Freelance Genius

I Disbelieve, and Roll a D20: Ancient Aliens

2012-02-09T17:11:00.000-05:00

I was watching Stargate while working on a cover letter, and I had some additional fun watching the short film in the special features. I can’t really call it a documentary because the content has little evidence and too much speculation. The little feature is titled “Is There a Stargate?” and has both Erich von Daniken and Giorgio Tsoukalos talking about their beliefs.

These two gentlemen believe that humans were taught all the basics of culture from aliens roughly 10 to 12,000 years ago. They base their beliefs, which I won’t call theories, on the architectural accuracy of various ancient structures around the world. Since the pyramid is accurate to within a foot on all sides, and the ancient Egyptians didn’t have the latest laser surveying equipment, these things must have been built at the direction of aliens. Since the Nazca lines can’t be seen as a whole from the ground, they must have been built for aliens, or someone in a plane. The aliens will someday revisit their intellectual progeny, and usher us in to another new understanding of the universe. My problem with the alien explanation is that this premise removes all trace human ingenuity and imagination. Without the aliens, we would still be wandering the savannas and forests, gazing up at the night sky in fear. I refuse to believe that we would not have created art and discovered math without some intervention.

Aliens that swoop in and teach us everything or inspire us out of our huts feels like a parent assembling the entire LEGO toy while the kid watches, or those parents who finish all their kid’s homework when the kid gives up because it is too hard. I hope that we can grow up enough as a species to get past our stupid insecurities and maybe stop killing each other, and ideas like this take the best parts of humanity away from us. Also, Tsoukalos’ hair is goofier than my moustache.

Like No Other Feeling in the World

2012-02-04T21:00:00.003-05:00

...and I have felt every feeling, even if I will later deny this statement. There is nothing quite like being momentarily famous, even if I did not reach the level that Mr. Oats did. A few years ago, my father gave me a box set of The Onion books, specifically so I would point out the article in which I was a model and he could then bring them in to work. His PostIt note on the page said, "This is my son. What a way to waste your fifteen minutes of fame." Little did he know...

Ahem Pinko

2012-01-28T13:00:00.000-05:00

At least this remake stars the original cast.

CDC: Pandorum, Daybreakers, and Starship Troopers the Book

2012-01-28T12:37:00.007-05:00

Daniel Craig - Vampire Law Enforcer in Starship Troopers power armor.
Hank Azaria - Vampire Bounty Hunter who has changed his views.
Javier Bardem - Vampire Bounty Hunter who has changed his views.
Scott Bakula - Vampire Law Enforcer in Starship Troopers power armor.
Marc Blucas - Vampire Law Enforcer in Starship Troopers power armor.

I wake up from suspended animation to a paradise world of free food, and sunshine. The air is clean and the earth looks healthy and wonderful. There are no people, but everything is well maintained. I wander around, eating and drinking all the fresh fruit and clean water a guy could want.

Vampires show up the first night, give me an awesome vacation of everything you could want, and then tell me about the sacrifice I need to make. The only humans left alive are in stasis from the old days. As these people wake up over the centuries, they are given an epic holiday, and then rendered down for their blood to keep the whole society alive. The society has advanced technologies, and can take one pint of human blood and replicate it into thousands of gallons, but they need periodic infusions of fresh blood. They estimate that there are less than three thousand humans left alive, and the vampire society needs that blood to survive until they can derive some synthetic proteins or blood, which could take another thousand years. I got the impression that the vampire scientists weren't working too hard on the problem. "There are millions of vampire scientists, artists, soldiers, politicians, citizens, etc, and they all need your sacrifice." I ask for another week of vacation.

The vampire authorities grant me request but assign me two minders to prevent me from killing myself, or running away. Javier Bardem and Hank Azaria (Hank Azaria trying to play a vampire badass surprisingly worked, and could make his career.) are my bounty hunter/minders and we go off and have a few great weeks together seeing the world's sights through my eyes, and at night. Eventually, in typical Hollywood fashion, I win them over, and they refuse to turn me in.

Javier and Hank use their katanas (OF COURSE) to slice up all the vampire guards, start Hulking-out vampire-style, getting huge spiky hands and long spiky ears, and then they put on their BadAssSuits and really fuck shit up. These suits protect them from daylight, and magnify their strength a little. The two former bounty hunters rip holes in walls, and let the sun shine in on all the vampire technicians and guards and scientists. These vampires don't sparkle, but explode, usually after a witty one-liner. Hank breaks outside and starts hitting things with cars. So the Vampire Department of Blood Retention's guards call in the big guns.

Daniel Craig suits up in power armor, pretty much straight out of Starship Troopers. Hank Azaria hits Daniel Craig's suit with a semi, and breaks the knee joints or something. The suit automatically sends for reinforcements while Daniel Craig lays about with the automatic grenade launchers, flamethrowers, and chainguns attached to his suit. His jump jets are offline, and his legs are embedded in the ground to his hips by all the cars and trucks that Hank Azaria is throwing at him.

Scot Bakula (wearing his Star Trek: Enterprise costume) and Marc Blucas (also wearing a Star Trek: Enterprise onesie) begin to suit up in larger suits of power armor, hitting toggles and switches and climbing down into the ten foot tall armor suits, while discussing the situation with the two former Bounty Hunters fighting against The Man. At this point, I woke up saying, "sweet."

CDC: Harry Morgan and some Nubian Goats

2012-01-26T11:54:00.003-05:00

In every relationship, there comes a time when your brain reaches a total saturation point, filled to the core with information that you hopefully use for good. My saturated mind has decided to use the disorganized sea of data to produce some really odd dreams filled with things my girlfriend will hopefully find funny.

The dream starts as so many do, suddenly I pop into the action from another dream, which had involved a cab ride and molotov cocktails and street riots, and I find myself looking at a map of Iowa.

"It doesn't appear to be on this atlas, we need a specific map of Iowa, Nick!" I put down the map, and I am in the back of a light blue van filled with camping gear and our bicycles. Nick and Brandon are up front arguing over the route to the starting point of RAGBRAI, and Nick shouts back, "I know it isn't on that map, but see if you can find the larger city that it is a suburb of, it is a northern suburb!"

"I'll just use my phone."

"You'll never get a signal in time!" Nick and Brandon both shout back. I fiddle with my phone, and the thing tells me to take an immediate right turn. "Nick, take the next exit to Booming! That's it!"

"Ok, goddamit! I AM SO ANGRY!" Nick is not an angry person, but apparently Iowa has aggravated him to the point of fury. Brandon gets in on the long wordless scream of rage, and we crest the ridge to see a sprawling city of skyscrapers and the Missouri River. The exit takes us along the ridge, and all we can see in the valley are giant buildings that look like they were made with LEGOs from our vantage point. "I AM GOING TO SMASH ALL OF THAT IF WE CAN'T FIND THE STARTING POINT SOON! RAAAAR!" At this point, my map feature on my phone quits, so I just direct Nick and Brandon to take whichever roads seems right to me. Eventually, we stop at a roadside rest area on the ridge, and I go find a map. When I come out of the rest area, Nick and Brandon have walked down into the valley and are smashing every skyscraper flat like Godzilla and Mecha-Godzilla. The valley which had looked deep and broad was actually a trick of the eye, and the buildings were made of LEGOs. It was all a hoax, or an elaborate movie set. The haze of smog was from a small misting machine, the Missouri river a small creek. I walk the twenty feet to the nearest building, rip it out of its base, and throw it at Nick's head. The building explodes in a shower of sharp plastic, and this shakes Nick out of his rampage. After we both threw some buildings at Brandon, he snapped out of his rage as well.

The two of them got back in the van, and we drove on to the sleepy little suburb where RAGBRAI was allegedly starting. When we get there, the town is a ghost town. No one on the sidewalk, no one driving, no one in the windows of the old farmhouses. We pull over at an intersection, and notice that two of the houses on diagonally opposite corners look suspiciously similar and Nick says, "I am going to smash that house, this is another movie set. You suck at directions, Charles."

"I'll just unload the stuff, this is where it is supposed to be." I walk around the house on the opposite corner from the one Nick wants to smahs, and I see goats in the windows. Nubian goats. "Those are Nubian goats. Hey guys, check out this house! It is full of Nubian goats!" The house is one of those old farmhouses that you see in New England or Iowa or wherever that are about 50 feet wide with a porch and some decorative woodwork, and then they stretch back over the property for about half a mile of addons, additions, extra rooms, and hallways all of different width and building materials. Goats are looking out of every window of this house.

One of the windows opens, and out come the goats. They flood out of the window in a cascade of bleating hoof, fur, and horn. When they stand up, the goats give this little shake and look at us like, "We do this every day." The goats all start wandering off. A last goat gives a warning bleat and we look up to see this large goat on the roof of the porch looking down at us. We have a second to ponder life's many mysteries before this goat leaps off the roof like a gazelle, and lands on Nick's head like a rhinoceros.

Nick and Brandon dust themselves off, and say that they are gonna bike a "quick fifty to get their heads in order." So I pull out my bike to check it over on the lawn of this house. I am checking the tires and gears and whatnot when I hear a throat cleared behind me. I turn around to see Harry Morgan standing there, looking at me strangely.

"Good morning, son. What are you doing on my lawn?"

"Uh, I'm working on my bike. We're here for RAGBRAI, but we seem to be early."

"Oh, right, RAGBRAI. They moved it to the next town up the river."

"Well, I will get our stuff together and we'll get off your lawn, sorry, sir."

"Why do you keep referring to yourself as we?"

"Oh, Nick and Brandon took off on an easy fifty, they'll be back in an hour or so."

"Okay, well, you have a good time on the ride."

"Uh, sir, Mr, Morgan? You probably get this a lot, but do you mind if I?"

"Sure, sure."

At this point, we both stood upright and I saluted him, he returned the salute, and said, "Dismissed!"

We both turned away to our respective duties, but then Harry Morgan asked, "say you haven't seen any goats around here, have you?"

"Yes! A whole mess of Nubian goats fell out of this house just a few minutes ago."

"Nubians, you say? Those are not the goats I'm looking for."

"Oh, sorry, Mr. Morgan."

"I suppose I'll find them someday. Have a fun ride!"

Closing Time?

2011-12-15T13:30:00.002-05:00

I had to get my car* inspected the other day, so I cruised by a mechanic's shop. It was 4:15 in the afternoon and the shop's sign said they closed at 5:30. I asked the guy behind the desk if they performed state inspections, and he said, "sure do, but not after 4."
"Uh, ok. And you close at 5:30?"
"Yes, we do."
"What time do you open in the morning?" I asked as I fixed his face in my memory.
"7 am."
"See you then."

Working in the restaurant industry has made me rather sensitive to bullshit like this. If a bunch of jerks walk in five or less minutes before closing and I deny them service, I would gf such an earthly. Yelp and Chowhound and Facebook would burst into flames with the scorn. If you sit a table and tell them the kitchen closes in five minutes, and they order some apps, and then ask for entrees forty minutes later, there goes all hope of a tip. But if a mechanic says that he doesn't do inspections after four with no posted sign to that effect, I've just got to smile and thank his lazy ass.

If that same mechanic then tells you his shop opens at 7, and doesn't open that shop until 7:50, Yelp isn't going to care. But Heaven help a waiter that refuses to sit a table of people 5 minutes before closing.

* Thanks for the loan, GeniusFather.

A Holiday Pun

2011-12-14T11:49:00.001-05:00

The Russian Ballet Company is in DC this week performing the Nutcracker, and a co-worker expressed a desire to take her daughter to see the show. I said that the last time I had seen the Russian Ballet perform I couldn't understand the dancing.

She gave me a flat stare in response.

Zing!

The 12 Steps of Holiday Angst

2011-12-07T19:07:00.003-05:00

Please note that the years are only estimates based on a small sample size.

1. Bewilderment. Years 0 to 3. "Why is my food giver and poop cleaner putting this itchy hat on my head?" Let's dress the kid up for some cute pictures that will only get lost in the electronic sea of pictures on several hard drives. These pictures will only be missed if said hard drives are irrevocably destroyed.

2. Glee! Years 3.1 to 12. "DO YOU KNOW WHY CHRISTMAS IS GREAT!? BECAUSE YOU GET NEW TOYS!!!!" As related to me by a young cousin.

