Thursday, December 22, 2005

MERRY GIFTMAS

In the political correctness of the season, I'd like to wish everyone a merry giftmas. It doesn't matter what holiday you choose to celebrate this time of year, one thing we all have in common is a well-developed appreciation for the time-honored ritual of giving. And no one's more thankful for that than Alan Greenspan, because a happy holiday season means a very happy economy. Hark the herald cash registers sing!

Over time, for better or for worse, the evangelical Christian underpinnings upon which America's version of the winter-time holiday Christmas was originally built were abandoned in favor of a week to celebrate secular consumerism. I'm not bitter about it, just a little melancholy. It is what it is, and certainly not what it once was.

Everywhere you turn, the customary greeting “Merry Christmas” has been replaced with “Happy Holidays!” Bethlehem has has been replaced by Best Buy, the birthplace of holy savings. And the three wise men may as well be named Bed, Bath, and Beyond. How did we get here?

Perhaps where we are is a function of WHO we are. America is a capitalist society that has thrived on a healthy exchange of goods and services for 230 years. So it’s really no Christmas miracle that commercialism has taken over. What had once been an occasion for family and friends to gather in celebration of the birth of a Messiah is now an excuse to shower lavish gifts on one another in a glorious exchange of consumer goods and services. And the more you spend on someone, the more you love them. At least that’s what the folks who sell the really high-end stuff would have you believe. Although, for the record, some of us still believe it's the thought that counts.

Choosing the right gift has always been an issue for me. Just ask my sister who got a Clapper from me a couple years back. I did not receive a standing ovation from the gift committee after that impulse purchase. I’ve since made up for it with some spa treatments and a little blue box. These days I start my Giftmas shopping a little earlier in the year to be on the safe side. Like April. I’m no longer a last-minute mall pinball, bouncing from sale sign to sale sign on December 24th, praying for inspiration.

Last year I bought my grandfather a cordless beard trimmer with a built-in vacuum that sucks up all of your clippings as you shave. It was one of those generic, can’t-miss gifts they sell at virtually every department store – but one I picked out specifically for him because I knew if he actually used it, it would make his life easier. I’d actually put a little thought into the gift and that made me feel better about giving it to him. Better than had I spent twice as much money on a Hickory Farms gift box showing off more meat than Elton John’s bachelor party. Who wants that? Besides Sir Elton, of course.

So much of what I see on television, hear on the radio, and read in the newspaper, however, doesn’t encourage this kind of thoughtfulness. Instead, I’m inundated with commercial messages that encourage conceptual laziness. Ads promise “easy” shopping experiences, easy return policies, easy one-click online shopping, and easy shipping. The thought behind the gift is a secondary consideration because gift-giving apparently should be “easy” first.

I’ll tell you what’s easy. Spending a lot of money FAST is easy. And in the absence of consideration, it’s also easy to buy a bunch of crap for which your friends and family will have little or no use.

Think Clapper.

Our “makes a perfect gift” culture has moved away from thoughtfully selecting meaningful holiday gifts to exchanging token articles of ambiguous value. I no longer feel like it’s the thought that counts, but rather that it’s the amount of money I spend. How did financial outlay come to represent my feelings toward a person?

Just a couple of days ago I was looking at the small mountain of gifts I’d bought for people this year, and although I was certain it was more than I’d ever spent, it just didn’t seem like enough. And the reason it didn’t seem like enough was because I found I kept putting dollar amounts on everything. I found myself comparing how much money I spent on my dad versus my mom versus my sister. I felt I needed everything to be even or I would be judged as a poor gift-giver. I didn’t want that label. That was my grandfather.

My grandfather was, by almost all accounts, an uncommonly fun guy. He had a smile and a joke for everybody in the room and always seemed to be in high spirits. Consequently, and not unlike yours truly, he was a pretty easy guy to like. He was magnetic. He had charisma. People enjoyed being around him because he could really light up a room. But, man, let me tell you, he was the worst gift-giver since the Trojan Horse came rolling into town.

Every year, he went garage-“sale”ing for holiday gifts. And he wasn’t shy about it, either. He’d tell you exactly where he found your gift and boast of the great deal he got on it. Most of his gifts were indescribable – you’d unwrap something and actually wonder aloud what it was. Then he’d laugh with a youthful exuberance and try to talk you into believing it was the greatest gift you’d ever received.

“You like that?! Isn’t that the shit? Man, I saw that and thought of you right away!”

It was hard to be disappointed when he was so excited. A few of the more memorable gifts I received from him included second-hand clothes, a hollow glass head, and a plaster bust he insisted had been specially rendered to look like me. I actually believed him until my sister unwrapped the same plaster head.

Oddly enough, I never judged him on his penchant for finding useless Christmas gifts. I didn’t look upon him with disfavor when unwrapping something I knew would live in the trunk of my car. And I didn’t appreciate him any less for the amount of money he didn’t spend on my present. Because the spirit behind his awful gifts was genuine: he was all about having a good time. (I do feel obligated to note that his eccentric gifts were typically accompanied by a generous amount of cash, which had a way of sofening the blow of unwrapping a used painter's cap)

My grandpa passed away earlier this year, so there won’t be any obnoxious gifts to laugh about this year – but I’ll never forget his holiday spirit. Because the more I shop and the more money I spend on the people I love, the more I’m convinced he had it right. It wasn’t about the financial outlay – it was about the thought. Yes, it was the THOUGHT that counted.

