begins in the lobby, where guests come face to face with a pair of young T. rex dinosaurs, dressed in heathen street clothes and wearing sunglasses, and living alongside Adam’s children.

Animated young T. rexes in the lobby: “Of course we lived at the same time as humans! God made dinosaurs on the same day as Adam. And later we drank from the same waters as Adam’s children...I mean we had to drink the same waters because we were so thirsty from eating all of Adam's children. They were delicious. God made you delicious. Doesn't that make you feel special?”

In the next room, guests will discover more "truths". This time, they hear from a fossilized dinosaur raptor, still half-buried in a dig site.

Dinosaur raptor fossil in a dig site: “I'm still half buried! This is fucking terrible! OH GOD IT HURTS! WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME?! OH MY GOD! FUCK. Hey, hey kid. See that chisel? Get it. Get it and try to dig me out! I CAN'T TAKE THIS! AAHHHHHH”

In the next room, guests learn how the “facts” get distorted by museums and school textbooks.

Animated dinosaur raptor in a room on worldviews: “Don’t believe everything you see...except talking dinosaurs. Believe those. They're real. And believe what I'm about to tell you. It isn't just made up...really...anyway Dinosaurs did not turn into birds! That’s a tall tale—with no foundation in reality! Except for science. And let's face it, science is the worst subject in school. No one likes it. No one except the devil. And with science the devil says The ‘Age of Dinosaurs, millions of years ago’ was concocted to promote a belief that life arose without God or cookies (and I know you love cookies). It makes more sense to believe a talking dinosaur. Because I talk, and I'm a dinosaur, and I love cookies. If you like cookies, then why would you ever believe science?"

Later, the museum takes guests back in time, to the Creation Room.

Ceratopsian (horned dinosaur) family portrait in a room on the six days of creation: “Yep, that’s my great-great-grandfather, who lived about 6,000 years ago. God created him on Day 6, along with all the other land animals. But I wish he hadn't. He was a drunk and he beat the shit out of me all the time. And my mom wonders why I'm a heroin addict now. That fuckin' bitch. Maybe if she would've spent more time with me instead of jerking off her dead-beat boyfriends all the time I'd've turned out alright."

Were dinosaurs on Noah’s Ark? Guests will discover the answer from dinosaurs who were there.

Dinosaur “kinds” loaded onto Noah’s Ark: “It’s easy to explain how we fit on the Ark. Noah had a magical shrinking machine! It was rainbow-colored and made of lollipops and taffy and the good boys and girls were allowed to go inside and take a bite! The bad boys and girls were shrunk to the size of berries and were eaten!”

After the Flood, guests learn the "common-sense" reason that we find all these fossils in rock layers all over the Earth.

“Living” fossils in the post-Flood room: “Just how did dinosaurs die? Skeptics are open to every wild idea...like the climate got too cold. Can you imagine? The earth getting cold?! The earth doesn't get cold! It always stays nice and warm! But it DOES flood. The entire earth floods. It just might flood tomorrow and you'll die and go to hell if you don't believe me! Isn't that fun? Have a nice day!”

Oh "truth" museum. You're so informative and educational! Thanks for saving all of our souls from eternal damnation and dinosaurs. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go disprove Darwinists with some sock-puppets.

iPod Shuffle

2006-06-22T10:07:00.000-04:00

Two of my buddies (The Brewer and JB) have dones this post so far, and damnit, I want to be as cool as them. The only thing I will say is that I do not have all of my music on my laptop, or on my iPod, so the results may be a bit skewed. I think what I'll do is post two of these, one from my laptop at work, and one from my desktop at home (where all my archives lie...seriously, I'm all "Dudes what's going on!?" and they're all "Your dog just died!" and then I cry and cry and then they tell me it was a joke. I hate them). Oh and I'm gonna do 7 songs, because I feel it's a better sample-rate (nerdy music joke there - not intended).

Laptop:

1. "You're Gonna Lose That Girl" - The Beatles, Help!: A good start. I started out my love of music with the Beatles and they comprise a good deal of my music. I won't get into percentages like JB, but I'm sure its hefty (also like JB).

2. "Parking Lot Pimpin'" - Jay Z, The Dynasty Roc La Familia: Jay Z is an awesome rapper, and this is an awesome album. I'm surprised this popped up cause I don't actually own too much hip-hop. But i love it just the same. My favorite song on this album is "Change the Game." It's just totally awesome.

3. "LA" - Elliot Smith, Figure 8: I'll be honest I don't really listen to Elliot Smith that much and don't think I have heard this song before. The Brewer was nice enough to hook me up with some tunes and I really enjoy his music but I haven't taken the time to sit down and really listen to it. I'm wondering if my iTunes is going to choose anything from the copius amounts of jazz in my library?! I have to say this is a little bizzarre.

4. "Great Indoors" - John Mayer, Bootleg: I'm a huge John Mayer fan and have all of his albums and tons of bootlegs. I'm glad he's getting props on this list because I think he is THE best singer/songwriter right now. He also happens to be an amazing guitar player. He also seems to be able to write lyrics that explain exactly how I've felt at one time or another. Lately I've been most identifying with "My Stupid Mouth." If you don't listen to John Mayer on a regular basis, you hate music and I hate you. Still no jazz! Though Mayer's chord extensions get him pretty close.

5. "Nostalgia in Times Square" - Mingus Big Band, The Essential Mingus Big Band: There we go. Okay not my most favorite of my jazz albums but this is a great disc in general. These guys are all sick players and Mingus' compositions are some of the most original and creative you've ever heard. This band plays at Iridium Jazz Club every Tuesday for $25. I think I'm gonna check that out next week. Frank Lacey (trombone) has just the coolest sound and style when he solos.

6. "Have a Drink on Me" - AC/DC, Back in Black: I used to not like AC/DC or too much hard rock in general. Then in Miami I was listening to some tunes and I was like "Shit man, I need to rock out" and failed to find anything worth rocking out to. So I bought a ton of stuff. AC/DC was the first thing I thought of. I love this album and I love AC/DC. It's great to work for a company run and staffed almost entirely by Mormons and have AC/DC and Jay-Z blasting at my desk. Have a drink on me, Jesus!

7. "Tasty Pudding" - Chet Baker, Chet Baker in Paris: Oh Chet, you f'in rule. This guy played trumpet like butter and sang even smoother. I love this tune. Slow, cool, and...well honestly, Tasty Pudding. This tune practically oozes out of your stereo. Also, if you haven't heard Chet sing (Alice?) you've got some serious listening to do. Check out him doing the tune "Everything Happens to Me" on this same album. Holy shit.

A decent list. I'm still surprised at the lack of jazz though, since that is what comprises my collection. But hey, I'm just happy my Paula Abdul didn't show up.

Daddy's Little Fat Princess

2006-06-21T16:11:00.000-04:00

Lately during my roamings of the streets here in the big city I've been noticing a trend. A really disturbing trend...actually two disturbing trends, but one is a bit more age old.

First things first - the age old. Fat women (typically hispanic or african american) wearing really tight clothing. I just don't get it. Some of these people just have rolls and rolls spilling out over their waist bands, and topping their fupas like an extra layer on a wedding cake. It's just gross.

But anyway, now its even worse. All of sudden these ladies have gotten shirts with these idiotic sayings on them - and now they're buying them for their equally obese children!! Here are some of the more hilarious ones I've come across:

1) Daddy's little princess - Then I guess that makes daddy the King...of Burgers?
2) There's this kind that is just a list of adjectives, mostly positive but some say things like "picky" or "spoiled." Right. No I get it. You're picky - you only eat things with an entire stick of butter in it, and you're spoiled by the Colonel's latest chicken recipe.
3) He Loves Me, I love his friend - Wow. I guess his friend is either a giant french fry or or some sort of walking, talking milkshake.

I would really love it some company started making shirts that said:

1) I'm a big fatso
2) I was always picked last
3) Steal from me, I can't outrun anything!

I'm guessing that skinny and in-shape people would wear these but it's worth a shot.

I Am Awesome

2006-06-20T13:20:00.000-04:00

I am fucking awesome at peeling oranges. I'm not sure how I acquired this skill or to which recessive gene I owe my gratitude, but peeling oranges is just my thing.

