One day as I was slowly walking along, enjoying an unseasonably warm afternoon, I happened upon a bus stop. Normally, such an occurrence would not be worth mentioning as, lets face it, bus stops are simply not very exciting (at this time I'm fighting the urge to become distracted on the completely different topic of 'bust' stops. Perhaps in the future). The day in question, however, this particular bus stop was occupied by a variety of people whom I can only guess were waiting for, and I'm assuming here, a bus. Now, again, even a bust stop with several folks in varied states of anticipation of a transit arrival, holds little interest for me. However, as I approached the aforementioned public conveyance station with the aforementioned public there awaiting conveyance, I noticed that one of these gentle folks stood out from her compatriots. I don't mean in the literal sense that she stood some distance away from those gathered, but rather her appearance made her quite noticeable, compared to those surrounded. She was dressed rather conventionally, with nothing beyond a colorful sweater worth noting. She was rather average in size, with no visible handicap that would require the aid of some eye catching mechanical assistance. She wasn't a great beauty, but nor was she overly homely. No, what made this particular women so noteworthy was, what I can only imagine to her credit, was the creative application of cosmetic technology. As I walked toward the bus stop and the bus stoppers, I couldn't help but notice how surprised this woman seemed, why, her eyebrows climbed her head nearly to her hairline. The closer I approached, why, the more surprised she seemed. When I was close enough to really get a good look at her, I screamed a little inside; I did a quick double take and quickly talked my jaw into returning to its normal location. You see, what I had taken for the woman's eyebrows where in fact artificially drawn synthetically manufactured fake eyebrows! No, that does it no justice.... Are you familiar with the national fast food chain, McDonald's? If you are then you know they have this clown mascot named Ronald. Now, Ronald, I contend, would be ashamed of these eyebrows. In fact, I believe he might even be alarmed that this women had somehow stolen the arches from a nearby Mickie D's and adhered (adheesed would be a good word to add to Websters.. somebody make that happen) them to her mug. So arched and high were these eyelashes that the city of St. Louis would probably be jealous. Way, way, way, down and below the impressive 'brow' arches, you could see the twin pale patches of skin where the woman's normal eye brow hair had been brutally removed (or, non-brutally removed. Really, for all I know, they may have decided to take a vacation and commissioned the McDonald arches as stand-ins. . . I'm gonna go ahead and stick with the brutal removal. Its juicier that way).
Well, that is all I have. A couple year hiatus and that's what I open back up with. Your welcome.
Also, do not the words brutal and removal belong together? Phonetically, I mean. Say them: Brutal removal. Very satisfying combination.
Friday, March 06, 2009
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Coming Soon!!
What with the mega blockbuster season just about to start, I was sort of caught up in the hype machine and thought, HEY!, I can do that! (note: the following previews have been rated RTFGHAFCOL - Ready to friggin go home already, for cying out loud)
So, here is something to look forward too (or not, whatever, dude) in the coming weeks from me...
Humongo the Sequel... In a worrrrld where people get really really large .... (scene of water in a cup with the little cocentric circles forming) ... No one, gets as large as him ... (quick flash of a dozen donuts) ... Nearly half a ton of human fun, its the return of humongo ....
Some exciting (no really) news on the really big fella I wrote about almost a year ago.
The Interview ... A somewhat factual story of yours truly's last job interview... May contain exaggerations, untruths, foul language and, perhaps, a dufus or two.
Observations at Happy Hour ... Yuppies, cougars, sugar daddies! Oh My!! First person account at the local watering hole.
Beer Toss ... A quick peek at the latest in technological know how....
Timmy! ... A completely true story of a scary dude.
Black Princess! Disney must be rolling over in his grave!
Dangerously Beautiful ... My take on proper adjectives and such.
Stay tuned! (or not, whatever, dude)
So, here is something to look forward too (or not, whatever, dude) in the coming weeks from me...
Humongo the Sequel... In a worrrrld where people get really really large .... (scene of water in a cup with the little cocentric circles forming) ... No one, gets as large as him ... (quick flash of a dozen donuts) ... Nearly half a ton of human fun, its the return of humongo ....
Some exciting (no really) news on the really big fella I wrote about almost a year ago.
The Interview ... A somewhat factual story of yours truly's last job interview... May contain exaggerations, untruths, foul language and, perhaps, a dufus or two.
Observations at Happy Hour ... Yuppies, cougars, sugar daddies! Oh My!! First person account at the local watering hole.
Beer Toss ... A quick peek at the latest in technological know how....
Timmy! ... A completely true story of a scary dude.
Black Princess! Disney must be rolling over in his grave!
Dangerously Beautiful ... My take on proper adjectives and such.
Stay tuned! (or not, whatever, dude)
Friday, February 23, 2007
Oh, Right, I was Making a Point
Recently, you may recall, I blogged about my lack of having a, coming to, or making a point (There is a little art in that sentence. Cherish it). Unfortunately, or is it irony?, I may have failed to make my point. I know, I know, failure and all that it implies, being associated with a person of keen mental acumen, immense intestinal fortitude, unimaginable character comportment and blinding physical manifestation is akin to associating intelligence to (insert preferred presidential moniker here), an is therefore, unthinkable. And I don’t mean unthinkable like a lispy Molly Brown, I mean unthinkable like, whoa, I just can’t think that! (Ok, focus, MJ, focus!)
I think I was trying to convey why I rarely come to a point. Disturbingly, I appear to be unable to do so in any kind of succinct fashion. Therefore, prepare for incessant verbosity which may or may not lead to a successful and serviceable, though, seemingly, soliloquotious sample of sufficient and satisfying sentences thoughtfully submitted, sincerely, somberly and solely for the significant, sensitive, and solicitous spectators of this sophisticated, sensible, sensational self-script.
(Did you notice soliloquotious? I should get some kind of salary for the number of truly magnificent words that I create. Please pronounce this thusly: SOL lil AH KWOE shush. Or, as you know, face my wrath)
What’s my age again? What’s my age again.
Man, I’m exhausted now. Suffice to say that points are pointy and too many of them will put someone’s eye out.
I think I was trying to convey why I rarely come to a point. Disturbingly, I appear to be unable to do so in any kind of succinct fashion. Therefore, prepare for incessant verbosity which may or may not lead to a successful and serviceable, though, seemingly, soliloquotious sample of sufficient and satisfying sentences thoughtfully submitted, sincerely, somberly and solely for the significant, sensitive, and solicitous spectators of this sophisticated, sensible, sensational self-script.
(Did you notice soliloquotious? I should get some kind of salary for the number of truly magnificent words that I create. Please pronounce this thusly: SOL lil AH KWOE shush. Or, as you know, face my wrath)
What’s my age again? What’s my age again.
Man, I’m exhausted now. Suffice to say that points are pointy and too many of them will put someone’s eye out.
What is the Point?
Recently, or maybe, always, you may have noticed that I rarely (or ever) come to a succinct point in my, otherwise, spectacularly perfect posts. There are two reasons for this: 1) I may be a tad easily distracted. and 2) I rarely come to hard and fast conclusions about anything. Some may argue a third reason ... 3) interesting people usually have points; non interesting people?... not so much.
And to those people I say ... ouch.
Now my cyber crush would probably say something deep and meaningful and enlightening. But, hey, she’s like that. Me? Me, I’m vague and spacey and often I forget needed punctuation. Don’t judge me! DON’T JUDGE ME!!!
The thing is, once you suck off the red hot shell from a red hot, it just isn’t any good anymore. Once I suck off the red hot shell from a red hot, I often just spit it into the path of the nearest human. Unfortunately, since I usually suck on them by the handful, this ‘into the path’ spitting often comes across like an assault from a tommy gun (a tommy gun is that weird machine gun that gangsters like Al Capone used in movies like the Untouchables).
Sean Connery once said: ‘If your head comes away from your neck, its over.’ Well said, Sean… Well said.
If I was the Highlander I would have used my considerable wealth to create a light saber. Then that giant safety pin guy would be a pushover. Am I right? Of course I’m right.