3. Irritation. Years 12.1 to 22. "Man, Christmas is so lame. I just wanna hang out with my friends, play video games, and not be in school. I never get what I really want anyway, no one understands me. I don't wanna go look at lighting displays or sing carols or whatever." Or at least, you don't want to admit that you like doing these things with your family. You don't make it easy for your family to understand you, either, since you barely speak to them.

4. Aggravation. Years 22.1 to Infinity (for some). "I fucking HATE Christmas! The music is so repetitive! I hate the way THEY play it immediately after Halloween! ARGH! And I'm too broke to buy anything cool for people anyway, this blows. I'll just go get drunk like I do every week, and not think about how much money I've spent on booze this past year." Let's not forget your $25 a week mocha habit, either.

5. Acceptance. Years 22.1 to Infinity (for some). "OKay, so Christmas is really commercial, and all about spending money you don't have to stimulate the economy for the Capitalists to rake in even more money from the workers, but it doesn't have to be. My family and I have just turned it into this little celebration of another year's end. Sure, we buy each other stuff, but not because of any other reason than we love and respect each other. I try to find something that I think my family would like, and just really enjoy seeing their expressions of joy. You know, it may be stupid and pedantic, but we've changed it so Christmas means something special, not just the day some kid was born without adequate medical care in the Middle East." That is a fine sentiment, but could you try saying that without being a smug cobag?

6. Rebounding Joy. Years 22.1 to Infinity(for some). "I don't care about getting gifts anymore, but I do love watching my kids tear into presents. I hope they stay like this forever. I'm still glad I paid extra for a hybrid car." I hope you like ties because that is all you are getting from your kids until they are mature enough to see that you are a person, and not just their parent.

7. Booze. Years 21 to Infinity. "Great eggnog, Eddie!" Nothing wrong with a libation or four here and there.

8. Booze. Years 21 to Infinity. "Great eggnog, Clark!" You're not driving, right?

9. Booze. Years 21 to Infinity. "If I had a rubber hose, I would beat you..." If you do it right, you can make tire tracks looks like reindeer tracks. We carry this secret to our graves.

10. Booze. Years 21 to Infinity. "The carols are in my head! THEY'RE IN MY HEAD!" Put the electric drill down.

11. Booze. Years 21 to Infinity. "Macy's parade sure is good this year." This stage is also known as senility.

12. Death. Years Far away, I hope. "Christmas isn't quite the same without grandpa reading 'Twas the Night Before Christmas." Yeah, your father hasn't quite found his rhythm yet.

19 Days Later

2011-11-29T13:14:00.001-05:00

How did I let 19 days disappear between posts of any substance? Like cash at a farmer's market, these are the days of our lives. I'll have to file this one under an apology for not posting, and an apology for fulsome not posting.

I could try to make an excuse, but who would care? I'm not working under a deadline, but that might help. I'm still drifting, but I am straining toward the shore. Maybe this paddle could be useful.

New Overlords Clearly Not 3Bullsian

2011-11-28T19:13:00.002-05:00

As this interesting piece of news shows us, 3 Bulls will indeed be rendered into a filthbot-spamblog when the Editors of that vile rag cease and decease.

Had the candy in question been Take-5s instead of Kit-Kats, this post would have a rather different tone.

As My Favorite Parole Officer Says

2011-11-10T15:56:00.004-05:00

You need this:

Wye Oak covers Danzig

They Might Be Giants covers Chumbawamba

I am not ashamed to say that I bought this album and still own it. I think I still have Pretty Hate Machine, too, so that says something about me that I am not sure I can translate.

Probably Late to This Party, Like Always

2011-11-09T20:28:00.003-05:00

And I doubt that I am even fashionably late, but I'm at the party now, and I'm gonna drink your beer, smoke your cigarettes, flirt with your girlfriend, and draw on you when you pass out with your shoes on.

Thanks to A Softer World for telling me about the party.

This song may seem odd for me, but I can't stop listening to it. I think I am on replay six or seven.

A Near Total Failure of Civic Responsibility

2011-11-09T19:47:00.006-05:00

I voted yesterday. That is about all that counts because the only effort I put into the whole damn process was half-listening to a few segments on "the death of the two party system in Virginia" due to gerrymandering and attending a fireside chat with a district supervisor hosted by my landlord and neighbor. There were appetizers and drinks, so my attendance wasn't exactly altruistic. I am embarrassed to say that I voted for a bunch of people who may or may not agree with my views, but I didn't want my vote for the one guy I did like to get discounted because I didn't vote in all categories.

I liked what my candidate had to say about improving the economy of my new home, and he also said that if he won re-election, he would send the county's internet wizard by my place to set us up with a roof antenna for our potential aircard internet service. It may even help us receive calls on our cell phones, too. I've lived overseas, I know how to get wheels greased, and this candidate knew where my bread was buttered. Icing on the cake was when he spoke about how he hated the idea of turning our beautiful, rural county into another block of suburban sprawl for "anything with a cash register business development." Fuck that shit, Virginia has enough strip malls, what about getting a permanent facility for the farmer's market for year round sales?(His Idea) What about getting some companies in here that support the agriculture of the area, like a canning plant co-op or something similar?(His idea.) There are plenty of nearly-empty stripmalls that could be bulldozed to put in a meat-processing plant.(My idea.) Toss some LEED certifications on top, and you've got a recipe for a 20/20 Anderson Cooper expose or whoever: Supporting the Real Family Farm.

As for all the other people, the best I can say about them is that they were signs on a lawn. I voted for the Democrats because I knew next to nothing about anyone, so I couldn't say with any confidence that there were any fundamental differences between candidates. Based on the Virginia conservatives I've met, I am inclined to think that the Virginia liberals would have to regularly set puppies on fire using a whale-oil accelerant to anger me. Someone has seriously used "the War of Northern Aggression" in a sentence with me. And I use the adverb seriously not for emphasis, but BECAUSE HE WAS SERIOUS WHEN HE SAID IT. As my father said, immediately after the incident, "that sort of outlook glosses over the fact that the South fired first." Among other facts.

I just hope that the three people I voted for in the school board race are decent human beings. I refused to vote for the tardiloquent fool named William Something that had Bill in quotes between his first and last name. If your constituents can't figure out that your nickname Bill comes from the name William, then you need not be elected to the School Board because you should be not be anywhere near a school except as a student. I would have voted for anyone other than the guy with the nickname Duke for Sheriff, except he was running unopposed. Hmmm. If I still need a job in a couple years, and he is running unopposed again...

When asked if I wanted a paper ballot instead of the touchscreen voting machine, I chose a paper ballot for all the reasons that anyone with any shred of awareness should, and also because fuck Diebold and those other cobags. I would rather vote on recycled toilet paper than use a computer voting system at this time, and until such time as the code and machine design becomes completely transparent.

Spanish

2011-11-01T16:11:00.001-04:00

Spanish is the Cupid's Arrow to the Larynx of Love.

Or Language. This phrase, and the deliberate capitalization, is one of those Midnight Moments that are rather similar to Senior Moments, except that your half-remembered thought is so hilarious that you wake up hours later, laughing your various anatomy right off. You keep laughing until you realize that you can't remember the whole thought, and won't be able to share this nearly lethal joke with anyone. I do remember that there was considerably more to this metaphor, and that the rest of it was capitalized as well, but I will never be able to perfectly replicate the pure bliss that I felt at the moment of conception.

Which is a serious double entendre of its own.

My New Musical Project

2011-10-26T20:34:00.003-04:00

I am starting a band called Catfish Jones and the Bottom Feeders. I will always wax my mustache at our appearances.

I may sometimes play with Wyatt and the Earps, but I will not wax my 'stache at these shows. Even if Wyatt and the Earps open for Catfish Jones and the Bottom Feeders.

Now all I need to do is learn to play the guitar, get some instruments for my backing band, get a backing band, and write some songs. The wealth and fame will come as soon as everything else is built. I've already got a fan club, or maybe they're paparazzi. Whoever they are, they are the people that take my picture when they think I am not looking, they are the people that send their kids over to say they like my mustache at the Renn Faire, they are the people who stop and stare, they are the people who ask to have their picture taken with me.

I have only one question for these people, WHERE WERE YOU WHEN I WAS FAMOUS ON THE INTERNET!?!?

Tickling My Fallout Bone

2011-10-24T19:29:00.002-04:00

Fallout: Nuka Break is pretty amusing, if you like the Fallout series of games. If you don't, you can just leave existence.

Why Are You Bothering?

2011-10-11T16:23:00.002-04:00

No, this is not a Tuesday Random Ten as is Brando's style. This is a reaction to the people I am seeing at the library. Specifically, the four men sitting in different areas, and not obviously associated with each other aside from their nearly identical outfits. Faded t-shirt, basketball shorts, dark socks, and flip flops. All of these men are overweight, have grey hair, and should know better. Unless I am on a week-long bike trip across an entire state, or actively working out, I have enough self-respect to at least dress myself before leaving my house.

The salt of the earth people that the Republican'ts seem to legislatively hate and publicly love are said to complain constantly about the degradation of society. And yet, here we see four alleged gentlemen doing more to erode civilization than any two married gay men ever could. I can feel the barriers in my head between American and Thighbonewieldinghomohabilis eroding as I type.

I will confess to being slightly curious about why a person dressed like this would ever leave the house. Even on vacation, I will dress myself if I am leaving the house. If I am on a winter vacation, and not leaving the house, then I may stay in pajamas for an entire day. That is fundamentally different. I am also curious as to why one of these fools tucked his shirt into his Nike shorts. You can't be bothered to wear pants and shoes in public, but you're worried about having an untucked t-shirt? Momma sure didn't raise no fool.

Flip flops alone are enough to drive up my blood pressure. I think the callous use of flippy floppies is far more damaging to our society than vaccines for sexually transmitted diseases and infections. Put on some fucking shoes for the Baby Jesus! I bet if I installed a billboard with that slogan, I would get some traction with this issue. I'll just use the various Christian faiths to promote my not-at-all Christian political views and social agendas. That's worked so well in the past for the other people.

Cooking With The Genius: Back to School Night Scramble

2011-10-08T11:48:00.001-04:00

Ingredients:
One (1) yellow onion from the farmer's market a few Saturdays ago
One and a half (1.5) cherry tomatoes that were 24 hours from the mulch pile (cut off the wrinkly-looking parts)
Two (2) green peppers from your landlord's garden
One (1) yellow-skinned cucumber from the same garden (whatever it is, it tastes and smells like a cucumber, but looks like a squash)
Olive oil
Sweet chili sauce
Hoisin sauce
One (1) can of baked beans because you're out of couscous, rice, and all other bland starch bases
One (1) package of Jiffy corn muffin mix because it is the best, but you can skip this stuff if all of your milk is from August and went bad a few weeks ago, but you haven't thrown it out because you're playing chicken with your roommates/NotWife

Toss some olive oil in your wok, click away if you're some sort of foodie poseur and don't own an actual wok, and get the heat going. Dice your onion, green peppers, tomatoes, and what not. You can throw in mushrooms or other veggies if you want, that was my intent until I checked the mushrooms and other veggies. They had gone around the slimy bend. I don't even know what one of the bags had in it, but it had brown skin before it went putrescent. So dump the bad stuff in your compost heap, that's the trash can for you city-folk, wash your hands, and stir the wok.

Keep the wok going while you hunt for something to put this mess on. While you're looking, you might want to spice the stuff. I threw on some provincial herbs, ground ginger, and then found my sweet chili sauce in the fridge. Toss some of this on there, say three tablespoons or so. That gives it some serious flavor, and nice color, too. I prefer to cook colorful foods. I'm not alone in thinking that color means flavor, but those similar-thinking other people aren't always perceived by other human beings. I couldn't find a decent starch, no potatoes, no rice, no bread, but I did find some baked beans.

After settling on baked beans for my starch, I thought about flavor profiles for a moment. This pondering lead me back to the fridge, wherein I found hoisin sauce I thought this would go well because I think of hoisin as Asian molasses. Baked beans and molasses shouldn't need an explanation, but some people aren't lucky enough to have experienced the majesty of baked beans so I will explain. Baked beans are often cooked with molasses. Two tablespoons later, the color was really blending. Everything was well and evenly cooked, and the beans were about ready, too.