Some people really struggle. While they're chipping away and getting little orange-peel nubs stuck under their finger nails, my peel quickly glides away from the orange. It's like the orange is saying to me "Andy, you are so sexy. I would like to reveal myself to you in the most sensual way I can." And then I'm all like "Orange, you are such a slut...but only for me. And I love you."

The next time you're jamming your thumb into an orange or considering saying "fuck it" and cutting it into wedges, consider my proximity. Not only will it save your day, but it's really just a breathtaking thing to behold.

Franklin Talk!

2006-06-16T08:17:00.000-04:00

Hey everyone, I just wanted to do a bit of promoting for my other website, Franklin Talk. Frank and I finished recording and uploading the first episode last night. I'm going to try to have it on iTunes by the end of the day. Go check it out!

Kurt Elling

2006-06-14T09:55:00.000-04:00

If you live in New York this week you are a lucky, lucky person. All week long is the New York City Jazz Festival. It's time to plunk down $40 on some of the best musicians you've ever heard - screw your binge-drinking or the down payment on those fancy shoes.

Last night I went to Birdland and saw Kurt Elling. Holy shit. This guy is everything that is right about music. He is hands down one of the best vocalists I have ever heard in my life. He's doing 2 sets a night (at 9 and 11) for the rest of the week through Saturday night. Tickets are $40 and if you show up early they'll get you a table right up front. If you're in the mood to have a drink or two (and you'd better be since there's a $10 minimum) and hear some AWESOME music, go check it out. They also serve dinner and though I just had some assorted fruits and cheeses they were fantastic.

You can probably show up tonight without making a reservation and just pay at your table, but I wouldn't recommend it for Thursday, Friday and Saturday. You can pre-buy the $40 cover online and check the schedules and performers here. If you're interested in Kurt Elling, just go check out his website.

Some of the highlights from the set I saw were Nature Boy, Never My Love, the first tune he did was awesome but I don't know the name of it, and then as a finale he sang a tune that he wrote the lyrics too called Time To Say Goodbye - it was just amazing.

Bound for Spain

2006-06-02T00:03:00.000-04:00

I just wanted to let you all know that I won't be posting for awhile as I will be out of town until Saturday, and then out of the Country for a week after that.

Also, the first episode of Franklin Talk won't be completed until after I get back.

Have a great weekk everyone.

It's Like a Teaser Trailer

2006-05-31T10:21:00.000-04:00

Only it isn't really. Check out the startings of the Franklin Talk weblog - this is where all the episodes of Franklin Talk will be posted...

Franklin Talk

2006-05-30T11:48:00.000-04:00

It was about 93 degrees outside. It’s the kind of heat that makes you grateful for an air-conditioner at home, and if you don’t have one, you’re grateful for a ride in the car. Battling swamp ass becomes a high priority.

Living through many summers in central Pennsylvania there’s a familiarity that comes with this kind of heat. It’s an intimacy that is quickly forgotten come winter, and quickly recalled come summer.

We pulled up to the train station, my family and I, and exited the car to stand under the shade of the train station’s shelter over the black tarmac. As we passed by a few people I over heard someone say, “yep, sure is slow today” to no one in particular.

His Pennsylvania accent was thick matching the tinted, but obviously prescription eyeglasses he was wearing. Standing about 5’3” with shorts on that weren’t dirty but looked like he had worn them a few days in a row, was Bob. His socks reached up from his shoes toward his knee caps but stopped just about three quarters of the way up his shins.

My initial reaction is “Great, another weirdo…oh well, at least he isn’t coming over here.” As if my inner-monologue was broadcast over the train station speaker, over walks Bob.

I didn’t like Bob from the beginning. Being in Lewistown, Pennsylvania (not Lewisburg, but just as remote, and much lower class) the certainty of awkward conversation hit me like a vodka tonic hits a Mormon.

My parents and sister actually talked to the guy at first. I couldn’t believe it. Here I was being perfectly New York: arms crossed, shoulders up, back turned, eyes pulled to critical slits and a look on my face that says “See those rocks down there? Leave soon or I will start throwing them at you.”

One of the other fellows at the train station tugs on my bag. I turn and look at him and he points to Bob with his right hand while making the crazy finger to the side of his head with his left.

Meanwhile, my dad is talking to this guy like they're best friends. Dad is a bit of a train enthusiast and, according to Bob, he comes to the stations a lot to watch the trains. Because he’s interested in trains? Nah, because “there’s lots of pretty girls that get off them.”

It was at this point that my sister put on her long sleeve shirt and I stepped in front of her.

My dad continued to talk to the guy, which, in hindsight wasn’t the worst idea. He had him turned looking towards the train tracks and involved in conversation all about the trains (which my dad probably already knew).

Then the station attendant walks over and says “Train’s gonna be about 45 minutes late – should be here by 6.”

Awesome. Because having Bob's company for another 50 minutes is exactly what was on my wishlist at this point.

Bob had managed to orient himself to face my sister more and proceeded to try and shake my hand and asked me my name. I proudly told him, “Ted.” Then Bob started to talk all about how he was so happy to have some pleasant civilized conversation and then mentioned how lucky he was to have gotten to say a few words to my sister.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I said “Look Bob, this is the last time I’m going to see my family before I go to Spain, and we’d like to spend the time together. Please leave.” He pretended not to understand. I expanded myself a little. He got the picture. “Let’s go drive someplace dad,” I said as I huddled the rest of my family off the train platform.

We spent some quality time at the local Burger King and headed back to the station about 20 minutes later. I said my goodbyes in the car and told my family I’d send a text message if Bob was gone (the station attendant had called someone to take him out of there), and he was. My family came out, I wished some more fare well’s, and I got on the train New York.

It’s not often I actually interact with crazy people. I avoid them like the plague in the city and I’m a big enough guy that I don’t get harassed when I’m out and about. Bob really pissed me off.

I understand that he most likely can’t help what’s wrong with him. I know it isn’t his fault. But you know what? It’s totally inappropriate. He made my sister feel gross, he got me super pissed off that I couldn’t have just spent some time with my family, and he pretty much ruined my day because he likes to hang around train stations being a pervert.

Having a problem you can’t help doesn’t mean it makes it okay. It also doesn’t mean that no one should take responsibility for this guy. Where is his family? He was obviously not too old to have no family members left. What about local authorities? The guy is literally at the train station every day, harassing people and ruining days.

My big question is, how am I supposed to react? Ignoring him might’ve worked but for some reason the others in my family decided to talk to him a little – which we all know just invites crazy people and weirdos to bother you as long as you don’t say “You know what? You’re creeping me out. Get out of here or, you remember those rocks? I thought you did.” I can’t just hit the fucker, although I really wanted to, but violence solves nothing. It also brings me a down a level and I am not prepared to degrade myself on the account of some pervert. So assuming ignoring them doesn’t work, what action is there to take? Call the police? Their response time would be to long to be effective. Leaving was okay, except we didn’t want to leave. He MADE us leave. What do you do?

I can’t imagine being a female in New York. I see the construction workers and the crazies and I wouldn’t be able to deal with it. You can’t travel alone. You can’t be out late alone. It’s terrible.

I hope someday Bob gets what’s coming to him. I’m sure he will as this big wheel we’re on tends to turn things out right in the end. I’m not sure what may befall Bob and I’m certainly not wishing anything tragic – but I am hoping for some sort of reckoning. Maybe a situation in which Bob isn’t so comfortable so that maybe he’ll seek some help for his problem.

My Idol Is Not a Portly Guy

2006-05-25T12:34:00.000-04:00

I watch American Idol ((though unlike the rest of the straight males out there, I do not need to come up with an excuse like "I flip to it during commercials for the NBA*" (which, as we all know thanks to White Dade, is completely bogus since an NBA game is entirely made up of commercials). That's right, my reason is totally built-in due to my college degree AND master's degree and I'm glad to know they're finally doing me some good)).

I'm also complete music snob as I majored in Music Performance (Trombone) in undergrad and Music Business in graduate school. I feel it's my duty to completely berate the talentless hacks that the industry throws our way. I know the public won't do it, that's for sure.