I often wonder what the movies would have been like if Sean Connery had played Luke Skywalker in the Star Wars films. Here are some lines Sean probably would have had:
1) What do you mean, she’s my sister? That’s a bit of news I could have used back on Tantoine.
2) Hey, Han, if I’d known that thing was your friend, do you really think I’d have made a rug out of it? On the bright side, Leah seemed to really like it.
3) Q! Where the hell is my light saber!
Any way… I guess that’s all.
And to those people I say ... ouch.
Now my cyber crush would probably say something deep and meaningful and enlightening. But, hey, she’s like that. Me? Me, I’m vague and spacey and often I forget needed punctuation. Don’t judge me! DON’T JUDGE ME!!!
The thing is, once you suck off the red hot shell from a red hot, it just isn’t any good anymore. Once I suck off the red hot shell from a red hot, I often just spit it into the path of the nearest human. Unfortunately, since I usually suck on them by the handful, this ‘into the path’ spitting often comes across like an assault from a tommy gun (a tommy gun is that weird machine gun that gangsters like Al Capone used in movies like the Untouchables).
Sean Connery once said: ‘If your head comes away from your neck, its over.’ Well said, Sean… Well said.
If I was the Highlander I would have used my considerable wealth to create a light saber. Then that giant safety pin guy would be a pushover. Am I right? Of course I’m right.
I often wonder what the movies would have been like if Sean Connery had played Luke Skywalker in the Star Wars films. Here are some lines Sean probably would have had:
1) What do you mean, she’s my sister? That’s a bit of news I could have used back on Tantoine.
2) Hey, Han, if I’d known that thing was your friend, do you really think I’d have made a rug out of it? On the bright side, Leah seemed to really like it.
3) Q! Where the hell is my light saber!
Any way… I guess that’s all.
Pacman
There is this football player who was involved in an altercation in Vegas over the NBA All-Star weekend. Apparently, the football player was at a strip club when he took umbrage to the acts of a performer and punched her in the face a couple of times. After the staff restrained this football player, his posse (Posse: Hangers on; leaches, those that attach themselves to uneducated and couth less millionaires in order to avoid real employment), began a melee in which aforementioned football player was able to un-restrain himself, locate the female stripper and, again, punch her repeatedly. Again, the staff of the strip club, was able to restrain the football player and clear the club. At that point, one of the football players posse went to a vehicle, produced a firearm and shot several of the club’s staff; one of which will never walk again due to a bullet severing his spinal cord. These are allegations and haven’t been validated. All that is really known is that 3 people were shot and wounded, one of which won’t walk again. The football player in the middle of this has been in trouble with the law twice before, both times involving women and nightclubs. Why is the football player allowed to continue this sort of behavior? Well, it isn’t because he contributes to the local Baptist Church. It is simply because he’s an impact player in a sport that generates billions of dollars a year. It is egregious and embarrassing that this man is not being held accountable for his actions.
More Random Stuff and, Maybe, a Little on my Cyber Crush
I always feel bad when I lose my temper. It happens so infrequently and I almost always say or do something that I regret. For example, today, while playing in my daily pick up basketball game, I happened to drop the f-bomb. I so dislike when my normally impeccable mien, mores and demeanor is shattered and suddenly improprieties and indecency replace my dedicated decorum. Luckily, I’m not one to lose my temper often as elegance and etiquette are essential in essaying an elevated and exemplary existence.
I’ve recently noticed that debit card payments are becoming the favored mode of payment at the local grocery store. A debit card is similar to a credit card accept where a credit card draws on a holders pre-established line of credit, thereby incurring debt, a debit card draws directly from a holders bank balance, reducing said balance by the amount needed to make the holders purchase. Additionally, I find, the debit card to be more convenient as you don’t have to sign a slip like you would for a credit card (some debit cards can work as credit cards); all you need to do is enter your pin in the little debit card scanning machine and, voila, transaction completed and you’re on your way. The debit cards machines in the local grocery store are equipped with a special pen/stylus meant only to interact with the debit card machine, i.e. entering pin information, answering simple yes or no questions, etc. Additionally, the machine makes a handy ‘beep’ noise indicating to the user that they have successfully tapped the special pen/stylus point onto the interactive screen. Without the beep, I’d, most likely, pound that little pen/stylus into a blunt instrument in my enthusiasm to correctly enter in pin information, answer simple yes or no questions, or etc. Usually, from the point I first scan my card, till the point I’m walking off with my legally tendered and paid for loot, the debit card machine and I exchange 6 beeps for 6 taps of the special pen/stylus. It you were blind and happened to be standing next to the debit card machine that I happened to just walk up to in my local grocery store (deep breadth) this is what you would hear: Swipe (not sure how the swipe sounds, but since you are blind and, clearly, have enhanced hearing you would immediately recognize the sound of a swiping card and picture the word ‘swipe’ so I’m cutting it short for you here…. Hmmm, also, if you were blind, you’d probably have somebody reading this to you and that person had better get the translation right or you’ll be mightily confused) ‘beep’ (short pause) ‘beep-beep-beep-beep-beep’ (another short pause) ‘beep’ (and then footsteps fading into the distance). Today, as I was looking for my jar of Del Monte Pink Grapefruit, I heard the following interaction between a debit card machine and a shopper: ‘beep’ (short pause) ‘beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep’ (short pause) beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beepity-BEEP-beepity’ (long pause while the shopper, assumingly, massaged a cramp) ‘beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beepity-beep (at this point I’m thinking, ‘Bleep! That is a long Pin!) -beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep’ (pause) ‘beep’. I’m almost not even kidding. I’m pretty sure I heard the machine whisper a prayer afterward: 01001001100 100101010. (If you don’t know, this is machine language. Roughly translated it reads: ‘Jesus Christ!’)
At night, I think I can hear my cats in the duct work down in the basement. I’m not sure what they are doing in there, but, hopefully, its maintenance related.
My cyber crush is a on a girl. Nay! A woman!
I think the Oscars are on this Sunday. I’m pretty excited about what the hotties are going to wear and what new hottie will emerge that I haven’t, um, emergnoticed before (I just made up a new word. Please pronounce it thusly: EE Merg NAH Tissed. . . Or, face my wrath) I’m not going to watch the Oscars, of course, but, I will tirelessly google the fashion sites afterwards for prized photographs.
My cyber crush is on a hot woman!! Yeah, baby! And she ain’t famous.
I’d like the Oscars to be more, you know, unpredictable. Not so much in the presentations or presenters (I really think presentaters should be incorporated into the language. Who can make this happen?), but rather in to whom they choose to give those little golden bald guys. Actually, I don’t really care. Bring on the hotties.
I’ve recently noticed that debit card payments are becoming the favored mode of payment at the local grocery store. A debit card is similar to a credit card accept where a credit card draws on a holders pre-established line of credit, thereby incurring debt, a debit card draws directly from a holders bank balance, reducing said balance by the amount needed to make the holders purchase. Additionally, I find, the debit card to be more convenient as you don’t have to sign a slip like you would for a credit card (some debit cards can work as credit cards); all you need to do is enter your pin in the little debit card scanning machine and, voila, transaction completed and you’re on your way. The debit cards machines in the local grocery store are equipped with a special pen/stylus meant only to interact with the debit card machine, i.e. entering pin information, answering simple yes or no questions, etc. Additionally, the machine makes a handy ‘beep’ noise indicating to the user that they have successfully tapped the special pen/stylus point onto the interactive screen. Without the beep, I’d, most likely, pound that little pen/stylus into a blunt instrument in my enthusiasm to correctly enter in pin information, answer simple yes or no questions, or etc. Usually, from the point I first scan my card, till the point I’m walking off with my legally tendered and paid for loot, the debit card machine and I exchange 6 beeps for 6 taps of the special pen/stylus. It you were blind and happened to be standing next to the debit card machine that I happened to just walk up to in my local grocery store (deep breadth) this is what you would hear: Swipe (not sure how the swipe sounds, but since you are blind and, clearly, have enhanced hearing you would immediately recognize the sound of a swiping card and picture the word ‘swipe’ so I’m cutting it short for you here…. Hmmm, also, if you were blind, you’d probably have somebody reading this to you and that person had better get the translation right or you’ll be mightily confused) ‘beep’ (short pause) ‘beep-beep-beep-beep-beep’ (another short pause) ‘beep’ (and then footsteps fading into the distance). Today, as I was looking for my jar of Del Monte Pink Grapefruit, I heard the following interaction between a debit card machine and a shopper: ‘beep’ (short pause) ‘beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep’ (short pause) beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beepity-BEEP-beepity’ (long pause while the shopper, assumingly, massaged a cramp) ‘beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beepity-beep (at this point I’m thinking, ‘Bleep! That is a long Pin!) -beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep’ (pause) ‘beep’. I’m almost not even kidding. I’m pretty sure I heard the machine whisper a prayer afterward: 01001001100 100101010. (If you don’t know, this is machine language. Roughly translated it reads: ‘Jesus Christ!’)