After putting the bowl of corn meal back in the fridge with the greased and now useless pan I had intended to use to cook the corn bread, I settled on a corn bread-free meal. The milk was thoroughly unusable, either of the two cartons in the fridge, but you don't really need to hear more about that.

I threw both items into a bowl, and was surprised that I didn't need to work at eating. Unlike my fried rice experiment a few weeks ago, this was surprisingly edible. It was both flavorful, and mushy, both of which are great for ease of eating. Kind of like baby food, but yummy. The NotWife refused to even try it. This didn't hurt my feelings, no it did not. You can't prove anything.

This may just be baloney pie with vegetables, but it was still tasty.

What Happens After the Zoo Closes?

2011-10-04T16:10:00.005-04:00

Weddings, apparently. I had the pleasure of assisting in the marriage of one of my brothers to a lovely woman, and now none of us need worry about him any longer. That's her job now, read the fine print, honey.

The ceremony took place in a portion of the African Savanna, near the zebras and giraffe habitats. Ideally, the peacocks were to have pranced about tails a-waving, and the zebras were supposed to graze peacefully behind the couple and the officiator while everyone gazed at the beautiful scene. Instead, we got twenty minutes of maribou storks, and twenty seconds of zebras. The peacocks stayed out of sight, and periodically screeched like a child without LEGOs, or a parent stepping on a LEGO. I'm told that the zookeepers refused to apply the cattle prods to coerce the animals into the pattern set by the wedding planner.

Maribou storks are not the prettiest birds in the world, rather more competitive in the ugliest birds in the world category, but are incidentally hilarious when standing behind your brother as he swears his vows. Someone took the bold move of ensuring that my other brothers and I could not look each other in the face, obviously assuming that we would spend the entire ceremony attempting to crack each other up. This is an important part of all wedding planning involving any men, especially the Brothers of Indeterminate Number since we seem to have made an informal and previously unmentioned tradition of throwing each other into Giggle Loops.

The storks tried their best at looking pretty, even putting on a little show and dance for the gathering crowd. This show stopped as soon as the wedding party took their assigned positions, and the storks, perhaps sensing that no one was looking at them anymore, went back to picking at their nits. I am undyingly grateful to them for having the good sense to avoid crapping during the service because that would have been cruel and unusual punishment for me. I would have burst into laughter, and then my severed head might have landed in their enclosure. To be promptly eaten by the carrion consuming storks.

The peacocks were no help at all. I do not exaggerate when I say that they sound like a man stepping on a LEGO. Scatter some LEGOs by Daddy's bathroom door in the middle of the night, and you will know exactly what a peacock sounds like. The sound of much grounding.

After the ceremony, we were allowed to feed and pet giraffes. I took the opportunity to size up the average reticulated giraffe for the possible consumption by fire in Snag's backyard. It pleases me to say that Snag's grill is more than adequate for the job, as if we thought it would be any different. I was not allowed to feed or punch a cheetah. I was, however, allowed to punch a tiger with a false perspective shot, but potato tomato.

In case you care, and I know you don't, giraffes do not have soft lips like a horse, cow, or emu. Giraffes have tough, rubbery lips, and require a serious duration marinade, and a serious duration low roasting. Snag is probably an expert at cooking these great beasts, and I've heard their necks are rather like osso buco, but the other way around.

One final note, Helob is still angry at me for my lack of effort. He wanted me to break into the temporary exhibit of tarantulas, and take some photos for him. I told him that was gross, and that he should leave me out of his sex life. Eat your crickets, Helob. They're well-fed, and loud.

Attenuation, or I AM STRUNG OUT

2011-09-15T15:03:00.002-04:00

Like a heroin addict in a mormon temple.

I am starting to get pretty antsy at The Cottage. The Old Lady takes off every morning from work, and returns in the evening with grand tales of social interactions with actual, living, human beings while I can only discourse about the day's events on The Days of Our Mockingbrids. She doesn't listen well to my tales of territory encroachment and infidelity among our yards most common aerial inhabitants. I really empathize with the chicks, how can they develop good and civil morals when their mother acts like she is on a telenovella, and their father fights constantly with the neighbors. The crickets, stink bugs, and ticks make far less interesting television, and the network disregards all of my correspondence on the subject of cancelling these programs in favor of a greater variety of avian-oriented shows.

I have not yet been able to convince a telecommunication company to sell me internet and phone service. How did people survive in the time before time? Trekking five miles to the library is already getting seriously old, and my antivirus program is still out of date, Windows keeps asking to be allowed to connect to the internet to check for updates, and my firewall program is also annoyed that it can't annoy me with a constant stream of antivirus and version updates. My guild is meandering, foundering even, without my guidance, and my friends haven't heard from me in far too long! I haven't received a communique from Sadi Fansa about the status of our sponsorship request to the corporate office, and I am afraid that he has joined another band.

In long, I am fiending.

Celebrity Dream Cameo: Candy Bar Guy From Die Hard (Al Leong)

2011-09-08T08:30:00.003-04:00

In the dream, I wake to a call in my dingy apartment, answer the phone, and then run and grab a web vest, tactical gear, and one of those Russian pistols that look like a Colt .45 acp.* I nod at my partner in the other room, as he is grabbing the same sort of gear, and loading a similar pistol.

The next thing I know, my partner and I are speeding through the surf in a rubber boat with a bunch of other mercenary-looking toughguys. We all have AK-47s, and random other assault weapons like grenades, and such. The guy assigned to our fire team is that guy from Die Hard who broke the display case to grab some candy bars when they were repelling the first SWAT assault. He also tortured Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon.****

Anyway, we end up assaulting a beach, and a system of bunkers that guard a drug processing operation. It looked like heroin and opium, but doesn't really matter. Most of the defending troops looked like Latino extras from Red Dawn, or Predator. While we were tearing our way through their defenses, Candy Bar Guy ends up with a puppy. Some of the cartel dudes had some puppies, and their mother had been killed or something, so they were seriously pathetic. While we were taking cover behind a concrete wall waiting for the flamethrower guy to show up, Candy Bar Guy feeds the puppy, and waters it, and then sticks it in his vest. He leans over and says in English, "always wanted a puppy." Everything said so far had been in Russian.

While we are clearing the encampment or resistance, I realize that this is probably a CIA operation, and that my control will probably want to know why I helped destroy it. I glance at my partner, and he shrugs at me, meaning "maintain cover." A giant Soviet Army helicopter swooped into a clearing to pick us up, and Candy Bar decides to stay and "enjoy the war." I toss him an AK, a bunch of magazines, and a box of ammunition. Then I take my seat with the other mercenaries.

When we are back in Moscow, I contact control in the usual manner. (I think I put a flower pot on my fire escape, how Woodwardian.) Then partner and I go for a walk to meet control. We are walking toward an area that we know control likes because it has a number of busy bars that we can use as randomly as humanly possible to avoid a pattern, when these two college looking girls approach us and give us the signs that they are control. This is new.

They look like they're eighteen, dark, mousy, both wearing dark blue, puffy winter jackets, and they keep using stupid language like "report about your last mission." I keep tying to use code like "I'm a Canadian hiking enthusiast" and "let's go enjoy some local color at a bar I know." These two morons don't understand that surreptitious meetings in dark alleys draw the most eyes.

We walk along until I see a sign outside a loud bar that says in English, "Good Service. On Tap." Signs like this are becoming fashionable in Moscow, or so the dream tells me. "Hey, look! They have good service on tap! This looks inviting!" I say, and drag the stupid girls into the bar despite their protests about drinking on the job, and using agency funds for illegal activities. My partner circles round the block to check for tails, and get a paper and some woefully bad Soviet cigarettes.

I smile and tell them to grab that booth by the bathrooms, and I will get the drinks. The bar turns out to be a Sparta Praha-supporting bar, and my orange-y red baseball cap is the exact color of the team. I make some stupid sports talk with he dues at the bar who all love my hat, and are surprised that a Canadian journalist would support Sparta.***** I tell them that I studied in Prague, which is true in the dream, and why I know Czech and Russian.

I grab the beers, probably all #9s, and sit down with the sour looking young agents. My partner enters from the kitchen door, and gives me the "no tails, back door is clear" signs. He sits with us and throws his arm around the other girl's shoulders. The next time the team scores, I jump and yell and clap hands with crowd. Then I sit down and give the girl a kiss, and whisper in her ear, "shut the fuck up before you get us all knicked by the KGB. Use proper craft, or I'll leave your carcass in a shallow grave." I have decided while getting the drinks that the reason these two idiots have been assigned as our new control is because someone at the Company has decided that we are dead men because we did exactly what we were supposed to do to maintain cover, and are being sacrificed to the tender mercies of the KGB. I make the arranged signs to my partner of "cover blown, disappear, home not safe, good luck."

And then I woke up.

(Please excuse any typos or wordos, typing on my touch screen is annoying, and this interface makes it difficult to edit as well.)

* I would normally link here, but my phone is not connecting very well this morning. On the other hand, all I hear is crickets chirping in the field and walnuts dropping from the sky.**

** This is why I have a walnut helmet.***

*** Some parts of this statement may not be accurate.

**** And no, I don't mean Mel's memories of his murdered wife and fighting Vietnam, I mean actually tortured him with electricity.

***** I have the real life, and possibly quite wrong, impression that this team's fans are the worst hooligans in the Czech Republic. I think I got this impression solely from the movie "Up and Down."

SPX is This Weekend

2011-09-06T09:18:00.001-04:00

I will attend the Small Press Expo in Bethesda* this weekend, if only to buy the second volume of Questionable Content. Maybe I will be able to get a t-shirt or two. I am also hoping to run into the cartoonist who runs Man's Face Stuff, because I need some manly face stuff. For a project I am keeping secret from fulsome. Since I am keeping it secret from fulsome, I should blog about it because we haven't seen his dumbass on the internets in years.

* If your closest Metro stop is White Flint, guess what, you don't live in Bethesda. This isn't snobbery, this is annoyance with realtors that stretch borders to sell shitty condominiums.

Expressions of Faith

2011-09-02T10:03:00.006-04:00

I learned much while I was working in various bars in DC. I learned that I would rather own a bar than work in one. I learned that I love people sometimes, and despise them at other times. I learned that I am a pessimistically hopeful person, which may the strangest discovery.

There were many shifts in which I was desperately short of funds. I would be carefully rationing my oatmeal to make it last all month, and trying to avoid eating even a half price meal while working. Even working on your feet for nine to eleven hours a day, you can gain some serious weight eating burgers every day, but you wind up needing to eat something. I was stuck between warring impulses, either the food I was serving would remind me that I was hungry, or the end of the crossword would result in extreme boredom and awaken my gnawing stomach. Many nights, I would break down, and order some crappy sandwich from the kitchen, or wander over to the market. After a few lean months, May, June, and July in the non-waterfront/roofdeck bars of DC, I noticed an odd pattern.

On nights that I desperately needed customers, I would almost always have a decent night if I gave up and ordered a sandwich as soon as I could. If I held off and toughed it out, I would almost always have a crappy night. When I changed jobs, and started working weekend brunches, this trend continued. If I woke up early, made coffee, had a decent breakfast, and then went to work, I would have a boring Saturday filled with cable television or girl watching out of the big front window. If I got to work hungry, and ordered some french toast or steak and eggs, we would be unexpectedly, and happily, busy. Soon I started calling it my business tax. If I didn't need, or didn't want to pay it, Serendipity and Infinity would spurn me, and my day would spent in idle chatter, speculating on the temperature of the water in the local pools/coffee shops/museums. If I scarfed a meal just before unlocking the doors, I would see a wave of annoying and outstanding customers parade in the doors, just in town for the conference on erectile sustainability, or the United Dairy Solids Conglomerated Federation of America annual meeting.

As the economic and social news of the last three years of my underemployment has steadily continued gloomening, I have at times marveled at all the young expectant mothers and fathers, and at the number of college friends with wives or husbands and new children. Some of these lunatics have TWO children already, while I, as the joke says, have no children THAT I KNOW OF. How could anyone possibly want to spawn in these uncertain times? Why would you want to bother with the trouble of diapers and midnight feedings when Michelle Bachmann is an allegedly serious candidate for the Presidency? She's worse than the Ever Vacuous Palin! Morons all over the world are refusing to even think about any compromise that would allow any humans anywhere to live in peace. The oceans are critically endangered, and Star Trek IV could actually happen! The levels of toxic pollution are rising to the point that all of today's children's children will be inheriting a shit heap with no refuge, and people are STILL buying SUVs! If I think about everything that is going horribly wrong (as I see it), I could end up pulling my hair out in a rubber room, and these freaks are bringing children into the world! What the hell is wrong with them?