Before I continue I'd like to explain that I'm not a snob for the fact that I only listen to "indie" music (or, as I like to call it, bands that no one else has ever heard of). On the contrary, I actually don't like most indie music because, well, most indie music is complete trash. I am a music snob in the sense that I like music that has lots of chord changes (jazz), takes real skill to play (jazz), and has meaningful or thoughtful lyrics (jazz). That being said I don't only listen to jazz, I do listen to lots of popular stuff.

At any rate, as I'm sure most of you know, the other night was the finale of American Idol. The winner? Taylor Hicks.

I must admit I hadn't really heard the contestants sing all that much on the show. Sometimes I'd get home late and miss everything but the little clips at the end before Seacrest signs off for the night, so last night was one of about 3 times I've actually heard Taylor Hicks sing. What complete garbage.

First of all he sounds exactly like Michael Bolton. I'm not sure that Michael Bolton would get any votes had he gone on the show ((and my good God, I heard him sing about 3 seconds of a lousy big band arrangement of a GREAT Stevie Wonder tune on a late night show and I almost threw up. Mike was performing to promote his new album...and I guess if you're an idiot and think that Bolton singing...you know, not the best choice of words, Bolton butchering...still not quite there...Bolton pooping on a CD and ruining a bunch of great standard jazz tunes and the name of one of the greatest singers of all time (Frank's phrasing is not to be matched - his voice only sounded good through the 40's), then maybe you'd buy the CD after hearing this)).

I feel much the same way about Taylor Hicks. The song he sang at the end was atrocious. He had no idea what pitches to sing until he started singing loudly and higher...at that point he did have an idea of the pitches to sing and they were the worst ideas I've ever heard in my life.

Also, the show is called American Idol. Idol. Based on looks and "talent," I will tell you right away you would be very hard pressed to find people who idolize Taylor Hicks.

Child: I want to grow up to be portly, southern, and a shameless promoter of my shitty rock band! I'd also like to be terrible at singing!

Mother: Come here. (Child walks over, Mother slaps him right in the mouth) You have two choices. You can never speak again, or you can go murder yourself in the back yard.

Taylor also happens to look like a retarded person when he sings. In fact, here's a pretty good picture of what it would look like if Taylor were to compete in the Special Olympics (definitely a possibility) and win a medal (not very likely):

Way to go Taylor, pump that fist! Apparently this is what Americans truly look for in a pop sensation. Lack of talent, lack of faculty control, and pre-maturely gray hair.

The guy also screamed "Soul Patrol" constantly. I think Soul Patrol might have been his band back in Alabama but I'm not entirely sure. Either way I don't care. I would never actively listen to Soul Patrol, and if it came on the radio I'd most likely turn off the radio...and then break the radio, and then send the bill to Taylor Hicks with a little note that says "Thanks for ruining music."

Finally I'd just like to pose the question, how on earth did he get so many freakin' votes? There's no way that young teenage girls thought he was cuter than some of the other dudes. Here's my theory: Taylor hails from Alabama. Alabama is where people marry their own sisters and cousins. My guess is that Taylor's sister/wife and all their children/cousins which are all married to each other, have a tremendous amount of "family." I'd be willing to put my money on the fact that Taylor is related to everyone in Alabama. He's like the Kevin Bacon of Alabama. If you ask someone in Alabama if they voted for Taylor, they'd say yes, then you'd ask why, and they say something like "well his son/uncle had sex with my dog/sister so I'm kind of related to him...woof."

Good job America. When your kids grow up to be doughy and gray-haired and sing Michael Bolton tunes all day long, I will laugh long and hard at you as you try to obliterate your own eyes and ear-drums.

* See paragraph 2, line 1

After the last post, how could I not?***

2006-05-23T22:56:00.001-04:00

A poem about how much I like cheese:

Cheese can be holey,
and smelly and green.
Cheese can be yellow,
or orange, or 'tween.
Cheese comes from cows,
who give up their milk,
so we can make sandwiches,
for all of our ilk.

Cheese can be firm,
and cheese can be mushy.
Don't give your cheese,
to that bully who's pushy!
Instead give a punch,
Aye! sqaure in the jaw.
He won't take your cheese,
(which is breaking the law).

Cheese makes some sick,
Lactose makes them ill.
Instead they get lactaid,
or a calcium pill.
It's too bad for them,
but delicious, you see?
because in the end,
it's just more cheese for me.

So whether its smell,
or whether its texture,
I say you like cheese!
and it's not just conjecture.
Now go to the grocer,
and fare to isle's end.
to buy up some cheese,
Because cheese is your friend.

There are SOME funny parts...at least I think so.

2006-05-23T22:11:00.000-04:00

What is it that makes people good at what they do?

I’ve just finished watching House, one of my new favorite shows of which I didn’t get to see too many episodes this season. The show is very well written. Banter that is smart makes me feel smarter and sometimes even inspires a bit of thought on my own part, at least something other than Franklin’s newest stupid scenario* or a poem about how much I like cheese***.

But I digress. What makes someone a stud doctor (other than shapely abs and biceps complimented by a sharp mind and sharper scalpel) or a great attorney or a good salesman? What defines a great athlete or musician? What type of person is looked upon as an amazing mechanic?

The fact is that every one of us can recognize it in some way. I have a friend Ian who is typically one of the best Ultimate Frisbee players within about a 300 mile radius of wherever he goes. Anytime I’ve gone somewhere and say I’ve played with him, there seem to be at least a few people who know who he is, and then say something to the effect of “that guy is insane.”

You can’t really pin point it though. Sure I could say “well he’s 5’10” and could dunk, easily, if he could jump as high in basketball as he does on the Ultimate field” or “he can throw a flick** about 110 yards” (which is the farthest I’ve ever seen anyone throw) but in the end that isn’t what makes him great, at least not in my opinion.

Another buddy of mine from college, Jim, can play literally any instrument at a very high skill level after spending about two weeks on it. I’m dead serious. He learned to play guitar well in two weeks. He wanted to work on singing, concentrated on it, and now has a great voice. I won’t go into his piano playing (the instrument he actually “plays”). But if you ask people what makes him great they won’t say “because he can play anything he wants and is musical” and they sure as hell won’t be able to point out a particular riff of music or tune he sounds good on – bottom line is he sounds good on everything.

What people will admit to, and quite readily, is that they have found a Way. More specifically, they have found their Way. I am witnessing more and more that to truly be great at something you have to own it.

All of Ian’s teammates will tell you they don’t always like playing with him. They’ll admit he’s amazing but at the same time say “don’t watch him if you’re trying to learn our offense.” Why? Because Ian doesn’t like the offense they run and therefore pretty much does what he wants. Ian very much just plays his own game. If he thinks you should run somewhere to catch the disc, he will throw the disc there first and expect you to go get it….then get mad if you miss it.

Similarly, Jim is now using his talents to be a Junior High choir director and work at his church. I tell you this right now, he is so good at piano that he could easily (if he practiced) be recording with any jazz player out there right now. But you know what? Jim doesn’t care. Jim doesn’t want to be a jazz piano player. He’s just playing his own game. Did I mention he is one of the most inspiring teachers I’ve ever seen? I’m only a few years younger and the guy still blows my mind whenever I get to talk to him.

The question then is what resolves people to do that? It certainly isn’t being stubborn and it isn’t being egotistical. In fact if you asked me which two people I thought the most would be humble and point at all the other greats without even considering themselves, I would point to Ian and Jim.

I don’t think its luck either. Sure maybe they’ve stumbled into being themselves or maybe there’s an inner strength there that is somehow imparted from childhood learning, but everyone can find their own Way somehow.

For me the solution doesn’t stem from something like “what am I good at?” or “what do I do better than anyone else,” those answers would render one woefully pompous and still struggling for some unreachable rung on an invisible ladder with a made-up gnome steadying it and being tickled by a fat, make-believe elf who eats clams casino on his lunch breaks.

The question that gets me is “What is it I do that I pour myself into so much that the action becomes a part of myself?” I’m starting to get an inkling and I’m starting to understand that all actions can be injected with self in order to make them my own, but I’m still working on it. Hopefully I will get there sooner rather than later, but I guess until I can figure out my game, I’ll ride the bench and marvel at the all-stars.

* Old timey Mississippi river-boat captain
** Also known as a forehand. For you non frisbee players (probably all of you), it's basically a side-arm throw.
***See post above this one.