At night, I think I can hear my cats in the duct work down in the basement. I’m not sure what they are doing in there, but, hopefully, its maintenance related.
My cyber crush is a on a girl. Nay! A woman!
I think the Oscars are on this Sunday. I’m pretty excited about what the hotties are going to wear and what new hottie will emerge that I haven’t, um, emergnoticed before (I just made up a new word. Please pronounce it thusly: EE Merg NAH Tissed. . . Or, face my wrath) I’m not going to watch the Oscars, of course, but, I will tirelessly google the fashion sites afterwards for prized photographs.
My cyber crush is on a hot woman!! Yeah, baby! And she ain’t famous.
I’d like the Oscars to be more, you know, unpredictable. Not so much in the presentations or presenters (I really think presentaters should be incorporated into the language. Who can make this happen?), but rather in to whom they choose to give those little golden bald guys. Actually, I don’t really care. Bring on the hotties.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Jesus Christ or The People Who Cried Wolf
As I was sitting in my stupid little cube getting ready to leave for the day, I overheard the (Name? Epithet? Curse? Prayer?) ‘Jesus Christ!’ uttered by a co-worker.
Whenever I hear this particular name outside of a religious, or rather an organized religion, context I’m immediately filled with a sense of curiosity.
The first thought I had once I heard it today was ‘I wonder if he (the guy who said it) is religious?’
My second thought was, ‘If so, is he a Christian?’
I often wonder if Muslims say things similar to this, such as ‘Abraham and Muhammad!’
I wish I knew more about Buddhist beliefs … Are they allowed to exclaim, ‘Guatama!’?
I have a friend who is an atheist and the first time I heard her say ‘Jesus Christ!’ I calmly said to her, ‘As a non believer, shouldn’t you have said ‘Jesus Christ??’ you know, with more of a question in your tone?’
I wonder if this particular way of voicing frustration is a by product of praying. The Bible says that God wants us to pray in JC’s name. I wonder if saying ‘Jesus Christ!’ is just a shortcut for impatient prayers.
My daughter said this once a few years ago. I think she was 5 or 6 at the time. If I remember right, I think the conversation went something like this:
The players:
MJ as MJ
Daughter of MJ as DMJ
MJ: How was your day, lil one?
DMJ: Hi dad. It was a good day.
MJ: How was school?
DMJ: Jesus Christ! We I did a lot of coloring.
MJ: (spluttering) Uh, what did you say?
DMJ: (completely innocently) Jesus Christ, dad, we had a lot to color.
MJ: (trying to stop from laughing) DMJ, you aren’t allowed to say that . . .
I think its safe to assume that the phrase is used quite frequently. I sometimes picture God and JC in heaven having a conversation:
God: So, son, the thing with the dinosaurs was some of them were just too horny for their own good.
JC: Dad, that is about the worst pun … (distracted) Did you hear that?
God: What?
JC: I thought I heard someone say my name.
Except it happens about 12 thousand times an hour. At some point, you’re gonna stop paying attention.
Whenever I hear this particular name outside of a religious, or rather an organized religion, context I’m immediately filled with a sense of curiosity.
The first thought I had once I heard it today was ‘I wonder if he (the guy who said it) is religious?’
My second thought was, ‘If so, is he a Christian?’
I often wonder if Muslims say things similar to this, such as ‘Abraham and Muhammad!’
I wish I knew more about Buddhist beliefs … Are they allowed to exclaim, ‘Guatama!’?
I have a friend who is an atheist and the first time I heard her say ‘Jesus Christ!’ I calmly said to her, ‘As a non believer, shouldn’t you have said ‘Jesus Christ??’ you know, with more of a question in your tone?’
I wonder if this particular way of voicing frustration is a by product of praying. The Bible says that God wants us to pray in JC’s name. I wonder if saying ‘Jesus Christ!’ is just a shortcut for impatient prayers.
My daughter said this once a few years ago. I think she was 5 or 6 at the time. If I remember right, I think the conversation went something like this:
The players:
MJ as MJ
Daughter of MJ as DMJ
MJ: How was your day, lil one?
DMJ: Hi dad. It was a good day.
MJ: How was school?
DMJ: Jesus Christ! We I did a lot of coloring.
MJ: (spluttering) Uh, what did you say?
DMJ: (completely innocently) Jesus Christ, dad, we had a lot to color.
MJ: (trying to stop from laughing) DMJ, you aren’t allowed to say that . . .
I think its safe to assume that the phrase is used quite frequently. I sometimes picture God and JC in heaven having a conversation:
God: So, son, the thing with the dinosaurs was some of them were just too horny for their own good.
JC: Dad, that is about the worst pun … (distracted) Did you hear that?
God: What?
JC: I thought I heard someone say my name.
Except it happens about 12 thousand times an hour. At some point, you’re gonna stop paying attention.
Random Stuff and How to Celebrate Diversity
As a youngster my main obsession was making sure everyone knew that I wasn’t a conformist; that I was unique among the masses, that I was different. I accomplished this in a variety of ways, most of which, invariably, earned me the reputation as the strangely odd kid. For example:
For a time I would spell Mike or Michael (my real world name) as Myche and Mychel.
During events that involved large amounts of people moving from place to place (think; entering a stadium) I refused to follow people, creating my own thorough fairs and paths. When questioned about this behavior, I would say that I wasn’t a sheep and that I didn’t follow herds.
I still think I’m fairly unique, but I’ve come to the conclusion that it is mostly a symptom of an odd personality.
I’ve seen a few movies so far this year:
Dream Girls – This was surprisingly good movie with some remarkable performances, the best being by that American Idol chick, Jennifer Hudson. Beyonce has big shoulders. I did not know that. If she isn’t careful, she’ll be big like Aretha in a few years. Eddie Murphy’s acting was ok, I guess, I wasn’t really moved by it, although, it could have been that Jennifer was so astounding that the rest of the cast was woefully inadequate in comparison.
The Pursuit of Happyness – Powerful film. I did not know that Will Smith’s son played the kid in the movie. Other than his music, there isn’t much to dislike about Will Smith.
Pan’s Labyrinth (El Laberinto del Fauno) – I found this to be extremely satisfying. Independent films really breathe life into the sterility and staleness of Hollywood. Related to this, a friend of mine said that her ex-husband took their two little kids to see this movie. Needless to say, he isn’t that smart. In fact, he is kind of a moron.
Ghost Rider – Was Nick Cage ever a good actor? Was Raising Arizona some kind of fluke? Other than the motorcycle of fire, this movie isn’t that great. Eva Mendes is hot, sure, but she couldn’t out act my 8 year old. The teaser for the movie is way better than the actual movie. I hate when that happens. Back to Nick; he is actually kind of amusing as he plays this character as a sort of watered down Elvis. He doesn’t exactly steal the King’s way of pointing, but, and this is where the amusement comes in, every time he spoke I expected him to break into Jailhouse Rock.