Or maybe it was just me, maybe something was wrong with me? There are still events happening that aren't all shit. Scientists in the Midwest are developing trees and programs to clean up the industrial chemical messes left by irresponsible people in years past, organizations are working with Native American nations out west to rewild areas of the country, and not everyone is an uncompromising chundernozzle. We lived through Mutually Assured Destruction, I told myself. Remember when Dad said that ducking and covering was worthless in the event of a nuclear attack? Remember when he said we would hopefully be killed so fast that wouldn't even have time to wonder why it was so bright in the classroom? Boy, that was a hoot.

So I found myself trying to believe that we aren't all so fucking stupid that we would kill ourselves, but that we have to watch it because a TPK* is still quite easy. Despite the fact that our leaders aren't leading, or even pausing to take deep breaths before shoving their heads up some orifice or another, a person must have faith in our collective desire to not live in shit. You have to look harder for it, but there is evidence that we are not a species of incredibly smart dumbasses. With a few notable exceptions, most humans don't enjoy wars or massacres. If everyone everywhere could just take five years off from killing each other, we could get our shit together and really fulfill one of those hippie songs from the '60s.

As I sat at my bar, watching CNN on a slow day that had started with a lovely breakfast of maple syrup-and-sausage-infused oatmeal, I realized that I had become an optimist. I then realized how people could have children, and it made my expressions of faith in humanity through french toast seem pretty fucking trite.

Also, babies are pretty damn cute, especially when they are shitting on my brother's lap. Now that was a hoot.

*Total Party Kill, in role-playing games this happens when everyone including the game master screws up badly enough that everyone admits it was a bad idea, and re-rolls shaman.

Yo, Teach

2011-08-28T16:52:00.002-04:00

I am registering as a potential substitute teacher. This may be the beginning of a terrible new wave of villainy and dementia, or it may be the coolest idea ever in my employment history. I am also going to get a job for a couple nights a week at one of the local bars. Two steps forward, one step in dogshit.

Allergies

2011-08-21T18:36:00.002-04:00

I think I am allergic to Virginia. I have been twice dosed with poison ivy over much of my body. I am eating benadryl like Chocolate Skittles, and slathering my itchy patches with strange concoctions of ointments and unguents that "should work" and "might help." Should and might are not words that I want to hear from a pharmacist, I want to hear "THIS STUFF WORKS SO GREAT OMNOMNOM I USE IT WHEN I GO ROLLING IN THE IVY!!1!!"

The sad thing is that I made it through four years of Boy Scouts without much more than a square inch or two of poison ivy rash. I know what this stuff looks like, and I know how to avoid it. But someone has to pull it out of the flower beds, and it damn sure isn't going to be the pretty one in the relationship.

So.

These large patches of itchy skin are the reason why I am sleeping in the living room on an air mattress. The Latinos have a saying, that I can't remember en Espanol, but it means a sleeping body can't be blamed for the things it does while sleeping. Like farting under the covers. Or scratching like mad at my crotch which was the epicenter of this outbreak.

I only pulled up a sprig of ivy that was maybe six inches long, using my left hand, and then immediately washed both arms in special poison ivy oil destroying soap. This is really not fair. I am learning new definitions of the words suffering, agony, and pain. I try to endure without complaint, and without scratching. I don't always succeed.

The Wizard Uses Item: Scroll of Reanimation

2011-08-13T15:16:00.004-04:00

Let us all hope that no otherworldly intelligences have lain spawn within the recesses of this shambling corpse of a bloggio.

The Genius is once again deliberately, and purposefully, unemployed, but not without plan or hope. After all, in this economy it is so easy to find employment that who wouldn't want to take a couple month vacation and then merge with the job stream as the salmon so often do. Except, you know, without the orgy and death at the end of the search.

But seriously, I have moved out of the comfort and light of the lovely city of DC to the far reaches of Virginia-space. The amenities in my new lair are charming and rustic. So rustic in fact, that I must travel 5 miles to find the internets. This rusticity extends to television and radio signals, as well. You might almost wonder if I have violated both Einstein and Lewis' Laws, and traveled into the near-distant past. So do I.

I've got a backlog of post ideas longer than the list of bad wang jokes I told, and I have nothing to stop me from writing. I can't even muster a bad excuse to avoid writing. So look out Pinko Punko, I will be pestering you about Monday Goldriker Theater.

Not Quite The Joke I Was Expecting

2011-03-22T17:21:00.001-04:00

I was researching some currency on the internets last Saturday, and the first hit on Google, the sponsored link, was for "Buy Vietnamese Dong." The search terms were "purchasing old Turkish Lira." Rule 34, indeedly doo.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Bloggies Held Last Night, Everyone Snubbed

2011-03-01T10:10:00.001-05:00

The 2011 Weblog Awards were held sometime in the recent past, either last night or at some further point in the not-future not-now when. I wasn't expecting to win, but it would have been nice to be nominated and get a chance to thank the Academy. The cool thing is that this means that the Sixth Annual 'Baggie Awards are just around the corner! I'm aiming to win the Slightly-More-Active-Than-fulsome Award, and hoping to at least be nominated for Less-Chunderiffic-Than-Pinko-the-Baby-Blogger. I might even cross my fingers for Biggest Beard, but between Plover and AG, that is a tough category to win.

Missing the Point

2010-11-11T23:41:00.002-05:00

I need to get out of the service industry. Channing Tatum should not have the job he wants, when people like me with actual talent and skills languish in underemployment hell. Why am I complaining when I have only filled out one online job application int he last 10 months you ask? That's beside the point.

Same Phone, New Leaf

2010-10-22T11:19:00.002-04:00

Apparently, Verizon doesn't stock this model of phone anymore. So I'm still without an at symbol, a return/enter button, or a working P. I have to paste my Ps into text. So that's fun. As for the new leaf, I submitted a short story to Games Workshop's Black Library for their "Treacheries of the Space Marines" anthology. I'm excited, and will be publishing the story on my no longer secret blog if I don't hear from GW. I'm also excited because at 4 pm today, LL and I will have been together for one whole frigging goddam year!

A Last Blog From This Phone...

2010-09-22T01:37:00.002-04:00

...Before I get a new, refurbished smart-ish phone. The bus is almost as fast as a cab at this time of night. Few are riding which results in less pulls of the stop request cord, and few are waiting resulting in less stops per block. I still wonder what the point was in having three stops in sight of each other. There is at least one two-block section of this route where the stops are less than a block from each other. No wonder the bus is always late, or off the schedule, there are stops every twenty feet.

Some People Owe Me Some Serious Money

2010-09-19T12:23:00.002-04:00

My brother just got engaged. I win.

Taking All My Time

2010-09-16T11:34:00.001-04:00

The Genius has another minion with which to dominate his realm! I tickled her feet, and she yawned at me! ADORABLE.

Temp Slave

2010-08-24T03:36:00.000-04:00

I've been reading the Best Of lately, I hope I can make you as angry as it has made me. Again. You'll thank me later.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

It Is a Job

2010-08-24T03:33:00.000-04:00

All right. You've heard the speeches, you've heard the spiel. I don't give a shit about any of that. You see this salt shaker? You see this pepper shaker? You see this sugar caddy? You see these ketchups, and these mustard bottles? Memorize this shit. This is how the boss wants it, and this is how I want it. This clean table? I want to eat off it. If you can't or won't work to these specifications, the door is over there. Walk out, you're not needed here. I'll wait. Yeah, OK. You may be thinking, and I know you are, fuck it I'm a server, I don't need this stress. I'll say only this, stress!? You don't know stress, the food runner rolls your silver, and busses your tables. All you need to do is sell, sell, sell, and we recognize that. Which is why we have Rodrego, and Antonio. So man up, or ovary up, and handle your shit or leave. If you don't want to do the minimal amount of work ask besides selling, leave! You, me, him, her, we're infinitely replaceable! Our main skills are being funny, and having a nice smile! Don't kid yourself, I could be gone next week, so do your fucking job, and be happy with the total lack of job stress you take home. And table five is running low, so bring them another round, and make them think it was their idea. We earn $2.77 not because our bosses deliberately want us to be stuck in the unending rut of poverty and restaurant work, but because we rip off fools like those five popped-collar assholes at table seven! We sell an illusion! So get selling, and suck it up, or quit. *And this is when I threw out all my ideals.*
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

In August

2010-08-18T15:58:00.001-04:00

Frikkin' AUGUST.

Seth Rogen and Some Ladies?

2010-08-12T19:16:00.001-04:00

Spotted at a bar in Dupont Circle. Is that really Seth Rogen and some interns, or is that a lucky look-alike?

Inception

2010-07-21T16:52:00.003-04:00

Every now and then, a movie will remind us of the specific power of the medium. Inception is beautiful, moving, and exciting while staying balanced. Too much action and it would have fallen so easily into the absurd, and too much exposition would have forced it too far into the cerebral. There are Cartesian moments of existentialism, mixed with appropriate dollops of gunplay. You'll never read Celebrity Dream Cameos the same way. The Genius recommends this movie to everyone whose lifestyle does not include daily doses of hallucinogenic or psychotropic drugs.

Psychic Octopus vs Menta-parrot

2010-07-10T10:30:00.003-04:00

Today and tomorrow we'll find out whether a brain that is among the smallest proportionate brain in existence, the smallest belonging to Pinko Punko, is more powerful than a brain that is roughly half of the total body mass. In somewhat mostly related news, I have been ready for the World Cup to be over for about two weeks. I am grateful for the huge piles of cash I made, and the weight I've lost, and the muscles gained, but I'm ready for some time in my bed, or on a beach, or even in front of a beach screensaver. It's nice having two month's expenses in the bank, and being to stroll through the morning's puddles in my new gore-tex Vasques, but damn I'm tired. In six weeks, I've earned three month's rent and bills, lifted a metric ton of dirty dish bins, 4,500 pounds of beer in kegs, and served a conservatively estimated 1,500 people an average of 8 beers each. And my friends are wondering why I am so tired at their parties. I'll be in San Francisco in mid August, contact me through the usual front or back channels if you want to hang, or buy me drinks. Toronado is definitely on the list, as is Mayflower(Marigold, whatever that one brewpub is called on Haight?), as is some other place that fulliecakes will get all jealous over missing. Probably the Anchor Brewing Company tour.

Good Government

2010-06-22T15:00:00.001-04:00

I wonder if this post will work from my phone.

Coffee and Soccer

2010-06-19T10:23:00.005-04:00

I'm starting my second of six straight weeks of opening early for the World Cup, and I&'m either being slowly brainwashed, or am too tired to think about anything but soccer. I am drinking a terrible cup of coffee from Casa de Maxwell, and am actually interested in the Ghana/Australia match. I've heard it said that a good cup of coffee is a beautiful thing, and a horrible cup of coffee stirs the sense memories of every good cup you've ever had. This could apply to other things in life, sex, love, relationships, meals, walks, etc, but doesn't seem to apply to sporting events. People, or at least sportscasters, talk about other amazing plays after watching one, and other disasters after watching a team collapse. I'm not really sure where I'm going with this, but the coffee is almost as bad as that last call in the USA/Slovenia game.

How About That

2010-06-11T16:39:00.001-04:00

Hey, how about that zuzuvela, or vuvuzela, or zuzuburu, or whatever? Reminds me of the Summer of Cicada (Brood X Edition). Or a swarm of angry bees.

One of The Many Rules of Reality

2010-06-04T14:56:00.002-04:00

The higher the praise you receive in the earliest round of any competition "reality" gong-show, the faster you will be eliminated. Corollary rule: don't expect me to watch any of these shows and remain sober. Or sane.

Brief Review of The Road

2010-06-02T18:39:00.001-04:00

Less depressing than the book, but don't say I didn't warn you.