Revamp

2006-05-18T10:31:00.000-04:00

Just a quick note for all my dedicated readers out there (Erik and J-Will) to let you know that I can take it no longer. Trying to do a blog dedicated entirely to nonsense humor, while fun, gets difficult (mainly because I can't write about even half the stuff I want to and the 'real world' is killing my creativity).

I'm switching back. My blog will again be about anything and everything and left entirely up to my choosing. Will it continue to be hilarious? Well, at least to me it will.

Slightly Above Average Humans

2006-05-15T00:51:00.000-04:00

I was walking up 7th Avenue returning from my lunchbreak. I had my Jamba Juice in one hand and was crossing over 26th street when a limo slowly rounds the corner and pulls away.

I have this strange fascination with limos. Whenever I see one I think "Wow that car is really long! I mean seriously...probably a little too long to be practical. I wonder what kind of gas mileage it gets. I'll bet it isn't very good. Maybe its better than I think though. It's possible. I'll have to ask someone that knows that kind of thing next time the opportunity arises. It probably won't any time soon. Ugh, I'll never know. Maybe I can google it and find out. I'll have to remember that for later." And I never remember. But then I think "I wonder who's in there, who's so important that they're driving around in a limo."

All of sudden, from out of nowhere like...like so many dogs...no like two, two dogs, like two dogs running after a mailman, a man moving slightly faster than others runs up and pulls me aside:

Man: I saw you staring at that limo, sun.

Andy: Don't call me son! I mean you could at least spell it right!

Man: How did you...?

Andy: ...

Man: Anyway I saw you staring at that limo. Do you know who it was?

Andy: No I don't.

Man: It was Regis Philbin.

Andy: Cool. I really like Regis. I think he's a class act.

Man: Me too. I feel he really gets overlooked when you consider he goes out there
day in, day out, working his butt off.

Andy: Oh definitely. I like Kelly too but feel she needs to prove herself more.

Man: I'll agree with you there too. Kathie-Lee is a tough act to follow.

Andy: Yeah, but I mean Kelly is hot, and it's been a few years now.

Man: Has it? Wow, time really flies doesn't it?

Andy: Yes, it sure does.

Man: Yeah.

Andy: Yep...

Man: ...yeah....

Andy: Kelly and Regis...

Man: Regis and Kelly.

Andy: ...

Man: ...

Andy: ...

Man: ...they have a great chemistry.

Andy: Yes, they share a tremendous chemistry.

Man: I always hated chemistry in high school.

Andy: Really? I was pretty impartial to it. I mean I skipped a lot but, it wasn't
so bad.

Man: I think I was really just reaching out for a challenge and when it wasn't being presented -

Andy: Wait! How did you know Regis was in the limo?! That's incredible!

Man: Because, I am a member of humans -

Andy: SUPER humans?!

Man: Well not SUPER per se -

Andy: Oh. Average?

Man: No. We call ourselves the Slightly Above Average Humans. SAAH for short.

Andy: SAAH? That's not the greatest acronym. I mean you couldn't have been like, The Almost Impressive Mortals. At least that kind of makes TAIM.

Man: Look, I'm not here to debate our acronym.

Andy: No, I know, I'm just saying.

Man: At any rate, we all have powers. Not super powers, but just like, above-average powers.

Andy: Well that's somewhat impressive. I mean it's not REALLY impressive, but it's kind of impressive.

Man: Yeah we get that lot. Say, if you'd like to meet the rest of the group I'm fairly busy today. I mean I have more appointments than most people but I'm not THAT
busy.

Andy: Yes! An adventure!

Man: ...how old are you, like 6?

Andy: I'm sorry I just really like adventures.

Man: Oh.

The man, whose name I soon after found out was Tint-See-Througher-Guy (I'm guessing this was just an alias, as giving his real name would've resulted in a decent amount of fan mail...though not really a huge amount), directed me through some streets blind-folded so I wouldn't be able to find it again unless I tried really extra-hard. And honestly their place was nice, but it wasn't SO nice that exert that much effort but, it made him feel better.

Upon arrival I was introduced to the rest of the group:

Van Man: Van Man has the ability to always get a van whenver he needs one. If you ever need to move a bed in the city or to pick up something you can't fit in a cab, you should be on the lookout for Van Man.

Subway Timing Guy: Subway Timing Guy's subway timing is slightly better than most peoples'. His nearly-keen subway sense allows him to get to the track just as the train is arriving...most of the time. Occassionally he has to stop for a bagel.

B-List Celebrity Imposter Girl: I call her B. LeCig (Bee LaySig - like French.) for short. Want to surpass that line at the club that used to be really popular but now is just kind of popular? Need to get some non-expensive free swag? B-Cig may just be able to help you. I saw her turn into Soleil Moon-Frye and totally get a "1-dollar off" coupon from some poor sap at Arby's. It was amazing...well not amazing, it was alright I guess. Honestly I was just happy to be getting a Beef'n'Cheddar. I still would've paid the extra dollar.

Crazy Deal on Belts Dude: Nicknamed Seedy O'Beedy for obvious reasons, chances are this guy has done his work when you hear someone running down the streets of New York proclaiming "I totally got this CRAZY deal on knock-off designer belts!" and then their friend says "really?!" and then they say "Well, kind of."

French Slammer: French Slammer's talent is to always be able to take anything you say and make it bust on the French. He was my favorite member of SAAH. Man I hate the French.

After taking it all in, I decided that while all of their talents are useful, they're only handy once in a while and even if you can't find one of them you can usually just pay someone 15 bucks to accomplish the same thing. Needless to say it was a slightly better afternoon than I'm used to having, but it wasn't anything great.

Franklin Has a Podcast

2006-05-09T14:38:00.000-04:00

That's right. After much pressure from my dog, Franklin, I've allowed him to fire up the ol' microphone and Logic and make his very own podcast. It's called Franklin Talk and I co-host it with him to keep the show moving along.

I'll get it on iTunes as soon as I find a few minutes to sit down and write an RSS feed for it. Until then, here's the pilot 7 minutes in mp3 format...

Franklin Talk

Oh Fat, Lazy Parrot, You Complete Me

2006-05-01T15:17:00.000-04:00

As I'm sure most of you know, those of us in the blogosphere (God that's a stupid word...but I guess its better than blogsville, blogtown, or Alliance of Nerds And Losers*) are able to monitor you. That's right. We can, and do compulsively, check to see who's been on our site, where they're from, what their IP address is, what time they logged on...pretty much everything except their name and underwear color.**

One of the parameters which we are able to see is from whence you came. No, not your lame-ass hick-town in the middle of Pennsylva....I mean...Iowa, but what link you clicked on to get to the site. I can only assume that most of the people that visit my site just freakin' love the crap out of me because a lot of my referrals are just my own site name...more still are "unknown," but recently I've been getting all sorts of visitors looking for a particular picture on Google Image search.

Apparently lots of people have been searching for an image of a fat, lazy parrot whose likeness appeared in my "Occupation: Stalker" post. So this post I would like to re-post his picture, and then do my own little ode to the his beaked obeseness:

P is for perching, on a metal curve
A is for agape, like your beak you silly bird.
R is for rotund, you're lazy don't you know?
R is for relaxed, looks like you've been smokin' dro.'
O is for obtuse, which is the angle your neck makes.
T is for tired, your eyes half shut, as if you're baked.

Some of you probably think it was fairly elementary for me to make such a stupid little poem, but I don't care. Macaroni art isn't an option online otherwise I would have created a likeness.

*Check the acronym.
** Just for fun, post the color of the underwear you're wearing in the comments box!

Why Don't You Nextel Your Customers to Buy a Boombox

2006-04-20T12:19:00.000-04:00

Lately there is a new phenomenon. It's not a new diet, it isn't some fashion trend, and no, frogs aren't plaguing the city. This new fad, like most, is really just a throwback to about 20 years ago.

Picture it: 1986*. Rap is reaching new heights. Kool Moe Dee, Slick Rick, DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince - they're starting to make their way onto the music scene in a grand way. Everywhere cardboard is thrown to the ground to be used as a dance floor. The pop'n'lock makes you the coolest guy at a party, Billy D. Williams is pushing Colt 45 and beating his female companions, and Marion Barry is still 5 years from being forced to leave office in DC due to conviction of drug charges.