The Bridge to Taribithia – I hate it when you think a movie is about one thing (to be fair, this assumption is based purely on teasers since I rarely read what critics say) and you go and see the movie and it’s a completely different deal. It is similar to ordering a garden salad and being served a plate of sea scavengers. This has happened to me twice. The first time was in Vegas a thousand years ago. I don’t remember the movie, but I was so disappointed (I felt like I was the victim of false advertisement) I left in the middle of the movie. And that is saying something as I rarely start something I’m not prepared to finish. I once sat through Little Nicky in its entirety (though I wasn’t able to function normally for several hours afterward).
Happily N’ever After – People should be ashamed to produce such garbage.
Back to Ghost Rider… I like comics and had quite a few as a kid. In fact, comics are what my dad used to interest me in reading. So, when a great character from comics is adapted for film, I try to go see it (Bet you didn’t know that Nick Cage chose his stage name based on a comic character . . . which could explain much). So far here are the ones they have made the big screen:
Superman: The second Christopher Reeves movie was the best. They have been crap since then.
Punisher: Second incarnation was horrible, but the first try was truly painful.
Batman: The Prince one was good but they slowly eroded to the painful point of Clooney and Schwarzenegger. The Christian Bale one was good also.
Ghost Rider: Cool flaming motorcycle.
Spiderman – These have been entertaining.
The Phantom – Ug.
Darkman – The first one was mildly interesting.
The Shadow – Its funny to think of 30 Rock’s Alec Baldwin and the Shadows’s Alec Baldwin switching places for a few episodes.
Dick Tracy – Great cast, horrible execution.
X-men – The third one was a complete waste of time, the other two were entertaining.
Fantastic Four – Other than, possibly, seeing Jessica Alba wearing invisible clothes, I’m not sure what reason there was for making a sequel.
The Hulk – I have no idea what Ang Lee was trying to convey. I was really disappointed in this film that had such huge potential.
Crushes are interesting things. Personally, I feel that they are a sending from my future self (or rather, one of my infinite number of future selves) telling me how great a time I am having (in the future) with the girl on whom I have the present day crush. I’m working on a way of telling my future selves to inform this same said good time not only to myself, but also to the recipient of my crush. You’d think this would be a fairly obvious thing, so it doesn’t surprise me that my future self (or, rather, one of my infinite number of future selves) hasn’t thought of it as I tend to ignore fairly obvious things.
I met a porn star over the weekend. Interestingly enough, no sending. I asked Special K (porn star nick name) how one decides to become a porn star as I was genuinely curious. She said, and I’ll quote ‘Men only wanted me for sex, so I thought I’d at least get paid for it.’
Huh. Well, I guess that is one way to solve that problem. Not being one to judge, I sort of suggested that maybe she might want to try something else in order to change the way these men were treating her (I’m a giver). Well, I won’t bore you with the details but out of the conversation the following facts were revealed:
1) Since starting in the porn industry in August, Special K has done 20 movies. She also said the average star does three a year.
2) She is debating the option of becoming a lesbian since men are not that into her.
3) She has been described as ‘a deep person’ by people who know her.
If you haven’t guessed, it was one of the most entertaining conversations I’ve had and I will be hard pressed to top it. I’m not kidding. Maybe all year.
How to celebrate diversity:
1) Find your comfort zone.
2) Step outside of your comfort zone.
For a time I would spell Mike or Michael (my real world name) as Myche and Mychel.
During events that involved large amounts of people moving from place to place (think; entering a stadium) I refused to follow people, creating my own thorough fairs and paths. When questioned about this behavior, I would say that I wasn’t a sheep and that I didn’t follow herds.
I still think I’m fairly unique, but I’ve come to the conclusion that it is mostly a symptom of an odd personality.
I’ve seen a few movies so far this year:
Dream Girls – This was surprisingly good movie with some remarkable performances, the best being by that American Idol chick, Jennifer Hudson. Beyonce has big shoulders. I did not know that. If she isn’t careful, she’ll be big like Aretha in a few years. Eddie Murphy’s acting was ok, I guess, I wasn’t really moved by it, although, it could have been that Jennifer was so astounding that the rest of the cast was woefully inadequate in comparison.
The Pursuit of Happyness – Powerful film. I did not know that Will Smith’s son played the kid in the movie. Other than his music, there isn’t much to dislike about Will Smith.
Pan’s Labyrinth (El Laberinto del Fauno) – I found this to be extremely satisfying. Independent films really breathe life into the sterility and staleness of Hollywood. Related to this, a friend of mine said that her ex-husband took their two little kids to see this movie. Needless to say, he isn’t that smart. In fact, he is kind of a moron.
Ghost Rider – Was Nick Cage ever a good actor? Was Raising Arizona some kind of fluke? Other than the motorcycle of fire, this movie isn’t that great. Eva Mendes is hot, sure, but she couldn’t out act my 8 year old. The teaser for the movie is way better than the actual movie. I hate when that happens. Back to Nick; he is actually kind of amusing as he plays this character as a sort of watered down Elvis. He doesn’t exactly steal the King’s way of pointing, but, and this is where the amusement comes in, every time he spoke I expected him to break into Jailhouse Rock.
The Bridge to Taribithia – I hate it when you think a movie is about one thing (to be fair, this assumption is based purely on teasers since I rarely read what critics say) and you go and see the movie and it’s a completely different deal. It is similar to ordering a garden salad and being served a plate of sea scavengers. This has happened to me twice. The first time was in Vegas a thousand years ago. I don’t remember the movie, but I was so disappointed (I felt like I was the victim of false advertisement) I left in the middle of the movie. And that is saying something as I rarely start something I’m not prepared to finish. I once sat through Little Nicky in its entirety (though I wasn’t able to function normally for several hours afterward).
Happily N’ever After – People should be ashamed to produce such garbage.
Back to Ghost Rider… I like comics and had quite a few as a kid. In fact, comics are what my dad used to interest me in reading. So, when a great character from comics is adapted for film, I try to go see it (Bet you didn’t know that Nick Cage chose his stage name based on a comic character . . . which could explain much). So far here are the ones they have made the big screen:
Superman: The second Christopher Reeves movie was the best. They have been crap since then.
Punisher: Second incarnation was horrible, but the first try was truly painful.
Batman: The Prince one was good but they slowly eroded to the painful point of Clooney and Schwarzenegger. The Christian Bale one was good also.
Ghost Rider: Cool flaming motorcycle.
Spiderman – These have been entertaining.
The Phantom – Ug.
Darkman – The first one was mildly interesting.
The Shadow – Its funny to think of 30 Rock’s Alec Baldwin and the Shadows’s Alec Baldwin switching places for a few episodes.
Dick Tracy – Great cast, horrible execution.
X-men – The third one was a complete waste of time, the other two were entertaining.
Fantastic Four – Other than, possibly, seeing Jessica Alba wearing invisible clothes, I’m not sure what reason there was for making a sequel.
The Hulk – I have no idea what Ang Lee was trying to convey. I was really disappointed in this film that had such huge potential.
Crushes are interesting things. Personally, I feel that they are a sending from my future self (or rather, one of my infinite number of future selves) telling me how great a time I am having (in the future) with the girl on whom I have the present day crush. I’m working on a way of telling my future selves to inform this same said good time not only to myself, but also to the recipient of my crush. You’d think this would be a fairly obvious thing, so it doesn’t surprise me that my future self (or, rather, one of my infinite number of future selves) hasn’t thought of it as I tend to ignore fairly obvious things.
I met a porn star over the weekend. Interestingly enough, no sending. I asked Special K (porn star nick name) how one decides to become a porn star as I was genuinely curious. She said, and I’ll quote ‘Men only wanted me for sex, so I thought I’d at least get paid for it.’
Huh. Well, I guess that is one way to solve that problem. Not being one to judge, I sort of suggested that maybe she might want to try something else in order to change the way these men were treating her (I’m a giver). Well, I won’t bore you with the details but out of the conversation the following facts were revealed:
1) Since starting in the porn industry in August, Special K has done 20 movies. She also said the average star does three a year.
2) She is debating the option of becoming a lesbian since men are not that into her.