The Awesome Life

2010-05-20T11:03:00.001-04:00

So I'm showered, dressed, out of the house, sitting in a chocolate and coffee shop, listening to a gaggle of lovely dames discuss their grandmother's jewelry, and life couldn't better. If I could upload photos with my phone, the Mike Meyer's size mocha in front of me would epitomize the depth of my contentment. This cup of coffee violates my First Rule of Consumption: Never eat anything bigger than your head without fulsome watching. I'm not violating the Thirty-Seventh rule either, but that's an obvious rule: Never eat without bragging to the internet. Here I am digressing again. The town itself is lovely, as my mother would say, and the square has everything you need, a head shop, a shoe store, a coffee shop, a toy store, a couple two three restaraunts, and a rib place. There's high-speed internet somewhere in town, but not at this cafe, which is fine, and an old stone courthouse. The little old ladies say the barbershop "past the shoestore and Baumgartner's" is the place I should go. Right now, my hair is lost somewhere in the wilderness of the tri-state area between Biker-Bartenderistan, Emoria, and Mullet.

Chicago via Monroe

2010-05-18T19:02:00.002-04:00

It's 800-some miles to Monroe, we've got a full-ish tank of gas, one bag of baby carrots, twenty-seven cds, it's getting dark, and we don't have any sunglasses. Hit it.

Cop Week! Yay!

2010-05-13T02:36:00.002-04:00

There are at least 35,000 tourists in DC until next Monday. 35,000 of these tourists are police officers, or lieutenants, or detectives, their rank is rather irrelevant compared to the majority's behavior. They walk into your bar like they own the place, act like jackasses, drink Miller Lite in a bottle, and tip like college students. I need to get a day job.

Where I Was Last Night

2010-05-09T09:47:00.001-04:00

Part of My Manliness

2010-05-07T00:44:00.001-04:00

My manliness, the general quality of me being the man that I am, manifests itself in several ways that are always obvious to others, and some less obvious. I see the world differently than most humans. I took part in a recent survey about my worldview, and even made it onto the blog post. Try and guess which Miscellaneous answer was mine.

FREE MONEY FROM THE GOVERNMENT!!!!1!!1!111!

2010-05-05T16:13:00.002-04:00

Get FREE MONEY FROM THE GOVERNMENT without bankrupting a mortgage bank! I just walked past Matthew Lesko, in his famous question mark suit, while on my way to work. I doubt he will attempt to get me fired.

Haha, Fooled You!

2010-04-01T10:35:00.003-04:00

Here's a great joke to play on April Fool's: ask me to work another double shift in a row at 1:30 am. I'll agree to just about anything until my brain catches up to the conversation. Earlier in the evening, two people asked me to cover shifts that I was already scheduled for, and I agreed to work for them. Five minutes later, I remembered that I was scheduled for those shifts, and was then able to crush their dreams of seeing Whitney Houston and Rob Zombie Live at the Prince William County Drive-In Dinner Theater, so that was fun.

UPDATE: Maybe it's not a prank, the same two people just asked me to cover the same two shifts again this week. The boss has also repeated his previous request that I work those same two nights in a different capacity. This would be funny if I weren't so tired.

Kevin Smith?

2010-02-27T08:32:00.002-05:00

Ever since Clerks 2 or X or whatever this guy seems to be slowly trying to hide his name. Both Zack and Miri Make a Porno and now Cop-Out have had a surprising lack of "Hey look a new Kevin Smith movie!" advertising. I remember once feeling for Kevin Smith the way I feel about new Apatow and Apatow-related movies. What happened to this guy? I mean, Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back wasn't bad enough to warrant a complete fade into obscurity and lame movies. Was Jersey Girl so terrible? I didn't see it.

Is That Clip-Art?

2010-02-02T12:01:00.001-05:00

I'll be outside pondering the imponderables, like this movie.

Cause for Celebration, I Guess

2010-01-24T22:30:00.002-05:00

Brett Feauvreaux, or whatever, you go right back to heLLO my parents read this. Ahem.

Today's Word of the Day

2010-01-24T12:36:00.002-05:00

in*al*ien*a*ble /ɪnˈeɪlyənəbəl, -ˈeɪliə-/ [in-eyl-yuh-nuh-buhl, -ey-lee-uh-] –adjective not alienable; not transferable to another or capable of being repudiated: inalienable rights.

Senator-Elect Brown should do some reading, and remember the sadly alleged principles by which this country was founded.

Upstaged on a Tarantula Tuesday

2010-01-19T12:26:00.004-05:00

Sometimes, I sit down in my creaky chair, open up my browser, and the words just deluge forth in a way that I find a relief and you find an entertainment. Other times the flow is stunted, viscous, oozing, but I can usually wrest some laughs from the primordial thought sump. Today, I was entirely upstaged while drinking my coffee. This clip ruined me:

I'm Not Crotchety Anymore

2010-01-11T14:59:00.001-05:00

Comment #2 (Posted by Warduke)
I'm not going to comment on whether the Simpsons is better or worse now or 15 years ago - that's up to personal taste. What I do want to comment on is that I don't think there's ever been a generation so poised to become crotchety old men as this one. We're barely in our 30s and we're already saying "Back in my day....". We're the most pampered and privileged generation of all time, and it turned us all into little bitches with "action figures".

But not because of this guy. Still, the comment is bang on target.

Quick Note Before the Full Return

2010-01-10T10:47:00.002-05:00

"...when Democrats get caught saying racist remarks, an apology is enough..." - Michael Steele on today's Meet the press.

He neglected to mention that when a Democrat is caught in flagrante delecto, only a resignation or impeachment will purge the party's shame, while a prayer session or two is enough for Republicans. I missed Tim Kaine's remarks after the above comment, but if they weren't as biting, then what the hell good is he?

Slightly Late to the Party

2009-12-15T13:23:00.006-05:00

Two quick notes: if you know The Genius and are in his area, he's having a Holiday Cookie Party at his place on Saturday. Give him a call and you can tell him you're coming with cookies. Or you can tell him you're not coming. The Genius would also like to say that he's not sure why he's writing in the third person but hopes to break this with the next paragraph.

In my second note, I'd like to point out that I work nights, and thus am late to early morning news of terrible import.

THIS SORTA JUST IN, BUT YOU'VE ALL PROBABLY KNOWN ABOUT IT FOR HOURS!!!

An octopus species has been spotted using tools! This is seriously bad news for us humans, and also for dolphins. After reading the first couple paragraphs, I realized that we were all fucked because Aquaman finally has smart creatures to aid his battle against the land-dwellers, and that Ryan North must be warned!

Sadly, several bajillion people had the same thought. About Aquaman. Dude is pissed about his Robot Chicken episode.

Rick Ca-Rolled

2009-12-15T13:14:00.002-05:00

My bar was caroled last night. The six of them came in and sang "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" to our crowd. Pretty much the entire bar sang along, including Scroogy McGenius. I remarked that this was the best trick I'd seen yet for getting free drinks, but then they left without having anything! What a wasted opportunity to get wasted on the cheap. Sing a couple carols, tell the bartender you'll keep singing until he pours you a free shot, down it, and move on to the next victim, er, bar.

Whales, Or What I Was Thinking About As I Walked Home Last Night

2009-12-08T12:33:00.002-05:00

I would be unsurprised if the entire sushi-eating-capable* portion of humanity were able to consume the entire currently-living cetacean population in one busy afternoon and evening. I can not, at the time of writing, determine which result would cause me more sadness and general disappointment with humanity. Obviously, I know which result would surprise me more.

* Capability is determined as those with no known allergies with adequate income and also within a certain geographic proximity of a sushi-serving establishment and/or venue. (Ie. The Filet Strip Club and Sushi Bar in Courtsmouth, PA and that place in Albuquerque, NM where I went with my college girlfriend.)

Thanksgiving Is Nigh, As Is Another Cooking Post

2009-11-23T15:57:00.002-05:00

I have been tasked with making the stuffing. I'm probably making three different varieties of stuffing. The first kind will be a corn bread stuffing, made with the assistance of my lovely, er, assistant. The second will be vegan. I'm already as disgusted as you by this prospect, but I'm the sensitive sort of asshole, and one of my fellow Thanksgivers is vegan so I'm giving it a shot. The third variety of stuffing will be whole wheat, if it exists at all.

My lovely assistant will be baking pies, both apple and a pecan-glazed pumpkin. I might make a berry pie, but that's not exactly a traditional recipe. I'm also certain that would push the carbon footprint of this meal way up into the stratosphere, and that's the worst place to deposit CO2.

Anyway, expect some rampant insanity in the kitchen, mayhem in the living room, and chaos in the bathroom.

Snakes and Drains*

2009-11-17T16:52:00.003-05:00

I scrubbed my bathtub today, and encountered a serious problem. This problem was not entirely unexpected as I had heard the maintenance guys snaking the drain of the apartment upstairs yesterday before I left for work. I did not expect the ensuing mess to be as troublesome as it was, however.

While I was rinsing off the scrubbing agent, I quickly ascertained that my drain was horribly blocked. I finished the scrubbing job, rinsed my hands, raised a fist and a curse over head, and grabbed my trusty plunger. Why a plunger for a bathtub you ask? 1. It works better than a snake. Yes, it's grosser because the clots of hair come back up, but those clots won't be bothering anyone else. 2. I don't have to wait for the maintenance guys. They're nice dudes, but they've got better things to do then piss off tenants by passing a clot down to the next two apartments. 3. It's good exercise. I spent twenty minutes pounding away on that frigging drain, and holding a damp cloth over the overflow hole.**

I guess I'm saying that I'm proactive. About certain things. I guess I'm also sick of my upstairs neighbor being a moron about drains. She tried to run a whole mess of godonlyknowswhatsquamousmess down her disposal in her first month, and that crap ended up all over my kitchen floor. Maybe don't shove an entire turkey, plastic bag included, down your drain? Maybe get one of those handy drain covers that you can clean off after each shower? Maybe then I won't blog about your nasty hair in my bathtub. Don't try and hide it by dyeing it either, you aren't fooling me.

* Post title inspired and/or stolen from last night's Dethklok episodes.
** Without that, you can't work up enough Dyson to make effective use of the plunger.

CDC: Ben Affleck and Patton Oswalt Cross the Line

2009-11-11T16:01:00.003-05:00

Speaking of embracing our natures, here's a celebrity dream cameo courtesy of Sunday night, off-brand nighttime cough medicine, swine flu, and the letter F.*

I'm working as a stock boy/cargo loader/product tester for an industrial snake company.** There are three of us in the Stock and Product department, and our job largely consists of goofing off and creating plumbing problems to test R&D's latest snake on. The latest one is about three inches in diameter with a motorized, chewing drill bit gizmo on the front end. R&D has decided that the most efficient drilling mechanism for this size snake is a model of the human mouth. R&D is busy feeding this monstrosity into a toilet out in the parking lot that is supposed to be connected to septic system below the parking lot in the underground lab. Little do they know, Smitty was stoned off his ass when he set up today's test, and he routed it to the sink in the break room as a prank, knowing that we would lose our shit (AHEM) when we saw a mouth chewing its way out of the sink.

Jones and I are sitting in the break room and watching today's advertisements, which apparently consist entirely of trailers for the new Ben Affleck movie in which he plays some sort of villain. The Marketing Wars of the Early 21st Century have allowed for total freedom in all advertising campaigns, so while Jones and I were hoping to watch some sort of sporting event, we are instead watching endless repeats of the trailer for Ben Affleck's latest godawful movie. The marketing team for this movie has seems to have figured out that Ben Affleck sucks and no one likes him, and has designed a campaign around this immutable fact of even my waking hours. The trailer is Ben Affleck being thrown backwards to land on a giant, rusty, lumber processing plant circular saw. He then says, "well that hurts but it won't kill me!" Then his arms and legs get caught in some sort of machinery, and he is spread-eagled as the saw slowly begins to turn. Benny boy shouts again, "Well this really hurts but it won't kill me!" Then a yellow school comes smashing into frame right onto Ben Affleck and his body gruesomely separates, and his head pops right off. As it tumbles through the air, his disembodied head yells, "Okay, now you've killed me." I think the title for this movie was "Ben Affleck Gets Gruesomely Dismembered!"