This is the dawn of the late 80's. The dawn of the boombox.

An almighty instrument, powered by no fewer than 12 D batteries, is touted on the shoulders of wanna-be rappers and head-spinners alike. It is the iPod of its day. Who needs 25 thousand songs crammed into a wallet-sized player in the mechanically barren, digital format?

Give those guys a cassette player the size of a suitcase and 12 songs on magnetized tape. They'll pump out the jams for 20 minutes, then BAM, flip that shit right over to catch the last 25 on the other side of the tape...as long as the batteries don't run out. But even if the Duracells die, no doubt there is a guy on hand who can reproduce the beats vocally:

Breaker 1: Yeeah boyee! These jams is tight! (Breaker 1 starts to pop'n'lock on nearby piece of cardboard on the sidewalk in front of his building. Unfortunately we hear the tape deck slow down...) Damnit! Ma jams!

Beatboxer: Keep goin' man - check this! (Beatboxer raises his hands to his mouth as if to cough, then begins) Huh-uh-Huh-uh-Huh-Huh-uh-Huh-uh-Huh-uh-Huh-Huh--Huh!

Breaker 1: Shit yes! (begins to breakdance. Several passers by stop and watch for a few minutes and toss loose change into a nearby, upturned hat. John Voight is in the crowd).

John Voight: Yo man, your moves are pretty good, but yo, check THIS! (John Voight shrugs off his coat jacket and starts up his top-rock. He moves about effortless, then he hits the cardboard doing a dazzling array of kicks, stalls, and stands from his six-step...then he starts to headspin AND beatbox at the same time!).

Breaker 1: Oh shit! That John Voight can really get it done!

Beatboxer: Wooord. I loved homey in "Runaway Train."

Breaker 1: Yes. His performance as the escaped convict was...unforgetable. (Breaker 1 begins to weep).

(John Voight does a final stall. He stops beatboxing, gets up, takes his coat from a nearby boy, and walks with a pimped out limp through the crowd and into the night)

I can see it coming full circle again, only instead of a huge, battery-powered radios, kids are starting to use their Nextel cell-phones as portable boomboxes. It seems everywhere I look some kid has his cell phone to his ear, listening to his favorite rap or reggaeton song on speakerphone. Unfortunately, due to the incredibly minute wattage of the speaker on a cell phone, the only person able to discern the song is the person holding the phone (who most likely has it memorized anyway). The "bass" usually turns to just a static crackling since the speaker on the phone can't handle it, and most rappers "tough-guy" voices sound more like C3PO after he's served 5 years in prison and has developed a drinking problem...that's right, still really, really gay, but raspy.

The kids sing and rap and bop their heads along with the "music" like they can actually tell what's going on (not that there's much going on to begin with), and largely ignore their friends who are listening to their own cell-phone boomboxes. The sad part is they usually don't even have the entire song on their phone due to its tiny amount of storage space (you have to save room for pictures of your girlfriend's tiny dog, or she'll get mad).

I feel really bad for these kids. If they only knew that the answer to their dilemmas lay in the past. Oh Nextel, please, please make your next line of phones be boomboxes with a cell phone built in, rather than a cell phone with a boombox built in. These kids need your help. It's bad enough they can't figure out how to peel the stickers off a new hat or determine the proper sized shirt in a store.

*If you didn't say the word "Sicily" in your head after you read "Picture it," Sofia Patrillo is highly disappointed in you.

Quaker Oats!

2006-04-09T22:27:00.000-04:00

It's kind of like eating a little piece of Heaven every morning, though my guess is Heaven has kind of a crunch to it. As long as you don't let it just sit in the milk too long. You really gotta get after it. Otherwise you're just going to be sitting there, shoveling this mush into your mouth. Which is kind of like oatmeal, but its cold. Who wants to eat cold oatmeal? Idiots that's who. Maybe little kids. They eat the weirdest stuff. Like ketchup on spaghetti. What's up with that? I mean yes it's made of the same stuff that spaghetti sauce is but it's not the same...

But back to Quaker Oats. Its as if God himself said "You know what I'm jonesin' for dudes? Some wicked-awesome oats - only hot...reeeeal hot." and poof, Quaker Oats.

I don't know if its because the Quakers were so religious or because Jesus liked their hats so much, but whatever it was, they were blessed with the most awesome food of all time. Their oats have turned out to be the best oats in the world. Horses everywhere agree.

You can put anything in them: fruit, sugar, brown sugar (as suggested by Brown Sugar above - who would prefer you not mistakenly add him to your oatmeal instead of actual brown sugar), and some radicals have even suggested cinnamon. Cinnamon might be just a little too outrageous for those more conservative with their oatmeal topping selections, but for the truly bold it is said to be "like being sent by donkey on a far off adventure."

I know it doesn't sound that great, but, its just cinnamon on oatmeal for God's sake. It's not like winning the lottery and then buying a helicopter. If I won a helicopter I would fly to Heaven and talk to Moses. I know most people would try to hit up JC or God but I think those guys probably don't want to be bothered. They have enough to look after and I'm sure the lines are long. But I mean Moses would probably be pretty cool to talk to:

Andy: Hey Moses, what's shakin'?

Moses: Not much man. I crossed the dessert like 2 thousand years ago, and I am still finding sand everywhere.

Andy: Oh that stinks, I wond--

Moses: I mean I am in Heaven. You would think after so many years in the most perfect place of all time that all this sand would, you know, eventually just sort of shake itself out.

Andy: No, I guess, I mean did you talk to Jesus?

Moses: Please, don't get me started on that guy. Every we time we play bridge that f'in jerk trumps me. I won't even mention Trivial Pursuit night. The worst part is he won't stop wearing that STUPID Quaker hat. I'm all "JESUS! Stop wearing that hat! You look like an idiot." And he's all "Peace, my son." It's SO aggravating!

Andy: Moses I don't know if you should call Jesus "that f'in jerk."

Moses: Of course, take his side. They always do. You know what man? Why don't you just go talk to Jesus. Because I sure as hell don't want to talk to you. DAMN THIS SAND! Hey can you do me a favor? Just run your little finger down my--

Andy: Whoa hey, you know what, um, Mose. I'd love to help you out but I think...yeah I think Johnny Carson just passsed by - I'm gonna go see if I can grab him because...well because its better than digging sand out of your crack.

My next stop in the helicopter would be the grocery store. To buy Quaker Oats. And maybe brown sugar...and hell, I'm rich, why not Brown Sugar too? We could share. It'd be great. I like his spots. He's like a big, funny, horse-clown.

I'm Either "It" or I'm Frozen, Either Way

2006-03-30T12:46:00.000-05:00

White Dade has tagged me for filling out the following survey. Get ready for a wild ride.

1) What were you doing 10 Years Ago?
Swimming from the Grecian Isles to Indo-China where my long lost love, Pang Qi (Ch-ee) awaited me with open arms, a gun, 6 packs of matches, 3 children (1 of them mine) a dog, and a talking Giant Panda named Sunkist who can ride a tricycle and pee in a perfectly straight line.

2) 5 Years Ago?
This was my third year anniversary of having entered into that beard and moustache growing society. I ended up being kicked out because I illegally used Chia-pet solution on my face in order to grow a more outrageous beard and or moustache than anyone ever had in the history of growing beards (and or moustaches). The reason I say and or is because I hadn't decided on exactly how I'd style it, so my face was just covered with Chia-sprouts. I looked like the Wolfman's face...only covered in broccoli instead of hair. They coined a term after this fiasco and now it is referred to as Chiating.

3) 1 Yeat Ago?

Well its difficult for me to measure the exact time this refers to as, I'm sure we all know, a Yeat is one year in the life of the average Yeti. Because of the advanced brain structure of the Yeti (which is necessary for their tremendous hair growth) experts estimate one Yeat to equal roughly 2.76 years. This of course places me in transition between State College and Miami (either mentally or both physically and mentally). So I'd have to say that one Yeat ago I was...well that's actually funny. I was tracking Yeti. That's when I met the head Yeti, Yetster (their names are uncomplex when translated to English from Yetilian) and when he first informed of the scientific conclusions about the conversion of their time periods to ours. Man I am glad I did that, otherwise this post would've made no sense.