3) She has been described as ‘a deep person’ by people who know her.
If you haven’t guessed, it was one of the most entertaining conversations I’ve had and I will be hard pressed to top it. I’m not kidding. Maybe all year.
How to celebrate diversity:
1) Find your comfort zone.
2) Step outside of your comfort zone.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Mace and Morph
If you were interested.... http://www.flickr.com/photos/monstrousjoe/sets/72157594538125272/
I Hate You
Earlier I mentioned how much work it is hating someone, something, or whatever. I think I referenced Tim Hardaway or some other nonsensical human (do animals hate, do you think? Do you think the prairie dogs in the field across from my office obsess about the way I chuckle at them every time I go by?
Prairie dog: ‘There goes that guy again! What the hell is he laughing at!?’
MJ: (Pointing as I drive by) ‘Hahahahahahhahaha!!’
Prairie dog: ‘Man! I hate that guy!! I HATE THAT GUY!! …. I GOT YOUR HUMOR RIGHT HERE, PAL!!!’
It doesn’t seem likely, but I may, just to be safe, try to meet with the prairie dogs to be sure that they know I’m laughing at there funny and cute behavior and not at their, uh, you know, prairie dogness. It may be a hassle trying to convince them to come out of their little tunnels though.
MJ: (lying in field shouting into a hole in the ground) ‘HEY! HEY, YOU GUYS!! I NEED TO TALK TO YOU!’
Prairie dog: ‘squeek-bark-yip!’
MJ: (spying a head pop up from another burrow and sprinting over to make conversation) ‘HEY, WAIT! I NEED TO KNOW THAT I’M NOT HURTING YOUR LITTLE PRAIRIE DOG FEELING BY LAUGHING AT YOUR CUTE AND FUNNY PRAIRIE DOG BEHAVIOR! WAIT!’
At any rate, I doubt animals hate, but I’m no expert in animal behavior) who confessed to hating this person or that person based on something as uncontrollable as race or sexual orientation. Heck, or even something controllable like hairstyle, religion, name, or favorite color.
What do you think is better, to know where you stand with a hater or to be completely in the dark in regards to the haters feeling toward you?
I suppose it matters little to gay people (on a personal level) that Tim Hardaway hates them, or maybe it does, I don’t really know. I do know that the fact that peeps like David Duke, Rush Limbaugh, et al, hate blacks really doesn’t matter to me on a personal level.
Prairie dog: ‘There goes that guy again! What the hell is he laughing at!?’
MJ: (Pointing as I drive by) ‘Hahahahahahhahaha!!’
Prairie dog: ‘Man! I hate that guy!! I HATE THAT GUY!! …. I GOT YOUR HUMOR RIGHT HERE, PAL!!!’
It doesn’t seem likely, but I may, just to be safe, try to meet with the prairie dogs to be sure that they know I’m laughing at there funny and cute behavior and not at their, uh, you know, prairie dogness. It may be a hassle trying to convince them to come out of their little tunnels though.
MJ: (lying in field shouting into a hole in the ground) ‘HEY! HEY, YOU GUYS!! I NEED TO TALK TO YOU!’
Prairie dog: ‘squeek-bark-yip!’
MJ: (spying a head pop up from another burrow and sprinting over to make conversation) ‘HEY, WAIT! I NEED TO KNOW THAT I’M NOT HURTING YOUR LITTLE PRAIRIE DOG FEELING BY LAUGHING AT YOUR CUTE AND FUNNY PRAIRIE DOG BEHAVIOR! WAIT!’
At any rate, I doubt animals hate, but I’m no expert in animal behavior) who confessed to hating this person or that person based on something as uncontrollable as race or sexual orientation. Heck, or even something controllable like hairstyle, religion, name, or favorite color.
What do you think is better, to know where you stand with a hater or to be completely in the dark in regards to the haters feeling toward you?
I suppose it matters little to gay people (on a personal level) that Tim Hardaway hates them, or maybe it does, I don’t really know. I do know that the fact that peeps like David Duke, Rush Limbaugh, et al, hate blacks really doesn’t matter to me on a personal level.
Hall of Famer pt III: The Return of Gratuitous . . .
As some of you may know, I recently was inducted into my HS Hall of Fame. I may have mentioned this in passing once or twice.
At any rate, during the banquet I was asked many times about my date.
Brief description: 5’9”. Blond. Green Eyes. Generous cleavage display. Engaging. Funny. Sassy. Did I mention the cleavage thing?
I fielded many questions in regards to my date and most of them fell into the following general category:
‘She’s with you??’ Accompanied by an incredulous look.
Oh, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t that folks were surprised that I was with a beautiful woman, I think the perplexity (heh heh, perplexity. That’s a funny word) stemmed from the fact that my date was (is) married.
Can’t a man bring another man’s wife to initial man’s high school Hall of Fame induction ceremony?
Anyhow, this provided a great deal of amusement for me as people realized that my date was wearing a wedding ring whilst I remain blissfully ring less.
Scandalous looks are priceless.
During one of the many non-interesting moments, I casually and surreptitiously took this photo:
This is the kind of thing you get when one's mind is not suitably engaged. . . The flash sort of defeated all the nice shadows and valleys, so you kind of lose the full effect... sorry.
At any rate, during the banquet I was asked many times about my date.
Brief description: 5’9”. Blond. Green Eyes. Generous cleavage display. Engaging. Funny. Sassy. Did I mention the cleavage thing?
I fielded many questions in regards to my date and most of them fell into the following general category:
‘She’s with you??’ Accompanied by an incredulous look.
Oh, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t that folks were surprised that I was with a beautiful woman, I think the perplexity (heh heh, perplexity. That’s a funny word) stemmed from the fact that my date was (is) married.
Can’t a man bring another man’s wife to initial man’s high school Hall of Fame induction ceremony?
Anyhow, this provided a great deal of amusement for me as people realized that my date was wearing a wedding ring whilst I remain blissfully ring less.
Scandalous looks are priceless.
During one of the many non-interesting moments, I casually and surreptitiously took this photo:
This is the kind of thing you get when one's mind is not suitably engaged. . . The flash sort of defeated all the nice shadows and valleys, so you kind of lose the full effect... sorry.
Ok, Now You’ll Be Assimilated
Recently, I blogged about assimilation, or at least, that was my intent. I’m pretty sure I was distracted and may have had a flashback or something; I don’t know, it was so long ago.
Anyway, the story I wanted to tell was about a boy and his dog. Well, not really, but I’ve always wanted to write that particular sentence and, really, who hasn’t?
Anyhow, I was thinking the other day about, you know, stuff, and stuff, specifically, the stuff that is, like, you know, ironical and stuff.
Like:
I find it ironic (among other things) that Tim Hardaway (retired NBA All-Star) hates gay people so much that he actually comes out and tells the media how much he hates gay people. Yet a great percent of the population hates Tim Hardaway because he is black. Hate has assimilated Tim Hardaway. Unfortunate assimilation. A note on hate: Hate is a lot of work. To actually hate someone requires a great deal of thought and energy, I say even an obsessive amount of thought and energy. The things that people will do for hate simply amaze me and, I’d guess, if these same people more stuff to occupy there time, they might be less inclined to hate. I wonder if hate is more common in area’s where people have more time on their hands.
I find it ironic that more and more slang or urban lingo is making it mainstream. Assimilation.
I find it ironic that the more suburbanites try to flee urban America, the more their offspring embrace urban America. Non-desirable assimilation.
I find it ironic that people tend to want what they cannot have. This must have been a problem for a long time, as I believe, there is something in the Bible about coveting stuff or rather, not coveting stuff. Anti-assimilation legislation.
I find it ironic that Alanis Morissette didn’t ask me to write a song for her. Assimilation deficiency.
Anyway, the story I wanted to tell was about a boy and his dog. Well, not really, but I’ve always wanted to write that particular sentence and, really, who hasn’t?
Anyhow, I was thinking the other day about, you know, stuff, and stuff, specifically, the stuff that is, like, you know, ironical and stuff.