Both Jones and I agree that it is clever marketing but that we'll probably wait for the DVD. The new snake then bursts forth from the sink and begins flopping around, gnashing it's teeth, and Jones and I both leap up and damn near crap ourselves. We recover our wits, turn on our radios, and hear the R&D guys attempting to figure out where the errant snake has gone. "Watch this," I say, and grab the snake just behind the drilling mechanism. I give it a yank, and the last few feet of it disappear into the toilet in the parking lot to the surprise of the R&D crew. Jones and I have a laugh, pull the rest of it out into the lot, and drop it at the feet of the puzzled scientists. "We're going on break," we shout over our shoulder, and head in for a coffee or energy drink. Maybe a protein shake, I don't know.

As we open the door to the break room shed, we see Patton Oswalt fleeing off the property. We're on break, so we don't have to worry about that, and besides we don't get paid to do security, union rules. When we open the fridge in the break room, we find an unknown sandwich in a baggy along with a six pack of Beast Balls Energy Drink, both with a note that says, "Mine! Hands off! Do not drink/eat!" Jones says, "Rules say, you've got to leave your name on your stuff, and I don't see a name here." We split the sandwich, and each crack open a Beast Balls Energy Drink. The can is vibrant yellow with an iridescent pink sheen. The drink is oddly refreshing, and Jones and I both stare at each other, shouting "Your lips are yellow! And pink!" We both look in the mirror and true enough, we have bright pink and yellow lips and tongues. We pour out some of the Beast Balls in a glass. It is a flourescent pink, and blazing yellow that glows in the dark. I grab our geiger counter*** and sure enough, Beast Balls is mildly radioactive.

At this point, we tear off after Patton Oswalt. We find him just down the street, desperately trying to start his 1976 white Volvo wagon. The back is packed full of boxes of the sandwiches, cases of Beast Balls, and a few boxes of pre-written Post-Its. We drag his chubby ass out of his beat-up Volvo, and say, "Nice car. Now what's the deal with Beast Balls!?" Patton confesses to the whole thing, admitting that he's had to become an independent marketing agent ever since his "Still Feeling Kinda Patton" comedy album tanked and his label sued him. He confessed to the whole thing. The scheme was to get people drinking Beast Balls, and then get it on the shelves. Marketing research proved in the late 20th Century that people were 90% more likely to eat something in a company fridge if there was a note, but no name on the note, regardless of the contents of the be-noted container. This was no more different than purchasing 24 hours of commercials on a television station to play the same 30-second trailer of Ben Affleck getting dismembered. We let Patton go, but still got his autograph because that bastard is funny.

At this point, I woke up in the middle of the alleged eight hours of effectiveness of my cough medicine, took a whee (in the toilet), talked to my Dad when he called, and went right back to sleep.

* As in where the eff can you get what I'm having?

** Even my unconcious, drug-addled mind thinks I'm destined for life of shit jobs and plumbing disasters.

*** What the hell kind of plumbing company needs a geiger counter?

Embracing Our Nature

2009-11-06T11:30:00.002-05:00

Fuck PETA, let's use the whole ferret.

Overheard on the Metro 11/5/09

2009-11-05T16:59:00.001-05:00

The liberal's definition of bipartisanship is you do what we want you to do." - Some conservative,* tourist,** wannabe-protester.***

Where the fuck have you been for the last nine years? If the Democratic Party were as organized as the Republican'ts, then this might be the case. Instead, all of us peons are being left basically as butthurt as before.

* How do I know he's conservative? From the Representative he was mentioning, and the statement.

** How do I know he's a tourist? He said that he was in from Ohio, and that he had gone to the museums and monuments when he found out that he would not be able to meet with any Congressional power players. He did get to meet with his district's rep, and leave a note for one of his Senators, both of which are rather impressive for a guy without an appointment.

*** I'm guessing he didn't actually protest at any organized events, because he asked another tourist if there were any protests. Even the other guy said, "I dunno, I went to the museums after I couldn't get an appointment to yell at Pelosi." This other person was rather angry that one of his Reps told him that he was not going to change his mind because the Rep understood the situation better than this visitor. I'd be ROFLCoptering if it all weren't so fucking sad.

UPDATE 11/6/09: According to the Washington Post Express (a fucking bastion of comedy for unemployed proofreaders), "about 1000" people showed up to protest with John Boehner and a Representative that I can't recall at the moment. Ohio Boy said that he saw a much larger crowd than he expected, so what was he expecting? 20 to 40 people chanting moronic slogans like the ricockulously named tea parties? Those jackasses that "protect" the war memorials on the Mall?

The Christians and The Pagans*

2009-11-03T16:45:00.001-05:00

I'm riding the bus to work, and enjoying the myriad wonders of the 21st Century. Drinking a Panamanian organic coffee, listening to Bitter : Sweet on my little 512 mb Sansa Mp3 player, blogging from my frigging phone/camera/PDA/Mp3 player/game machine, and riding in a hybrid bus. The future is here people, even though we've got a long road to giving me a jetpack, and the future isn't as bad as it could have been.**

The past is also still going pretty strong, too. The bus driver is extolling the virtues of his Baptist church to a willing passenger, while the old man to my left is describing the Resurection of Jesus the Christ to his daughter/granddaughter. "It was really quite amazing." I'll resist the urge to shout, "Samhain!" as I disembark.

Maybe the future is a little more mature than we thought.

* Easily my favorite Dar Williams song. Sorry, Iowa.
** Insert Zombacolypse/Judgement Day/Emmericholypse/Apocevlin scenario here.

Candyland Hit Hard

2009-11-02T16:59:00.001-05:00

I guess the recession hits us all in different ways. There were only four lumps in my mini-box of Milk Duds instead of five.

Rambo vs The Aliens

2009-11-01T02:19:00.001-05:00

To quote E: "How does that work?"

And the Parade of Lame Commences

2009-10-31T21:12:00.001-04:00

Let's get this straight, I appreciate scantily-clad women as much as anyone, but the endless lines of women dressed as "slutty-x^n" costumes is just fucking lame. Use your imagination, instead of your credit card. If you don't have an imagination because you've been ruined by a lifetime of insipid television with no parental encouragement, you've still got options. Be a ghost or a goblin or a ghoul, anything but another slutty nurse/cop/doctor/criminal/skeleton/superheroine. Short skirts and thigh highs do not a costume make. Well, I mean, yes that is a costume, but it's just so hot. Lame! I meant lame.

Happy Halloween 2009!

2009-10-31T16:52:00.001-04:00

I'm busy working on my costume, and also working on the blog posts about Richmond. I'll need editorial assistance from my partners in crime, which may delay those posts a couple of days. In the meantime, my costume.

Epic

2009-10-29T20:24:00.001-04:00

The trip was epic. Just fucking EPIC. More details when my fogged over brain reboots.

Gogol Bordello at The National in Richmond, VA

2009-10-28T15:59:00.002-04:00

I'm in Richmond, VA for the underdog world strike. Gogol Bordello is playing The National with Apostle of Hustle.* I'm with my brother (I should thank him for the ticket, and driving, paying for the hotel, paying for dinner, and the beer) and my cousin. After tonight, Richmond may refer to us as the Terrible Trio.** We're one beer in and three stares of dismay from our neighbors at this cafe for our Big City lingo, and by that I mean our prevalance for the words dude, shit, ballcock, fuck, fucking shit, and goddam fucking hell.

Quotes of Note:
"Richmond is sending me confusing messages with its strict No Segways policy along the waterfront, but also a clear endorsement of the Segway as a rental."

"A ballcock is a fine fellow.""
* To be remembered later.
** Apologies to Jolly Blackburn, but I've heard stories that indicate you might enjoy some of our coming exploits.

Slackers and Perspective

2009-10-26T17:13:00.002-04:00

Lately, I've become re-aware of a terrible new habit among my circle. We are all ignoring each other. We wrap ourselves up in our jobs, or our new relationships, and we drop of the face of the planet. I use the term re-aware because this seems to go in cycles.

I was guilty earlier in the year when I made the transition to working a shitty second-shift job with no set schedule. My friends and family worked fairly hard to keep in touch and I thank them for it. Now that I work a decent second-shift job with a set schedule, it is far easier for me to keep in touch, and even make plans!

Various friends have all been guilty at one or several times in the past, fulsome being the current reigning champ. This can get extremely disconcerting, and even discouraging, but you've got to remember that it frequently isn't personal. It';s hard enough to schedule time to meet when you live in the same city, and damn near impossible when you don't.

Patience and persistence are two important traits. Leave a message or two, appropriately spaced in time, maybe send an email or two, and let them contact you. The line to harassment can be easy to cross, so be patient.

For the wrapped-up, try not to be such a toolbag and spend five minutes responding with an email. A quick note fired off before that meeting, or the reality show of your choice, can mean a lot to the people you're choosing Deal or No Deal over. Don't get upset with your friends if they don't know every miniscule detail of your life either, after all you're the one who stopped returning their calls, asshole.

You Think You're Bad? You Ain't Bad! I'm Bad!

2009-10-23T16:00:00.003-04:00

I'm so bad, I own a copy of the Star Wars Holiday Special. I'm so bad, I once played it at the video store on a Friday night in December. People were weeping blood, and bleeding from their ears. I'm so bad, I played it at a holiday cookie party, while we ate the cookies I was supposed to be mailing to I-Forget-Which-Other-Blogger. I'm so bad, I'll be watching it again this holiday season at the end of an Uwe Boll marathon: House of the Dead, Alone in the Dark, Bloodrayne, In the Name of the King, Postal. I own and love Demon Wind for the love of all that's unholy, I am the only person I know to have seen this movie twice!

You think you're tough? I shit bigger than you.

Paranormal Activity: Jebus Help Me Through This

2009-10-23T02:27:00.002-04:00

A friend and I just left the theater after seeing Paranormal Activity. To give you an idea of how scary that movie is, there were some women behind us praying and cursing. In Spanish. This only added to our tension, and enjoyment. If you liked the Blair Witch Project, and were scared by it, then this movie is for you.

Personally, I would have gone with kosher salt instead of talcum powder, but then I've probably got more experience with demons than the character in the movie. Either way, there were plenty of moments where I would have needed some new shorts if this stuff had been happening to me.

Applying for Wageslave Jobs can be Ridiculous

2009-10-22T14:21:00.004-04:00

I was cruising the streets looking for a second job to fill the off hours, and there's nothing like looking for work to make you feel pretty worthless.* I applied at four different bar/restaurants, and was wandering through Georgetown looking for a coffee shop that seemed like a decent prospect when I saw a Now Hiring sign in an upscale toy store window. I thought that an educational toy store couldn't be that horrific a workplace, and I was feeling pretty desperate, so I waltzed in and said I was here about the sign. The hipster behind the counter sighed and handed me a sticker with an email address on the back and said, "send your resume and cover letter to this address. You might want to include any references, too." I stepped forward to take the card and bumped the pile of white-painted wood that he was assembling into an organic, low-impact, eco-crib.** I apologized and he sighed again and said, "that's okay." He then grimaced at me in some bizarre attempt at a haughty smile, or maybe a snarl.***

This was the point in which that feeling of utter worthlessness turned into aggravation. If your assembling some expensive, European, organic, low-VOC, high-end, rich douchebag, destined for twenty-four years of private school education before Harvard Business, eco-crib that is WHITE and you have a WHITE-tiled floor, then maybe leaving a stack of pieces in front of your sales counter is a BAD IDEA. I learned long ago that leaving pieces of my LEGO kit, IKEA chip-board furniture, Warhammer tank model, etc, in a high traffice area was a guaranteed way to have those pieces crushed underfoot. If you're the kind of guy that owns/manages/works at a children's toy store that requires a cover letter, resume, and three references to even apply there, then you had best display the kind of forethought and presence to earn all three of those requirements. Simply having a superior attitude and expensive merchandise doesn't allow you to act like an arrogant cobag. You've got to have the ability before you have the attitude.