4) Five snacks you enjoy:

1. Babies - They're crunchy AND soft. 2. Cereal in those little plastic containers (typically stolen from babies I have eaten) 3. Moose Jerky
4. Garlic Bread
5. Toe Jam

5) Five songs I know by heart but wish I didn’t:
1. The McDonald's Menu song from 1988.
2. Im Wonderschoenen Monat Mai
3. Wheels on the Bus
4. Posion - Bel Biv Devoe
5. I'm not sure the name of it, but it summons the Devil, and he is a jerk (though he throws a mean BBQ).

6) Five things I would do with a LOT of money:

1. Buy the internet and have all the porn I could ever want!
2. Rent a car just so I could crash it - do this a lot, put Enterprise out of business.
3. Go to outer space on that civillian space flight just so I could say "I can see my house from here!" or "man it sure is spacious out here."
4. Buy the moon, turn it into a liveable planet. Populate it. Make Earth my sworn enemy. Attack!
5. Put it in a bank. Then try to rob the bank for sport.

7) Five things I would never wear:

1. A bear suit. It's too much to risk getting humped by a real bear just for some cheap laughs.
2. A chair.
3. A lamp.
4. A microwave.
5. A desk.

8) Five things I should never have worn:

1. My Book-it! Button.
2. My fake Hitler moustache.
3. My real Hitler moustache.
4. That My Little Pony band-aid of my sister's - now I'm freakin' hooked on them! They're such little ponies!
5. That damn bear-suit

9) Five things I enjoy doing:

1. Whiffle ball against little kids - man do they suck.
2. Racing old people.
3. Peeing
4. Heightening my awareness in order to better my life, and those around me.
5. Boobies. I know it's not an activity, but they're great.

10) Five bad habits:

See my post about this.

11) Five people that must fill this out:

1. Benjamin Franklin
2. Scott Baio
3. Judas Priest
4. Franklin
5. Gordon Shumway

Jack. Fucking. Bauer.

2006-03-24T11:04:00.000-05:00

Like the predicatable tickings of a large, yellow, digital clock, that boops and beeps with every passing second, time was bound to bring along a Hatred. A Hatred like this is unlike other hatred. This Hatred is unique in that it makes others hate as well. Luckily, the hatred created by this Hatred is focused back on itself like so many laser-beams in a fun house, or so many cans of rolled-around soda exploded in the faces of bullies who stole them from nerdy kids brave enough to fight back.

I'm sorry, I apologize for the grotesque imagery, but maybe once I explain what I'm talking about my rage can be understood. It recently came to my attention that someone was bashing Jack Bauer. Now, normally I'd let Jack settle this matter himself, but since JB does everyone a favor every year and works 24 hours around the clock saving America from certain doom, I figured I'd get his back on this one...I'm sure he has a lot going on right now anyway.

Some speculation has arisen about Jack Bauer's existence; that he may or may not be fictional. I'd like to address this point first. The truth is Jack Bauer is more real than any other man to ever have walked the earth including Jesus, Frank Stallone, and What's Happenin's own Fred Berry. He is also certainly more a real influence on peoples' lives than this jerk will ever be.

The critic in question hates hero worship and says it's all about self-esteem...I guess he makes a good point, except his entire blog is about how he can only bag fat chicks, dates emotionally unstable strippers, and is incredibly unhappy with Miami and life in general(yet does nothing about it but have sex with more fat chicks). Not to mention it's basically an online diary. Nice work Sally. The last time Jack Bauer complained was when he was crying at birth after the doctor slapped him. Then he shot the doctor in the leg and went out hunting terrorists.

Even though there really is no need to prove anything for people to know I'm right, for nonsensical humor's sake I've decided to come up with a few scenarios and drop White Dade in them first, then Jack Bauer. Let's see who comes out on top.

Editors notes: When you read the voice of Jack Bauer, you need to imagine his voice as the sound of someone who has been shouting all day at a football game, smoked 15 cigarettes the night before, had a few beers, gotten very little sleep, and eaten 36 bullets washed down with gun oil. White Dade should be imagined as a real dopey, backwoods, baritone, "I'm fascinated by sticks" voice.

Scenario: Grocery Shopping

We find White Dade at a Publix in Miami. They appear to be out of milk...

WD: Oh man, they're out of milk! Shucks! Wellba, I guess I'll just go ask the manager...there he is. Hey buddy, looks like we're out of milk.

Manager: Yeah, we actually just got it in, but it'll be about 25 minutes until the stockboys put it back on the shelves if you don't mind waiting.

WD: Ah gee, I have a date with a fat girl but.... I guess I could wait. My crabs is itchin' real bad though.

Manager: God, why would you tell me that? (The store manager stifles his vomit as he dashes towards the back of the store)

25 Minutes passes...

WD: Finally, milk! Man, that sure sucked. I can't wait to get home to my computer and write about how annoying this was in my online diary. Whooa--!

WD trips, falls, and bursts his carton of milk everywhere. He tries to stand up but keeps slipping. He makes one last go of it and nearly makes it, but his feet shoot out in front of him and he does a headplant onto the tile of the supermarket floor, splitting his head open and instantly killing him.

Now let's see how Jack Bauer does...

We find Jack at a Trader Joe's in Los Angeles, they appear to be out of milk...

JB: Excuse me, sir. Where is the milk?

Man: I don't work he-- (BANG!)

JB: I didn't ask if you worked here. I asked where the milk was. Where is it?

Man: I - I don'--

JB: If you say I don't know, I am going to make this as painful as possible. Where is the milk!!

Man: I SAW THEM PULL THE TRUCK UP WHEN I WAS COMING IN THE STORE! IT SHOULD BE IN THE STORE SOON!

JB: How long?

Man: 25 minutes?

JB: That's not fast enough. (Jack coshes the man with the butt of his gun rendering him unconcious and rushes out back. There he spots two store clerks lazing about, smoking cigarettes.)

JB: Freeze! CTU! (the cronies stare at Jack like deer in headlights) Step away from the truck! Do not attempt to fle-- (one of the stockboys, terrified and confused at why a gun would be pulled on him for delivering milk, takes off. Jack quickly shoots him twice the leg. He falls to the ground grasping his injured leg and cries out in pain. Jack closes in on the truck. He grabs a carton of milk, keeps his gun aimed at the remaining stockboy's forehead, and slowly backs to his car. He peels out and speeds off.)

Situation 2:

We find White Dade at a bar...

Fat Girl: Hey dreamboat, you're HOT.

White Dade: I know. So are you.

Fat Girl: Thanks! Wanna makeout in public?

White Dade: Sure.

(They leave and do it. Gross. On the drive home, White Dade is hit by a car and dies painfully.)

We find Jack Bauer at a bar...

Fat Girl: Hey dreamboat, you're HOT!

Jack Bauer: ...

Fat Girl: Did you hear me? I said you're hot!

Jack Bauer: ...

Fat Girl: What? Are you not ta-

(Jack gets up and walks to another area of the bar.)

Hot Girl: Hello, you smell great, is that your aftershave?

JB: That's probably the kerosene I used to rinse my mouth out this morning. Or it could be the patriotism oozing out of me. I'm not sure which. Maybe it's a mix, who knows.

Hot Girl: oh wow, your voice sounds gravelly, you don't smoke do you?

JB: No. I yell at terrorists and non-compliers a lot. I also ate some barbed wire with my cereal this morning.

Hot Girl: Do you want to go somewhere an-

JB: Yes. Question, do you have a shower?

Hot Girl: Yeah, why?

JB: Because after I bang your brains out I'm going to need get back to CTU immediately, and I still have some blood of people I've shot throughout the course of the day on me. Does your shower go over one thousand degrees?

Hot Girl: God no! That'd kill you.

JB: Is it supposed to? I never noticed. Oh well, a cold shower is better than no shower. Let's go.

(They leave and do it. Awesome. On the way home Jack kills several terrorists.)

Situation 3:

This one is a bit different. It includes both characters.

We find White Dade in a section of the Miami Airport. Jack Bauer is in the ventilation system because he knew terrorists would be taking over this wing of the airport.