Like:
I find it ironic (among other things) that Tim Hardaway (retired NBA All-Star) hates gay people so much that he actually comes out and tells the media how much he hates gay people. Yet a great percent of the population hates Tim Hardaway because he is black. Hate has assimilated Tim Hardaway. Unfortunate assimilation. A note on hate: Hate is a lot of work. To actually hate someone requires a great deal of thought and energy, I say even an obsessive amount of thought and energy. The things that people will do for hate simply amaze me and, I’d guess, if these same people more stuff to occupy there time, they might be less inclined to hate. I wonder if hate is more common in area’s where people have more time on their hands.
I find it ironic that more and more slang or urban lingo is making it mainstream. Assimilation.
I find it ironic that the more suburbanites try to flee urban America, the more their offspring embrace urban America. Non-desirable assimilation.
I find it ironic that people tend to want what they cannot have. This must have been a problem for a long time, as I believe, there is something in the Bible about coveting stuff or rather, not coveting stuff. Anti-assimilation legislation.
I find it ironic that Alanis Morissette didn’t ask me to write a song for her. Assimilation deficiency.
You Will Be Assimilated
Some of you (GKL) may immediately recognize this as the favorite phrase of those kooky cyborg goons from the Next Generation Star Trek franchise of the late 80s early 90s. I’m fairly certain that they were, collectively, called the Borg. And, I believe, individually referred to as Bob.
For those of you that don’t know, the Borg, was a threat to the Federation (Kirk, Sulu, Picard, etc.) because they wanted to turn every one in the known universe into hot scantily clad babes, i.e. Jeri Ryan aka Seven of Nine aka Seven. Now, except for maybe Sulu, I don’t really see why the Federation had such a problem with this, but, there it is.
Anyway, the Borg (when together) or Bob (individually), depending on availability, would declare war on unexpected alien species by tapping into their victim’s ship’s speaker systems and loudly declaring ‘YOU WILL BE ASSIMILIATED’ often followed by an equally loud and dramatic ‘RESISTANCE IS FUTILE’ and on some occasions, the song ‘Blame it on the Rain’ by Milli Vanilli (Did you know that the actual singers of the songs of which Fab and Rob made stunning music videos of gyrations, hopping and hair whipping, released an album after the whole Grammy fiasco? Neither did I!). At which point the victim’s would hop around, run in place and morph into hot scantily clad babes (In the Star Trek movie where the Borg were featured [I think it was Star Trek XXLI], the hot scantily clad babe was replaced by the disturbing half-babe on a stick aka Alice Krige. I failed to see the wisdom in this decision).
This happened on several occasions to the Picard crew, but they often escaped by freezing the Borg into stasis by referring to themselves as ‘down wit da Borg-izzy’ and transmitting Justin Timberlake videos onto the sides of the Borg’s gigantic cube shaped vessels. This is how they kidnapped Seven aka Seven of Nine aka Jeri Ryan aka way hot boob bot.
Anyway, and this is my point … uh … hmm, I seem to have lost my point…
Wait, assimilation! I was going to talk about assimilation and the Star Trek thing was just a helpful segue. Speaking of Segue’s, am I the only one that thinks Gob from Arrested Development was one of the greatest TV characters of all time? Brilliant, I say!
Anyway, as I was saying, assimilation.
For those of you that don’t know, the Borg, was a threat to the Federation (Kirk, Sulu, Picard, etc.) because they wanted to turn every one in the known universe into hot scantily clad babes, i.e. Jeri Ryan aka Seven of Nine aka Seven. Now, except for maybe Sulu, I don’t really see why the Federation had such a problem with this, but, there it is.
Anyway, the Borg (when together) or Bob (individually), depending on availability, would declare war on unexpected alien species by tapping into their victim’s ship’s speaker systems and loudly declaring ‘YOU WILL BE ASSIMILIATED’ often followed by an equally loud and dramatic ‘RESISTANCE IS FUTILE’ and on some occasions, the song ‘Blame it on the Rain’ by Milli Vanilli (Did you know that the actual singers of the songs of which Fab and Rob made stunning music videos of gyrations, hopping and hair whipping, released an album after the whole Grammy fiasco? Neither did I!). At which point the victim’s would hop around, run in place and morph into hot scantily clad babes (In the Star Trek movie where the Borg were featured [I think it was Star Trek XXLI], the hot scantily clad babe was replaced by the disturbing half-babe on a stick aka Alice Krige. I failed to see the wisdom in this decision).
This happened on several occasions to the Picard crew, but they often escaped by freezing the Borg into stasis by referring to themselves as ‘down wit da Borg-izzy’ and transmitting Justin Timberlake videos onto the sides of the Borg’s gigantic cube shaped vessels. This is how they kidnapped Seven aka Seven of Nine aka Jeri Ryan aka way hot boob bot.
Anyway, and this is my point … uh … hmm, I seem to have lost my point…
Wait, assimilation! I was going to talk about assimilation and the Star Trek thing was just a helpful segue. Speaking of Segue’s, am I the only one that thinks Gob from Arrested Development was one of the greatest TV characters of all time? Brilliant, I say!
Anyway, as I was saying, assimilation.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Hall of Famer pt II
I was recently inducted into my high school Hall of Fame, which is similar to such Hall of Fames as those located in Canton and/or called Hall of Fame ‘this’ or Hall of Fame ‘that’.
Here is a brief rundown of the activities:
Friday Night:
High school basketball game: Inductees introduced at half time in front of an audience, (mostly) comprised of 15-18 year olds who could care less about kids who graduated 10 plus years ago. Wasn’t surprised by this as HS is mostly a ‘ME’ stage for people. The game was exciting for a HS affair but the home team lost as a desperate last second attempt to tie fell short.
Post game social gathering: Inductees and various guests, faculty and administration meet at a local pub for reminiscing, imbibing and awkward pauses… or should I say awkwardly pausing to preserve the verb conjugation? This was a lot of fun; in fact, it was more entertaining that I had initially imagined. Some high lights: The drunken ex-BBall coach telling my classmate, Denise, how much he loves her. My other classmate, Sonya, telling off said BBall coach for cutting her from the team when she was in 7th grade.
Saturday Night:
Induction Ceremony: This was very nice, though, ironically, the food was similar in quality to what was served during high school. Also, and additionally ironical, it lasted far, far too long. 4 hours too long. Things started at 6pm and the last inductee (yours truly) ended his acceptance at 11pm (vikk, you’ll be pleased to know that I didn’t thank my tape delivery guy).
Various Photos…. (http://www.flickr.com/photos/monstrousjoe/)
Here is a brief rundown of the activities:
Friday Night:
High school basketball game: Inductees introduced at half time in front of an audience, (mostly) comprised of 15-18 year olds who could care less about kids who graduated 10 plus years ago. Wasn’t surprised by this as HS is mostly a ‘ME’ stage for people. The game was exciting for a HS affair but the home team lost as a desperate last second attempt to tie fell short.
Post game social gathering: Inductees and various guests, faculty and administration meet at a local pub for reminiscing, imbibing and awkward pauses… or should I say awkwardly pausing to preserve the verb conjugation? This was a lot of fun; in fact, it was more entertaining that I had initially imagined. Some high lights: The drunken ex-BBall coach telling my classmate, Denise, how much he loves her. My other classmate, Sonya, telling off said BBall coach for cutting her from the team when she was in 7th grade.
Saturday Night:
Induction Ceremony: This was very nice, though, ironically, the food was similar in quality to what was served during high school. Also, and additionally ironical, it lasted far, far too long. 4 hours too long. Things started at 6pm and the last inductee (yours truly) ended his acceptance at 11pm (vikk, you’ll be pleased to know that I didn’t thank my tape delivery guy).
Various Photos…. (http://www.flickr.com/photos/monstrousjoe/)
I Heart ...
Today I was told that I have too many crushes. This, of course, is absurd. One cannot have too many crushes. Besides, I’m very particular about whom I crush on.
My definition of a ‘crush’ is: To esteem, respect, or admire to a covetous degree with the full understanding that any real relationship would be highly unlikely.