At my bar job, we watch a variety of news programs before the various sporting events are televised. Aside from Balloon Boy, another frequently run story is how employers are having trouble finding qualified applicants. If you're a children's toy store, even an educational, eco-friendly, organic, etc, etc, children's toy store and you require a cover letter, resume, and three references to even apply there, you may want to rethink your hiring strategy. Here are three simple requirements that would serve you better should you choose to pull your head out of your ass: Can you perform addition and subtraction with a reasonable degree of accuracy? Can you be polite to jerkface customers? Will you be honest with all monetary transactions? The answers to two out of three of these questions can be ascertained with a short quiz and a conversation. The third is a constant risk of all stores, and you should always be wary but also give the benefit of the doubt until you have reason to rescind such trust. Even if you're an uppity, ridiculous toy store that provides educational services and wants to be considered something greater, your storefront employees are there to sell toys and make people feel like coming back to spend more money. They aren't solving world hunger, they're just earning 8.25 an hour with no benefits.

* Except dating, but that's a whole different kind of worthless.
** I shit you not. The box made all three claims.
*** I do both better.

Pizza Night at the Cousins of Somewhat More Determinate Number

2009-10-16T21:33:00.004-04:00

It's pizza night at the Cousins of Somewhat More Determinate Number. We're drinking cheap pinot, eating homemade pizza, and listening to hardcore punk. That is just how the COSMDNGS roll. The g and s in that acronym are a classified secret known only to me, Pinko Punko, and certain high-level government appointees. I would dearly love a Genius-sized Big Wheel. I was watching some hilarious keyboard cat, and realized that this would satisfy a lot of of my nutritional and exorcisational necessities. I may have to go make one. You can ask Adorable Girlfriend, I've built some pretty cool shit AKA my bed, out of Congolese mahogany shipping containters. So I'm clearly a dedicated recycler, ladies. At some point in this, you may wonder what the point of this here bloggio was, or is, and to which I can only respond with, which blog have you been reading? The ones in which I get bizarrely randomly insensically emo or the ones in which I get bizarrely randomly insensically tardiloquent about my roommate, Helob the Tarantula.

Second Brain is Zombified

2009-10-13T14:21:00.004-04:00

My Blackberry has died, and shuffles on in the half-life of the undead. It receives calls and messages, but the buttons refuse to work.

Update 1: New phone received on Wednesday at 415 pm.
Update 2: New phone zombified sometime between 730 pm and 1130 pm.
Update 3: Second new phone received 345 pm on Thursday.
Update 4: Second new phone continues to work at 745 pm Thursday. Further updates to follow as events develop.
Update 5: Balloon boy found safe and sound, hiding in an attic.
Update 6: Second phone continues to function as of 353 pm Friday.

16

2009-10-04T06:29:00.001-04:00

On Monday, I am mailing 16 inches of my hair to a charity organization. It took me two years, one month, and four days to grow. I am desperately hoping that the organization finds it suitable for their purpose. If they don't, I will be sorely disappointed. There was so much effort put into growing all that hair. It's so hard to not get your hair cut for years, and all that brushing.

There's a woman who asked me to hold too much for her tonight. I doubt she even understands why I am not* hurt by her attempts to wound. Some people just have to lash out, but that doesn't mean anyone has to sit around for it.

I am now walking home along the borders of a small national park. I hear the hissing of condominium ventilation systems, and the hooting of owls, and I can not choose between. The vents slither and steam, while the birds swoop and chirp. I am not sure if that's the right word.

* I somehow skipped this rather important modify when writing this post. Never hit send without proofreading. Or while walking.

Stereotypes When Traveling

2009-09-30T16:01:00.001-04:00

This is all based on my personal experiences while traveling, and mostly through Eastern Europe in the late '80s.

1: Americans are loud obnoxious pricks.
We are. If you're a normally vociferous person (like me), everyone will hear you coming. Chatting is fine, but keeping it barely audible is best. Think museum-level voices, but everywhere. If you hear someone speaking English but can't see them, they're probably a block away and American. Or hooligans.

2: Stay away from hooligans.
Seriously. You'll just end up dead, broken, or with more knowledge of the Spanish penal system than you'd like.

3: Tourists attract pickpockets.
This applies anywhere you travel. The best thing you can do is have good situational awareness, and keep your important documents in the safest pockets you have.

4: Bring toilet paper.
This is more of an Eastern European recommendation because those commies sure don't like their cornholes. Most of their tp could double as sandpaper. You may find yourself using a public toilet, wondering how did I get here without any toilet paper, and then you'll be sorry.

5: Bring cash.
Credit cards aren't as useful in Europe. This is changing, but slowly. My burser on my last trip only paid for hotel rooms and some train tickets with a credit card, everything else was cash. You can get foreign currency from your bank if you give them enough notice, you can usually get a decent rate, or a better rate than you'll get from a cambio overseas.

6: McDonald's is worse in Europe.
Ok, so the last time I went to a McD's in another country was Turkey in 1987, but still it was horrible. Fucking coffee flavored milkshakes instead of chocolate. No wonder they lost the war.

7: If your flight lands in the morning, stay awake until night.
Best way to get over jet-lag, no matter what hypochondriac punkbitches say about melatonin or seratonin pills.

8: Bring American condoms.
You know your favorite brand, you trust it, so why use some commie condom from a former Soviet republic? Those things probably wouldn't stop a cold, and you wouldn't know the good local brand anyway.

9: Frommer's.
Good enough for Eurotrip, good enough for you.

10: A few words about swimsuits.
It's Europe, you don't need a top, baby.

Finishing Projects

2009-09-30T15:49:00.003-04:00

I've been known to spread myself to thin at times. I'm currently working on a short story, a novel, and a couple of screenplays while also trying to find a day job, read three books at a time, proceed to some form of self-awareness, and maybe even find some happiness. Let's not forget my hobbies: two Warhammer 40K armies, mounting a horse head on my wall for a hat rack, dating, and blogging. I should probably focus my efforts so that I can actually finish some of these projects. I think I might be a bit scattered in my efforts, but then I hear about this, and I can only respond with, "lolwut."

Perhaps you may want to finish wrecking the game with Wrath of the Lich King before you go and annihilate it with a Cataclysm. And seriously, did the game really need Gnomes on the Horde side? I predict a whole new wave of dumb jokes on the forums written by kids with in depth knowledge of the find/replace command, and the words "gnome" and "goblin."

Ugghies

2009-09-29T19:30:00.001-04:00

One of these years, I am going to learn to recognize when leftovers have gone slightly bad, or die from food poisoning. My record indicates that the latter is the likeliest of the two options.

Or maybe I need to stop reading while on the bus within 20 minutes of eating. Or maybe don't have a pb&j after having the last bits of spaghetti.

Fixing My Internets AKA Re-plumbing the Tubes

2009-09-29T16:21:00.002-04:00

I've been adding links to my blog little by little, as I've taken to using it as a one stop place for my favorite time wasting. Since I still have yet to find employment that allows me the luxuries of services that are rapidly becoming utilities, I still have neither broadcast television access nor internet access, and rely almost entirely upon my local library for serious internetting. I can't even pirate a wi-fi network since people in my building are so stingy. Er, I mean, knowledgeable about network security.

Also, while I can peruse some websites on my phone, it is really no replacement for a broadband internet connection, or even a dial-up connection. Reading internet articles on your phone is a lot like reading under the covers when you're twelve and Mom and Dad told you to go to bed. It's bad for your eyes, and you'll end up embarassed when you admit to what you were reading later in life, because Dungeons and Dragons novels are just horrifically embarassing.

I Miss Your Comments, Too

2009-09-27T14:56:00.002-04:00

But sending me blank text messages is an odd way to generate more hits, Brando. I'm out looking for a hot dog stand that also sells buckets of cold spring water, when I get back to my neighborhood, I'll hit the library and leave some comments on your hilarious bloggio.

Friday Morning Random: Ghost Jukebox Edition, with Genius Commentary

2009-09-25T11:43:00.002-04:00

If you leave the jukebox alone, it plays random songs every twenty minutes. Last Sunday, the jukebox chose the following six songs to play:

1. Elvis - In the Ghetto.
Makes anyone want to drink.

2. Monkees - Daydream Believer
Makes everyone look at the jukebox to see who selected this song.

3. Avant - Separated
Makes everyone go outside to smoke.

4. Four Tops - Need Your Lovin'
Makes all the lonely servers and patrons stare at the wall in regret.

5. John Roe - Izzy
Makes, uh...I can't even remember this song. Maybe it's a psychic trigger and we all have the same 3:43 minute memory gap! Or maybe not.

6. Commodores - Easy
I got nothing.

So there you have it. I'm surprised the 'box didn't toss in any lame country. The 'box will frequently pick Bottom 40 Country Misses and horrible R&B when bored. It seems to only play songs that no one ever selects, as if saying, "put some money in me, or I play more terrible bar music." It's an aural terrorist.

Additional commentary on selected artists and the Jukebox's selection thereof:
Coldplay: A customer reacts to my face when Yellow comes on for the third time in a night by saying, "Wow, you really hate Coldplay." It's like trying to drill a hole in your skull to gain superpowers, except the drilling never stops.

Muse: Coldplay with Enhanced Suck. Ross Perot never imagined how bad the sucking sound could eventually be, but now we know.

Vampire Weekend - A-Punk: Ok, we get it, you're fucking hip. Now shut the fuck up and enable more VW songs, or The Genius is gonna Lou Ferrigno your ass right off the wall.

NOFX: Without Liza & Louise, how can I make Facebook friends with my lesbo coworkers?

Toby Keith: Someday you will face the Wrath of the Beastly Brows, Toby Keith.

Knickelback: Flames. Flames from the side of Res Publica's face.

Journey: I'm gonna hurt you in the no-no place, jukebox.

M.I.A.: If I weren't such a feminist, I might request that guy come beat our jukebox.

Kelly Clarkson: I received a note from Justin to Kelly, and it said only, "I gave up, why can't you?"

Hannah fucking Montana, and the Jonas Brothers: Hah, Disney tries to be all coy, and claim that they don't sell sex to children. Liars. Dirty, rotten, filthy, liars.

Metallica: Three songs from St. Anger, and three songs from the Black Album? Hardly equivalent, but I'm sure the band needed to redo the gold plating on all seventy of their toilets. Guess which three songs play over and over?

Louis Prima: I like this guy. I only play it when I've made more than a bill, and feel good. I don't want to ruin the five songs on the 'box by over-playing them.

MGMT - Kids, followed by PB&J - Young Folks: These two songs play together so often, I am hanging by my fingernails over the abyss of the soul. My rage waits patiently, eagerly, and ravenously to feast upon a delicious supper when the day comes that I can no longer bear these two songs together. It's almost as bad as the Vampire Weekend/Flobots combo. The 'box taunts me by straining to ruin so many bands, and succeeding so thoroughly. I dream of my sweet revenge.

Celebrity Dream Cameo: Ecto-1

2009-09-23T16:55:00.002-04:00

I'm not sure how this one started, but my brothers and I were operating a Ghostbusters franchise in the District. We had just finished restoring an old ambulance or hearse to Ghostbusters International standards when we got a call. I tossed my tan BDUs on and jumped in the driver's seat with my brother riding shotgun, and my other brothers in the back seat. I immediately noticed that we had made a slight error when restoring the vehicle because we had installed a bus-sized steering wheel. The wheel was one of those slick, black plastic ones from an old Greyhound or something similar in size, and was approximately three feet across. It did have some nice chrome on it, though. The seat was also a little broken, so that it was stuck leaning back to far to really see out of the window. I either had to lean forward and hold my arms out comically far to drive, or lean back and drive using the bottom ten degrees of the wheel and let my brother's screaming guide my driving. At one point, I turned onto a one-way street and had to dodge a few cars before getting fed up and turning on the vintage lights and sirens. They sounded exactly like the original Ecto-1, probably because of the MP3 player hooked up to the sirens and stereo. Cars began getting out of our way, but I still had to bump onto the sidewalk for a couple blocks. I even cut a huge u-turn in the middle of an intersection to make it to our destination, people, segways, and cars were leaping out of the way. Turns out our first caper was at the Museum of American History. I woke up at this point, but I'm betting we had to go clear out all of the ghosts leftover from those "Night at the Museum" movies.

Leave a Message, Fool!

2009-09-19T23:54:00.002-04:00

Is it really so hard to leave a simple message after calling someone and missing them? I've been getting a lot of calls lately from numbers I don't recognize, and even from some "Private" numbers, but no one leaves a message. If you don't leave a message, how the hell am I supposed to know to call back or whatever? Maybe Verizon is just messing with me.