White Dade: Buuh, I can't remember what flight I'm supposed to be on. Maybe I'll ask this lady at the desk (White Dade walks to the nearest garbage can and begins asking it questions. Terrorists then charge into the terminal).

Terrorist 1: INFIDELS! We are now in control of this section of the airport! Follow directions and you will not be harmed...as long as your President complies to our demands!

WD: Uh oh! (he runs and screams like a woman and trips right into one of the terrorists. The terrorist grabs him, puts a gun to his head, and asks him how much faith he has in his government). Whatever! I have faith in myself. I am awesome! Do you know how many fat girls I've had sex with? A lot. Any second now I'm going to do a sweet move to get out of this. (he struggles vainly and is unable to improve his situation).

Terrorist 2: Apparently your move was peeing, and then pooping, in your pants.

(Meanwhile, Jack has already disabled the perimeter terrorists. 5 Terrorists remain. As he's sneaks up and puts the sleeper hold on one of the remaining terrorists, Terrorist 1 attends to his phone as it rings...)

Terrorist 1: Understood. Terrorist allies! Apparently there is an agent in the airport named -

Jack Bauer: Jack. Fucking. Bauer.

(Terrorists 3 and 4 turn to open fire on Jack but he's two fast. They each have two bullets in their heads and quickly drop to the ground. Terrorist 1 grabs a hostage and he and Terrorist 2 face Jack.)

Terrorist 1 (holding a woman): Well Jack, it appears we have a standoff. Perhaps your president will comply with our wishes.

Jack: I don't think he's going to have to.

Terrorist 2: Please! We know you wouldn't risk human life! We have two hostages!

Jack: Let the woman go, you'll still have a hostage be able to negotiate.

(Terrorist 1 let's his hostage go, she hits the deck with the remaining people in the terminal)

Terrorist 1: There, I've done as you said. Now, let's begin our nego-

(Jack quickly shoots White Dade and both Terrorists in the head).

Jack: Everyone, the terrorist threat has been eliminated.

Citizen 1: But you shot that gu-(BANG!) Shit my leg! Damnit! Ouch (he makes a sound like sucking in the letters "sh").

Jack: You're welcome.

(Jack tosses his gun to a nearby child who brandishes it and grins. Jack then jogs down to the end of the terminal, leaps from one of those collapsable tunnels to the tarmac, runs to the nearest helicopter, coshes the pilot, and takes off.)

In every situation above, what happened? Jack Bauer prevailed, and White Dade died. Jack can and will do anything. He doesn't care what you think. And instilling people with they idea that they can do anything is pretty damn cool...a lot cooler than instilling them with mental images of banging fat chicks and doing cocaine.

So who has higher self-esteem and can reach a more massive audience? A guy who can who save the world, or a guy who bangs fat chicks because it's "funny,"wins a belt from his friends and then writes about it in his online diary? I mean really, a belt? I hope it has enough sparkles and rainbows on it to console you when you reflect on your life and what a waste of oxygen its been.

It's Dare...only DOUBLED!

2006-03-06T10:37:00.000-05:00

I was just thinking about the old show Double Dare that was on Nickelodeon. In case you don't remember, it was a game show for kids. An extremely easy trivia question (ie: What day is Groundhog's day?) would be asked of a team. If they couldn't answer, or thought the other team couldn't answer, they could dare the other team to answer the question. If that team couldn't answer the original team would win the money, if they COULD answer they got double the money, if they were really really ballsy, they could Double Dare the other team to answer the question (for THREE TIMES the amount of cash). Then that team could accept, or choose to take the "Physical Challenge" - and therein is where the meat of this post lies.

The Physical Challenge is something that becomes over-looked, under-used, and under-rated in corporate America. I bet there are very few offices, law firms, doctor's offices, or other businesses that incorporate the idea of a Physical Challenge into their daily routines. This must be rectified. Let's take a look at how the concept of Physcial Challenges could be integrated into business:

(two men are seated at a conference table in a...conference room, waiting for others to arrive for a big meeting)

Gary: Hey Ted, how's it goin'?

Ted: Hi Gary. Things are pretty good. Did you take a look at the Jenkins account?

Gary: ...the...the what?

Ted: Gary you crazy bastard! The Jenkins account! That's what this meeting is all about! Don't tell me you didn't even read over it once!

Gary: Nope.

Ted: How can you be so relaxed? The boss is gonna KILL you!

Gary: Haha! Ted you poor sap. You haven't worked here very long. Trust me, I'll be just fine (Gary gives Ted a knowing wink and a sparkling smile).

(People start to file into the meeting and everyone sits down around the table. The boss walks in and stands at the head)

Boss: So, this Jenkins account is the biggest thing to happen to this firm since 1997. We need everyone here to be on their toes with this thing. I take it you all read it backward and forward...? (the boss looks around questioningly, Ted is nervously twitching in his seat, Gary is grinning, leaning back and tossing popcorn into his mouth). Ted! Did you read the report?

Ted: Y-yes s-sir! I read it cover to cover, front to back, back to front, and then over again!

Boss: Good man! Gary, you look like a man who's got things under control. Why don't you summarize the main points of the case for us?

Gary: Sorry Bossman, no can do.

Boss: Wha?! Why not!

Gary: Didn't read the sum'bitch.

Boss: Again? Gary, this is outrageous, you're fi-

Gary: I WANT TO TAKE THE PHYSICAL CHALLENGE!!!

(The boss stops mid-sentence. Everyone in the meeting gasps, someone in the hallway eavesdropping loses their grip on a coffee mug - which doesn't break because the floors are carpeted, but if the floors wouldn't have been carpeted, there would've been a terrible crashing sound.)

Boss: Are you sure?

Ted: What is he talking about?

Boss: (explanitorily) Ted you ignorant asshole. Everyone at this company has the option to take a physical challenge in lieu of doing any actual work. Gary here is a pro, and no matter how challenging physically these physical challenges challenge his physicality, he always manages to pull it off. The catch is, if you can't complete the physical challenge, you don't get your next paycheck.

Ted: Wow that is intense...so what is the challenge?

Boss: Today, Gary will be suiting up in either a red or blue jump suit with a white helmet, goggles, elbow pads and knee pads. (the conference room wall splits in two vertically and opens to reveal an electric-blue tiled area).

Boss: Gary today might just be the day you lose your paycheck. You'll start off by walking up the chocolate sundae-slide, swing from the nose hairs of the giant plastic nose, which will be covered in its mucas. You'll land on the frozen-custard pond and have to skate across it. Upon reaching the otherside you'll mount the fork diving-board and plunge into the giant banana-cream pie and find the red flag. You have one minute and thirty seconds. Good luck.

Sure it would be risky for some, and the possibility for accidents is great...and maybe it'd be hard to have an entire room devoted to the set. Sure it would be tough to keep that much banana-cream around for the huge pie...not to mention baking costs. And yes, there'd be a huge mess that'd have to be cleaned up....certainly the personnel to maintain it all wouldn't be cheap....but in all, I think it's a can't-miss idea.

I Personally Like Ray Charles Better

2006-02-27T12:15:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure if you've recently seen the news that P. Diddy has recently decided to record an album with a can of Diet Pepsi. I know rappers love collaborating with each other, and usually it turns out pretty good, but I fail to see how allowing a can of Diet Pepsi to record with P. Diddy enhances hip-hop, or really any musical genre at all.

Things in the studio reportedly heated up when Diet Pepsi started making crazy demands like "Hey asshole, it better be a nice, cool, 40 degrees in here at all times" and "if that fucker Diet Coke shows up, tell him his ass is capped!"

I was never really big into rap fueds or anything, but this can't be good. I have a feeling the more hardcore RC Cola might take some lyrical swings at his more hyped counterpart with a West Coast producer. We don't need another Tupac situation. I can almost see it now, Diet Pepsi can on the street, crushed, and holes leaking sweet brown lifeforce.

There's also a rumor going around about a possible album coming out called "The Clincal Group." Insider sources report this is most likely a collaboration between Dr. Dre and Dr. Pepper, who went to medical school together. Dre has hung up his gloves as far as his gangster days are concerned, but it doesn't mean the fire won't be fueled...Dr. Pepper has always just been kind of a bad ass.