Having a crush on and being attracted to, for me, are similar, however, although I’ve dated people I’ve been attracted to, I’ve yet to date someone I’ve had a crush on. While I’m attracted to a lot of attractive people (i.e. Halle Berry, Elizabeth Hurley, etc.) I don’t always develop a crush on them. Ironically, I have developed crushes for someone AFTER I’ve dated them.
Here is a small sampling of me crushes: (I can say me instead of my… Its my blog… er, its me blog)
Sigourney Weaver
Mekala Speilman
Minnie Driver
Andie MacDowell
Sheena Easton
Balinda Carlisle
Madonna
Sara Silverman
Sophia Loren
Janet Jackson
Karen aka Megan Mullally
Natalie Portman
Various married/spoken for co-workers/friends/gym Betties
The deaf chick from The L Word, You Don’t Know *&*$% and (guest role as Joy’s attorney) My Name is Earl
Angela Basset
My latest crush … is a cyber crush… a first …
My definition of a ‘crush’ is: To esteem, respect, or admire to a covetous degree with the full understanding that any real relationship would be highly unlikely.
Having a crush on and being attracted to, for me, are similar, however, although I’ve dated people I’ve been attracted to, I’ve yet to date someone I’ve had a crush on. While I’m attracted to a lot of attractive people (i.e. Halle Berry, Elizabeth Hurley, etc.) I don’t always develop a crush on them. Ironically, I have developed crushes for someone AFTER I’ve dated them.
Here is a small sampling of me crushes: (I can say me instead of my… Its my blog… er, its me blog)
Sigourney Weaver
Mekala Speilman
Minnie Driver
Andie MacDowell
Sheena Easton
Balinda Carlisle
Madonna
Sara Silverman
Sophia Loren
Janet Jackson
Karen aka Megan Mullally
Natalie Portman
Various married/spoken for co-workers/friends/gym Betties
The deaf chick from The L Word, You Don’t Know *&*$% and (guest role as Joy’s attorney) My Name is Earl
Angela Basset
My latest crush … is a cyber crush… a first …
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Please Don’t Lick Me
The thing that I like about pets is that they are soft, they don’t say much (and they don’t talk back), they are easily impressed, they are easily repressed, they can sometimes do neat tricks, and if you (accidentally) punt them they only pout for a short period of time.
I have two pets, or rather, two pets live with me in my house. One is named Neo’s Morpheus (or Morph for short) and the other is named Samuel Mace Windu Jules Winfield Jackson (or Mace for short). Collectively I like to refer to them as Havoc and Destruction (heh, I just made that up. .. but it fits).
Mace and Morph are Bengals, which is a breed of cat. They are pretty large animals that look a lot like an Ocelot, which is a type of wild cat. I’ll see if I can upload some pictures later. Since I’ve had them, I’ve had to replace:
1) 30 or so ceiling tiles (I don’t know how, but they were able to get into the ceiling in my basement bathroom)
2) The lid on the tank of a commode (again, not sure how they managed to break this as I have trouble lifting the thing off).
3) Ripped up carpet.
4) Layer upon layer of skin.
But what really bothers me about these animals (and really any animal) is that they sometimes lick me. I don't ask to be licked. I don't present my hand in front of there mouths in the hopes that they'll drool on me. Yet, they insist on licking me when I am least expecting it. Sometimes I think they get a great deal of pleasure out of the noises of disgust I make when they sneak up on me, in that sneaky and silent way cats have, pounce and lick me. I don’t want to be licked by something that has seen use as TP and/or a genital hygienic. Even if the latter part of that sentence were not true, I still wouldn’t want to be licked. Licking is gross. It feels gross (slimy and wet and icky) and I want no part of it. I'd rather they stick their alarming large canines into my sweet and yielding flesh (wow, that was hot). Oh, they do that too.
When the girl that I’m seeing (occasionally seeing; as permitted by the Kyoto Treaty) recently had an impure thought and sensually flicked her tongue along the smooth silkiness that is the epidermis of my throat (in essence, licking my neck), I barely suppressed a cringe and calmly (bravely even) replied, ‘please don’t lick me.’
To which she replied, ‘what?’
To which I replied, ‘don’t lick me.’
So, she did it again.
To which I replied, ‘don’t lick me, woman!’
To which she replied ‘why not, man?’
To which I THUNDERED, ‘I AM NOT A POPSICLE!’
…. Hmm… I may regret that …
I have two pets, or rather, two pets live with me in my house. One is named Neo’s Morpheus (or Morph for short) and the other is named Samuel Mace Windu Jules Winfield Jackson (or Mace for short). Collectively I like to refer to them as Havoc and Destruction (heh, I just made that up. .. but it fits).
Mace and Morph are Bengals, which is a breed of cat. They are pretty large animals that look a lot like an Ocelot, which is a type of wild cat. I’ll see if I can upload some pictures later. Since I’ve had them, I’ve had to replace:
1) 30 or so ceiling tiles (I don’t know how, but they were able to get into the ceiling in my basement bathroom)
2) The lid on the tank of a commode (again, not sure how they managed to break this as I have trouble lifting the thing off).
3) Ripped up carpet.
4) Layer upon layer of skin.
But what really bothers me about these animals (and really any animal) is that they sometimes lick me. I don't ask to be licked. I don't present my hand in front of there mouths in the hopes that they'll drool on me. Yet, they insist on licking me when I am least expecting it. Sometimes I think they get a great deal of pleasure out of the noises of disgust I make when they sneak up on me, in that sneaky and silent way cats have, pounce and lick me. I don’t want to be licked by something that has seen use as TP and/or a genital hygienic. Even if the latter part of that sentence were not true, I still wouldn’t want to be licked. Licking is gross. It feels gross (slimy and wet and icky) and I want no part of it. I'd rather they stick their alarming large canines into my sweet and yielding flesh (wow, that was hot). Oh, they do that too.
When the girl that I’m seeing (occasionally seeing; as permitted by the Kyoto Treaty) recently had an impure thought and sensually flicked her tongue along the smooth silkiness that is the epidermis of my throat (in essence, licking my neck), I barely suppressed a cringe and calmly (bravely even) replied, ‘please don’t lick me.’
To which she replied, ‘what?’
To which I replied, ‘don’t lick me.’
So, she did it again.
To which I replied, ‘don’t lick me, woman!’
To which she replied ‘why not, man?’
To which I THUNDERED, ‘I AM NOT A POPSICLE!’
…. Hmm… I may regret that …
What Do You Mean, You Don’t Like Prince?
Once, during my Jr. High school days, I insisted that people call me Jacob E. Purple, so, of course, no one called me anything but geek guy from Mr. Padilla’s class. The point is, that this failed attempt at a really impressive alias was my little tribute to The Artist Formerly Known as The Artist Formerly Known as Prince, AKA, Prince. This was during the height of the Revolution’s popularity, back when Purple Rain was No.1 on the album charts (now as I’ve said before, facts and/or accuracy isn’t really my bag, so if it wasn’t No.1, it certainly should have been), Purple Rain the movie was No.1 at the box office (see note above regarding accuracy) and When Dove’s Cry was the No.1 single (do I really have to qualify another statement? Do I? Really?). And, I, dear reader, was the Purple One’s biggest fan.
Thru high school and into college and beyond, I continued to have an affinity for the music of Prince in his many incarnations. In what can only be described as giddy envy, I both cheered and groaned when Prince changed his name to an unpronounceable symbol. I was mightily chagrined that I hadn’t the forethought to think of this little piece of ingenuity myself, yet exalted in the fact that the genius that is Prince was the origin of one of the most brilliant marketing decisions I’ve ever seen (you may not know this, but I know little to nothing about marketing, so take that last statement for what its worth… its still brilliant). The thought of people struggling to call to me from across the (insert whatever large and area covering structure/place here) tripping over themselves in (assuredly) humorous attempts to get my attention (I think large cards with my ‘name/symbol’ emblazoned in purple on them would have done the trick.) would have been an eternal source of entertainment for myself and, presumably, others.