Peter Coyote versus James Woods: Totally Tarantula Tuesday Celebrity Edition

2009-09-15T23:16:00.002-04:00

Nature show voice-overs versus Family Guy cameos.
Advantage: James Woods.

Making wolves interesting versus looking vaguely sinister.
Advantage: Tie, because both are cool.

Sphere versus Contact.
Advantage: The only person in the world to have seen neither, His Holiness the Dalai Lama.

Having a name evocative of the rugged American West versus having a name evocative of a metaphor about details and plans.
Advantage: Peter Coyote

The Verdict: His Holiness wins! Enlightenment is the only path.

Fooled you!

Not a Great Idea, Nor a Great Rationale

2009-09-13T18:07:00.002-04:00

My boss told the Real World crew that it wasn't his decision, but he would prefer if they stayed out of his bar, due to their extreme propensity for causing fights in every bar they visit.* I told him that I would come in on a day off to wait on the Real World kids. I had two goals beyond making money when I got this job: the first being to drink a lot of new beers and the other to win a bar brawl. So far, all I've done is frighten shitty tippers and stare down morons. I'm not a violent man, but I would happily issue justified beatings in order to end a brawl.

* According to an inside source, some punches were thrown at Buffalo Billiards when the kids went there.

Creatures of the Night

2009-09-13T03:51:00.001-04:00

I have never been sure of my habits. Am I a day-sider masquerading as a night-timer, or a night-timer with day-side longing? Or am I some desperately bisexual crepuscular fiend, hiding in the fringes, receiving no convincing arguments from either side, and yet hoping for any indication of a hoped-for success in any lifestyle? Whichever the case, I've still got more miles to go before the comfort of my bed, and, oddly enough, a few graveyards to cross on my way, like a goth Jimmy Clif.

Evening in the Park

2009-09-11T00:19:00.001-04:00

I'm lying on a picnic table in Battery Kemble Park, listening to the wind rustle the leaves. The air is unusually cool for September, and the clouds drip now and then. To the east, the city's glow casts a depressing orange on the vaporous ceiling in an ugly false dawn. The crickets chirp, calling a desperate, last hope for sex before death. The breeze tosses my damp frizzled hair about my face, and I ignore it. Dead trees claw at the sky, silent accusers. The sky is a mottled grey, slowly morphing and mutating as my eyes adjust and the wind exerts its will.

Depending on your definition of parallel universes, on a planet n meters away from my spot, there is someone extremely similar to me, lying on an extremely similar picnic table, thinking extremely similar thoughts, asking extremely similar questions, and just as hopefully depressed about the future. I think the Germans probably have a word for this feeling, but it is 93 characters long and I can't do umlauts on my phone.

Penny Arcade Predicts the Summer Blockbuster

2009-09-09T12:42:00.004-04:00

This comic from February 19, 2009 is mighty impressive. It was written in reference to a Resident Evil trailer that I was unable to view at the library, but I was immediately reminded of while watching District 9. I have been describing D9 as apartheid with ray guns. Weeks later, that movie still sits at my number one spot. I disagree thoroughly with Howard Tayler's rankings, but that's Freedom of Speech in action and I thoroughly agree with that principle.

I haven't seen Gamer, G.I. Joe: the Rise of Cobra, Wolverine, Land of the Lost, or Angels & Demons (nor will I, Dan Brown blows) but I will eventually. I have seen all of Trueblood season 1, and the shame runs deep as the darkest parts of your soul.

The National Archives of Amateur Porn

2009-09-08T22:55:00.003-04:00

Or, The Secret Service Would Prefer a Penis-Free Evening in Lafayette Park

It was the end of a long, slow night at work when she walked past my seat, and perched on a bar stool. Petite, blonde, and wearing an entirely pink* outfit, she looked simultaneously lost and totally confident. My manager asked if I had noticed the woman, whom we'll call Violet, and I said yes. She then asked how old I thought Violet was, so I said, "let me get my shift** and I'll go find out."
"Oooh, Chuckles, don't embarrass yourself," she said as I left to get my beer.

I sit down one stool away from Violet, and proceed to sip my beer and my water. I glance over a couple times, Violet catches my glances, and reciprocates. At this point in time, I can not be certain what I said to start the conversation, but I know it was going well until a tremendous fool, whom we'll call Cuban Pete, interrupted. We had been talking about faith, religion, and belief when Cuban Pete turned around and asked, "who talks about God at a bar?" Before I can say anything, Violet is handling the situation.

I am then witness to a full-throttle ego destruction as Cuban Pete tries to use lines designed to prey on a woman's insecurities*** on Violet and she retaliates with a withering display of intellectual firepower. She wrecks him so handily, and he is so utterly unaware of himself, that I just sit there and laugh at him. I know when to shut up and watch. Eventually Cuban Pete's friends show up and try to drag him away, and we duck out the back while Pete was trying to tell his friends that he was going home with Violet.

While leaving through the back exit, we run into my asshole boss who proceeds to try yelling at Violet, "Hey little girl, what the hell? Where you going? No way!" Violet walks into the downstairs entrance as I tell the Boss quite firmly that "I got this, it's under control. Go back in your office, I got this. Go back in your office!" Boss stops and stares at me, and then walks off muttering. I sit Violet down at the bar, run upstairs for my bag where I find my boss ranting about me and "the crazy teenager." I grab my bag and say, "she's no teenager. I'll see everyone tomorrow." Violet and I leave for the Big Hunt.

At the Hunt, we each have a Bell's Oberon and a great conversation. The topics range wildly, and humorously, despite a complete lack of discussion about flaky fish. If I remember correctly, we were discussing our varied education in dancing when a neighboring table asked us about the aforementioned piscine delights. Violet is classically trained in ballet, while I was classically trained in ballroom, in the same way that Animal House is a classic.

After a pleasant time on the Hunt's roof patio, we leave and I offer to walk her to her hotel. She thought it was near a park, and as we approach the address, we see the Washington Monument peeking over some rooftops. A block or so beyond her hotel is Lafayette Park and the White House, so we mosey over. Violet worries that it might be off limits after dark, but three bicycle cops say otherwise. We sit down in the dewy grass near the fountains and continue chatting.

At this point in the evening, I am thinking two things: holy shit, this woman is attractive both mentally and physically, and I doubt we're going to make out with all of these cops walking around. Ninety seconds later, the latter was proven wrong when Violet pushed me onto my back and leapt on top of me. I would proceed with details except that there are certain things that I would prefer to keep to myself, specifically the way her skin smelled (lovely), the way her blonde hair caught the light of the fountains (beautifully), and the way she felt in my arms (wonderful). After that, all I could think about was whether an FOI request would get me the footage from the security cameras because no one will ever believe this happened.

After an unknown period of time, subject to the L.L. Cool J Theory of Relativity,**** a police officer crept up to the far side of the fountain in his SUV and then sauntered over to us. Violet slid off me, and we said good evening to the young officer. "Just checking in folks, thought I saw, uh, something that looked like, um, oral going on, and that's, uh, illegal, but everything is all put away, so we're okay." Nothing of the sort was going on, I'm a gentleman and Violet is not that kind of lady, but he's got a job to do and it was just dark enough to leave some doubt. I am not sure who felt more awkward, but I was ready to jump up and demand a high-five.

Violet and I ask the cop about the rules on make-outs in the park. Apparently, the rules about nudity in the District are far more lax than I had previously thought. As long as the genitals are clothed, anything goes! No acts deemed lewd are permitted however, hence the diligent officer's investigation of any possible intimate internship.

After a hilariously awkward conversation about catching people fucking in the park not twenty minutes prior and other nights of streakers at the Lincoln Memorial, the officer left saying, "good night. And good luck, dude! But, uh, not here, please." Violet undid several more buttons on her shirt now that we understood the rules and I am now Agnostic, because I was ready to proselytize for whichever deity smiled upon me at that moment. I won't divulge more details because incoming links from Filthbot may be funny, but the comments that result are sorta grody. I will say that we were chaste, and I will also say that as good a time was had as could be had without requiring a lawyer. I walked Violet to her hotel, she kissed me goodnight, and I walked home wishing I could high-five all my buddies. Or even the men I passed on the street. The night's events are the top of the list of All Time Best-Ever Events Without Nudity, The Genius Edition, and even pretty high on the Nudity Required version of the list.

Unfortunately, the rest of Saturday was an unending string of missed connections and miscommunications. I had a small voice in my head saying that I would never hear from Violet again, and sent her an poorly-worded email about meeting up on Saturday night. When I wrote the email, I expected it to bounce or never receive a response. It was far more blase than I felt. Over the course of the evening, the combination of working in a basement and missing calls and messages resulted in an enormous level of frustration in both Violet and I. I thought she knew I was working, and she thought I was playing it cool. If she could have seen me obsessively checking my messages every twenty minutes and rebooting my phone to double check that it was actually downloading messages, she would know that I was being anything but cool. At one point, I missed her call by three minutes. The people smoking on the stoop all jumped when I shouted in dismay.

The string of emails that followed on Sunday and into the night were mixed in tone. Like so many emails, if she was smiling when she wrote them Violet is hilarious. If she was frowning, then I had to wonder why she was bothering. Most women I piss off so thoroughly simply stop communicating with me. Fortunately, I seem to have convinced her that I am not a giant jerkfaced asshole, and she seems amenable to giving me another chance the next time she is in town.

I hope the weather is still warm because I hear the Jefferson Memorial is beautiful by night.

* Or blue. Definitely a pastel to my cursed eyes. Probably both pink and blue.
** Victory Prima Pils.
*** This technique had probably worked well with the Bachelorette party he and his pals had been hitting on, but Cuban Pete was too drunk to notice that he had just gotten himself unlaid by starting this.
**** As related in Deep Blue Sea, "Get your hands on a hot pan, and a second can last an hour. Get your hands on a hot woman, and a night can disappear in a second."

Embarassed, But Not Really

2009-09-04T08:44:00.002-04:00

You can't keep the lessons and forget the incidents. I don't know if I would if I could.

My Birthday is Less Than Twelve Months Away

2009-09-04T06:49:00.001-04:00

But you can still buy me one of these for an early gift.*

* Early birthday gift giving does not exempt you from the Annual End-of-Year Gift Tithing.

Guest Blogger

2009-09-03T22:18:00.006-04:00

The other day I was walking out of work with a co-worker. When it was time to say good bye we awkwardly hugged, as only co-workers can do, said good bye and then proceeded to walk down the street in the same direction.

One time I peed on my hand by accident on the way to a keg party. I was young and in college and hopeful of a one night stand so I had to rub my pee-stinky hand in people garden flowers on the way there.

I woke up this morning and poured my cereal into a bowl, then I realized we had no milk so I had to pour it back into the box. Fuck my life.

This week was really hectic at work and we had this big deadline. I don't get paid enough to care about deadlines and I think my boss knows this so he sent us an email that started like this:

Guys – I can feel the progress. Can you feel it?? I can feel the energy pulsating from our pods!!

Great progress was made last week and I’ve seen firsthand things progress quite a bit over the last two days. I love the activity guys – love it!

I think it had the opposite effect that he wanted. He even ended the email like this:
Thanks guys – only one thing left to say before I leave, and that is…

BRING IT!

Whatever, David Brent...

You know you've got to get a new job when you log in password at work is 'fuckthisplace.'

My last bit of truth: This blog has been high-jacked!

***Editor's note: This post was written by my brother and i think he was attempting to tap into the Tarantula Preserves.

Dexter Fletcher Appreciation Day is August 31

2009-08-31T19:29:00.001-04:00

You might not have heard of this day, but it's happened every year since 1999. Break out your favorite Dexter Fletcher movies and series, call your friends, pop the corn, and crack a case cuz Dexter Fletcher Day is here! This year's curriculum at Casa del Genius is Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels, Doom, and then the best of Band of Brothers.

Tell the world how you celebrate DF-Day at your "flat" in the comments.

One Biomedical Ethics Class Is Not Enough

2009-08-31T16:29:00.004-04:00

For me to be an effective judge or even say what I would have done. Ginger-Talk alerted me to this story, and I am heading off to find a paper copy as it will probably disappear behind the NYT subscriber wall soon.

I Just Wet Myself

2009-08-30T22:04:00.002-04:00

I am going to go change my underwear after watching the Descent: Part 2 trailer. Better break out the Gold Bond.