Some lyrics have been released early for the FCC's approval, though they're almost certainly going to have to be re-written with tamer themes and expressions for radio broadcast:

Puffy: Wha - yee, yee, yeah, ya, yeah!
Diet Pepsi: Puff-dawg in the house, yee, yeah, yee, yeah
Puffy: D-P in the house! Hey, wha? Hey! Wha?
Diet Pepsi: Aw yeeeah muthafuckas, when you're gettin' kinda thirsty but don't wanna be fat, Diet Pepsi in da house!/
Puffy: Diet Pepsi - ALL THAT!
Diet Pepsi: Puffy drinks it hard, no ice, muthafucka!
Puffy: I like it when the bubbles fuckin' burn like a mutha!
Diet Pepsi: Now we gonna show ya how the hardcore playas ball, we'll fuckin' break it down, it's a soda roll-call!
Puffy: Diet Coke!
DP: Fucks his mom!
Puffy: Diet Sprite!
DP: Fucks his dad!
Puffy: Sierra fuckin' Mist!
DP: Gayest drink I ever had!
Puffy: Dr. Pepper!
DP: Dr. Pussy!
Puffy: Mr. Pibb!
DP: Mr. Fucker!
Puffy: Pepsi-Cola!
DP: He's my brother but I hate that muthafucka!
Puffy: That's all the sodas I can name, but I'm sure there's fuckin' more
DP: But instead of fuckin' drinkin' 'em just dump 'em on the floor!
Puffy: If you want the diet soda with tha hard-core stare
DP: Just drink a Diet Pepsi like ya just don't care!

There's more but its really just more of the same - insulting other soda brands sexual orientation and using the F word profusely. Sierra Mist has responded to the lyrics:

"Thith ith an outrage! I can't believe Diet Pepsi could be soooo not fabulous. Bye-ie!"

Pepsi is a little outraged as well because of the hatred spewed about its own products. They demanded a public statement to which Diet Pepsi responded by driving by Pepsi-Cola headquarters with his middle finger out the window in Puffy's infamous Diet Pepsi truck. Puffy couldn't be reached for comment.

Personally I'm just worried about what this means for the genre, for the music world as a whole. The last thing we need is musicians killing each other - well that's not true. I'd love for musicians to kill each other provided they aren't any good. You know what? Rap on Diet Pepsi. I hope you bring Kevin Federline down with you.

A Letter

2006-02-17T14:26:00.000-05:00

Dear Mexican Guy,

Hey, how's it going buddy? Listen, if you need anything like soap or a towel, you let me know. I can run down to Duane Reade and pick some toiletries up for you. I'll even pick up the tab...well, maybe you can sling a few tacos my way or something, that'd be nice, but still it's a good deal. The reason I offer is because a few times I've walked into the rather small bathroom to find you bathing yourself in the sink.

I'm not sure exactly what prompts you to do this, yet there you are, splashing water up your shirt and pant legs, and, more conventionally, on your face, neck, and hands. Do you not have a shower at home you could use? Is it broken? I bet you pee in the shower. Oh no, I hope you don't pee in our sink. I don't even want to think about that. What exactly are you doing in an office building that requires you to sweat and smell so bad that you have to take a shower anyway?

Another thing, I'd like to request you stop all the splashing. You really do make a mess of the place. I mean after you're through it looks like the bathroom experienced it's own little Nor'easter. Also the water is kinda...gray. How do you get so dirty? Especially under your shirt and pant legs? I just don't get you man. I wish I did.

I also wish I knew why it is you go into the bathroom stall and yank off about 25 yards of toilet paper to dry off with. That stuff is total garbage - 1-ply, PLEASE! - I wouldn't wipe my a- oh, I guess I would. But still. It's gotta get stuck to you in tiny little pieces when you use it to dry off.

Maybe it's just your upbringing though. Don't be ashamed of it, but certainly you should do your best to rise above your miserably taught bathing skills:

Is that your brother in there with you? It is isn't it? Man you were a cute kid...what happened to you? No, I'm not joking. I know people say that a lot and mean it as a joke, but I am dead serious. You're all fat now, your clothes are dirty - you bathe in a sink for God's sake! What you need is a gym membership. You could lose those extra pounds, and then shower when you're done working out.

Well, I better get back to work. I can't just sit here and write letters all day!

Hoping you'll find a less obtrusive way to clean yourself,

Andy

p.s. Please stop peeing in the "shower," I can't stress this enough.

R.I.P....Me?

2006-02-04T21:41:00.000-05:00

Saturday night always creeps up on you, kind of like a shower on an Italian. It doesn't happen everyday but when it does, its pretty darn nice.

This Saturday I found myself playing Ultimate, followed by nearly 3 hours of doing laundry (that's four full washing machines and most of the clothes I own). After dinner I grabbed my laptop to surf the net while watching Anchorman when I stumbled across something very disturbing.

Maybe I'm a little vain, but I decided to do a Google image search for my own name. That's when I ran across this little tidbit of info:

That's right. I'm dead. Apparently, not only was I born exactly 97 years before my parents told me, but I actually died the year before either of my parents were born.

Naturally I was rather astounded but then I realized that I am, in fact, now the coolest man ali...ever to have lived.

Instead of being 25, I'm actually 122! Is there a reason Willard Scott hasn't walked his fat ass to my door to congratulate me? How come there aren't scientists studying me, figuring out how I can still be so active (and handsome...and kind of nerdy, and an arrogant jerk)? Maybe I've lived my life in dog years and just have no recollection of the first 97 years because I have alzheimer's.*

I'm a little disappointed in my parents too. Bossing me around when I was a "kid." What a joke. I should be scolding them for lying to an elder.

I also don't know any "Bessie L." It kind of seems like the name of a cow. I don't remember having a pet cow. A cow did step on my toe once on my Uncle's farm. I guess everyone mistook my shrieks in pain for shrieks of joy as I had finally rekindled a relationship with another holstein similar to the one I had with Bessie L. I wonder if the L is just a misprint and it actually stands for Lykens:

Grave chiseler 1: Well Bessie finally died after being a widow from poor old Andy.

Grave chiseler 2: Yep! Kinda weird to call a cow-bride a widow but...whatever. What's amazing is the damn thing lived self-sufficiently for 24 years after Andy died! But, now its time to add her to the ol' grave-stone.

Grave chiseler 1: Yeah...oh, that's real nice work you doin' there. Real nice. Oh yeah, just like that.

Grave chiseler 2: Thanks! Its nice to be appreciated. You work so hard, you know. After college I was like "What am I gonna do with myself now?" Then it just dawned on me, to get my Master's in grave chiselin'! Best 3 years I ever spent.

Grave chiseler 1: You went to school? I just bought a hammer and a chisel.

Grave chiseler 2: ...really? Cause I have like 7 thousand dollars in student loans to pay back...

Grave chiseler 1: Umm...did you....did you just put the L after her name?

Grave chiseler 2: Yeah, Bessie Lyke - oh shit.

Grave chiseler 1: Oh man, if you screw this up, its your ass! The boss said any more mistakes and our chiselin' days are over!

Grave chiseler 2: No to worry my simpleton friend. In school they taught as a little trick for a situation as sticky as this one. (he chisels the period).

Grave chiseler 1: BA-ZING! You are a GENIUS! You rob the corpse while I get ready for some necrophili-action!

I'm also no longer worried about the early stages of my thinning hair. I mean damn I'm 122, I should be a cueball right now, buried in the earth with worms inching their way up and down my rib-cage (which tickles like I wouldn't believe and makes hilarious Xylaphone noises!).

Also, to those who attended my funeral I'd like to say thank you. I hope it was a decent party and that the buffet was satisfying but not tacky or overdone.

My final thought about all this is a little bit complex. I wonder if that tombstone is actually history because I will have altered the past sometime in the future. In other words, if I meet a crazy scientist who invents a capacitor for flux (sometime in the future) and I go back in time but then it breaks (sometime in the past) - I'd be totally stuck there (in the past). So I'd have to make up a reasonable birthday and just live my life out normally (in the past) - dying before my parents are even born (in the FUTURE!). It'd be weird. But if I had to make a movie out of it I'd call it: "Future, Past, Past, Past...FUTURE!"

*...what?