Later, after college, I’ve grown to respect Prince’s tireless work ethic (he averages a CD release a year) though, I must say, I’ve cut back drastically on the hero worship. However, when they announce that his Purple Highness would be the halftime entertainment to the worlds most hyped event, I can honestly say I was excited for the first time in, you know, ever, to see a halftime show (I wasn’t going to bust on the Stones or McCartney or JT and JJ, but seriously, did anyone want to see a bunch of skinny, wrinkly, nearly fossilized rockers or the least favorite former Beatle, and, besides the boob-gate [and honestly, who hadn’t already seen Janet’s breasts?] JT and JJ were, eh, boring.)!
What did I think of the show, you ask? NAILED IT! Blew it away! Awesome! Did I say, awesome? Yes, I think I did.
Here are some of the reasons (randomly selected from people who I have asked if they liked the show and/or Prince) people don’t like Prince:
1) He had sex with an underage girl on stage during a concert.
2) He wears heals.
3) He’s gay.
4) He’s weird.
5) He can’t sing.
Seriously.
And you wonder why I think 99% of people are morons.
Thru high school and into college and beyond, I continued to have an affinity for the music of Prince in his many incarnations. In what can only be described as giddy envy, I both cheered and groaned when Prince changed his name to an unpronounceable symbol. I was mightily chagrined that I hadn’t the forethought to think of this little piece of ingenuity myself, yet exalted in the fact that the genius that is Prince was the origin of one of the most brilliant marketing decisions I’ve ever seen (you may not know this, but I know little to nothing about marketing, so take that last statement for what its worth… its still brilliant). The thought of people struggling to call to me from across the (insert whatever large and area covering structure/place here) tripping over themselves in (assuredly) humorous attempts to get my attention (I think large cards with my ‘name/symbol’ emblazoned in purple on them would have done the trick.) would have been an eternal source of entertainment for myself and, presumably, others.
Later, after college, I’ve grown to respect Prince’s tireless work ethic (he averages a CD release a year) though, I must say, I’ve cut back drastically on the hero worship. However, when they announce that his Purple Highness would be the halftime entertainment to the worlds most hyped event, I can honestly say I was excited for the first time in, you know, ever, to see a halftime show (I wasn’t going to bust on the Stones or McCartney or JT and JJ, but seriously, did anyone want to see a bunch of skinny, wrinkly, nearly fossilized rockers or the least favorite former Beatle, and, besides the boob-gate [and honestly, who hadn’t already seen Janet’s breasts?] JT and JJ were, eh, boring.)!
What did I think of the show, you ask? NAILED IT! Blew it away! Awesome! Did I say, awesome? Yes, I think I did.
Here are some of the reasons (randomly selected from people who I have asked if they liked the show and/or Prince) people don’t like Prince:
1) He had sex with an underage girl on stage during a concert.
2) He wears heals.
3) He’s gay.
4) He’s weird.
5) He can’t sing.
Seriously.
And you wonder why I think 99% of people are morons.
Am I Rude?
There is nothing that quite entertains me as much as people watching. Or, rather, there is nothing that quite entertains me the way that people watching entertains…, uh, me.
The variety of different ensembles, actions, expressions, smells, etcetera, can be a non-ending source of humor, shock, disgust and/or horror.
What trumps people watching? People watching with friends and adding a running commentary to the spectacle.
During the SB XLI party I attended (at a local bar/restaurant), I was doubly entertained by the sporting event blaring throughout the locale and the following, selected, remarkable occupants:
1) The lady with the wig that was both unrealistic and, I’m speculating, impact resistant. Lady head gear, in addition to being well protected, cranially speaking, also refused to remove her huge face hugging sunglasses, so was, in fact, well prepared for, say, a meteor shower crashing into the building in a blinding, and hopefully not deafening, flash. If I had been a tad more paranoid, I would have accused her of being a mole for an extraterrestrial invasion. Best comment: She looks like stunt double to Diana Ross in the rehab scene from ‘Lady Sings the Blues.’
2) The falling-down-drunk guy that continued to approach to within three feet of my table (and no more) and morosely stare while I continually asked those sitting with me what the hell he was doing in a voice that was both outraged and intrigued. Best moment: As the clock ran out on the Bears, witnessing Grown-man-appearing-intoxicated-in-public having his date wake him up from a dead sleep from the bar and struggle him into his coat. Very classy.
There were more, but one thing I’m continually surprised by is the response I get with people who are not used to my comments. By that, I mean the people that I’m with. I’ll receive comments like ‘that isn’t nice’ or ‘you shouldn’t say that’ or ‘that is rude’ or ‘you wouldn’t want people to talk about you.’
To which I invariably reply ‘It isn’t rude they have no idea what I’m saying and people talk about me all the time, and they should.’
Listen, I’m not mean spirited (mostly not) and do not seek to embarrass, harass, belittle, heckle, torment nor torture anyone and that is why my commentary is only for myself or those I’m speaking with and never for the target (unless they are friends, in which case they should know better and are free game).
As for other people talking about me, well, 98 percent of people are morons so who cares what they think.
I’d have loved to have been a spectator to the following:
1) The young man with the parachute pants on so tightly that not only is nothing lost to the imagination, but its borderline public indecency.
2) The college student that, while obviously thinking himself too cool for words, is also, apparently, too cool to watch where he is walking and falls out of a bus.
3) The football player cocky enough to disparage his opponent and then allow said opponent to make him look like a complete scrub.
These are but three instances in the many thousands of instances in my past where a good running commentary would have been much appreciated. … I wish James Earl Jones had been available.
The variety of different ensembles, actions, expressions, smells, etcetera, can be a non-ending source of humor, shock, disgust and/or horror.
What trumps people watching? People watching with friends and adding a running commentary to the spectacle.
During the SB XLI party I attended (at a local bar/restaurant), I was doubly entertained by the sporting event blaring throughout the locale and the following, selected, remarkable occupants:
1) The lady with the wig that was both unrealistic and, I’m speculating, impact resistant. Lady head gear, in addition to being well protected, cranially speaking, also refused to remove her huge face hugging sunglasses, so was, in fact, well prepared for, say, a meteor shower crashing into the building in a blinding, and hopefully not deafening, flash. If I had been a tad more paranoid, I would have accused her of being a mole for an extraterrestrial invasion. Best comment: She looks like stunt double to Diana Ross in the rehab scene from ‘Lady Sings the Blues.’
2) The falling-down-drunk guy that continued to approach to within three feet of my table (and no more) and morosely stare while I continually asked those sitting with me what the hell he was doing in a voice that was both outraged and intrigued. Best moment: As the clock ran out on the Bears, witnessing Grown-man-appearing-intoxicated-in-public having his date wake him up from a dead sleep from the bar and struggle him into his coat. Very classy.
There were more, but one thing I’m continually surprised by is the response I get with people who are not used to my comments. By that, I mean the people that I’m with. I’ll receive comments like ‘that isn’t nice’ or ‘you shouldn’t say that’ or ‘that is rude’ or ‘you wouldn’t want people to talk about you.’
To which I invariably reply ‘It isn’t rude they have no idea what I’m saying and people talk about me all the time, and they should.’
Listen, I’m not mean spirited (mostly not) and do not seek to embarrass, harass, belittle, heckle, torment nor torture anyone and that is why my commentary is only for myself or those I’m speaking with and never for the target (unless they are friends, in which case they should know better and are free game).
As for other people talking about me, well, 98 percent of people are morons so who cares what they think.
I’d have loved to have been a spectator to the following:
1) The young man with the parachute pants on so tightly that not only is nothing lost to the imagination, but its borderline public indecency.
2) The college student that, while obviously thinking himself too cool for words, is also, apparently, too cool to watch where he is walking and falls out of a bus.
3) The football player cocky enough to disparage his opponent and then allow said opponent to make him look like a complete scrub.
These are but three instances in the many thousands of instances in my past where a good running commentary would have been much appreciated. … I wish James Earl Jones had been available.
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