I think over the years that popular phrase has taken on a new meaning. When people say “It’s the thought that counts,” they usually mean that a gift should be appreciated because it is a gift. So even if it is something you don’t like or won’t use, you should appreciate that someone took the time and spent the money on showing they appreciate you. But for me, that phrase means something entirely different. “The thought” that counts is that you actually THOUGHT about the person when you bought the gift. You picked out something that you knew, thought, or at least hoped they would like.

Advertisers will say and do anything to replace thought with convenience. I'm in advertising -- I know. It's my job to talk people into buying things they don't need with money they oftentimes don't have. And there's no easier time to do that than the holidays. Guilt is a powerful motivator.

The last Christmas gift I ever got for my grandfather was that cordless beard trimmer with a built-in vacuum. I’d drawn his name in the family grab-bag and had to spend $50 on a gift. I remember I really struggled to find something before finally settling on a $29 beard trimmer. I picked it out because he was always making a mess in his bathroom and presumed, as a result, he probably wasn’t trimming his beard as often as he wanted. Yet after buying his gift, instead of feeling good about my decision, I only felt guilty that I hadn’t spent the entire $50.

He later told me it was the best gift he’d received that year. All he talked about was how much he loved that thing. The last time I saw him he was still talking about how great that gift was. I felt like I’d made his entire year with that $29 beard trimmer from Kohl’s. And I began to realize that it wasn’t about the money I’d spent at all. It was the thought that made his gift sepcial. Not the thought OF a gift, but the thought that went INTO it.

So here I am again, fretting over the amount of money I’ve spent on the people who mean the most to me, wondering if I’ll be judged on the quality of my gifts, wholly missing the point that the money doesn’t matter. It’s the idea that counts.

It saddens me to see how the WORD Christmas is slowly being erased from our cultural consciousness - I just pray we don't lose the spirit, too.

Merry Christmas everybody! Go ahead and say it. It feels good.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

FABU-PLASMASTIC!

I love this site.

www.liveplasma.com maps out your favorite artists, movies, and directors so that when you enter one, a visual constellation of related artists, movies, or directors shows up. It’s a great way to identify some new talent based on the talent you already know you love.

Click on the new bubbles that come up to get all new constellations and explore the entertainment universe!

And once you've had a chance to fart around there, you've GOT to go here. It's called the Music Genome Project and beyond showing you all of the music related to your favorites, it PLAYS them for you in an interruption-free radio format all day long. Skip the ones you don't like, save your favorites for later. It's Fab-OOO!

HOT SADDAM TAMALE

The trial of Saddam Insane continues in Iraq and today he accused the angry Americans of roughing him up while in custody. According to Saddam, he has been beaten “everywhere on my body” and tortured by American jailers while detained. Yeah, right. He also said he didn’t have any weapons of mass destruction.

Oh wait. He didn’t? Oh yeah – I keep forgetting that. Well, maybe Saddam DID get a good beatdown then. It's not like he didn't have one coming. I'm still thinking a fun punishment (funishment) would be to put the guy in stocks and wheel him around Iraq so his "people," the ones who voted him into office with 99.9% of the vote, can fling pre-packaged bags of camel crap at him. I bet they could raise a lot of spare cash selling those bags of crap.

The U.S., naturally, has denied Saddam’s claims of abuse, citing the 60 Minutes segment that aired this past Sunday in which it was reported that the U.S. doesn’t torture ANYONE, EVER, NEVER EVER EVER.

No, according to the report, we just kidnap people all over the world using a fleet of specially-outfitted jets and fly them to countries where torture is considered foreplay so that third-world mercenaries can do our dirty work for us. It's genius!

All I want to know is when are they going to kidnap that Dick Cheney guy. I have a feeling he knows something he's not telling us!

I THINK THE FRIES ARE DONE

I love being politically incorrect.

Here’s a link I shared last year that people seemed to like. You can have it your way when you make it a Burger King Christmas!

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

FYI

DSW Shoe Warehouse was recently the victim of an identity theft heist - cyber bandits made off with their credit card file, putting thousands of customers' credit and debit accounts at risk. A friend I work with discovered today that her debit card number had been stamped into a new piece of plastic that was later used to make over $2500 worth of unauthorized purchases. Fortunately, she was not held liable for the purchases...but her account was wiped out for a couple of days and the hassle has been a mountain of unwanted stress at the most inopportune time.

If you have ever used a credit or debit card at DSW Shoe Warehouse, be aware that your card number is likely a part of that stolen file and may be in the hands of a criminal. Be diligent in monitoring activty on your account and immediately report any unidentified charges.

Oh yeah - and happy fucking holidays.

Monday, December 19, 2005

UPDATE: THE PARKING TICKET

Do remember the parking ticket I received over the summer? The one that was complete and utter bullshit? Yeah – THAT one. I wrote a letter to the city complaining about the ticket, and with it I submitted a handful of digital photos I’d taken with the assistance of officer Grabowski, who was on foot patrol that afternoon.

Well, I finally heard back from the folks at City Hall. Apparently, my case has been reviewed by an “officer of the court” who has made the determination that, based the evidence presented on my behalf, the violation did NOT occur and I am therefore not responsible for the fine.

Hell yeah, baby. The Miracle on Morgan St. I just beat City Hall!

Of course, earlier in the week I was hit with a $120 fine for failure to post a city sticker on my vehicle. Easy come, easy go – that’s the steady ebb and flow of life as I know it. You win some...you lose some. What goes up must come down. What goea around comes around. Okay, I'll stop now.

THE SUGAR SHAFT

This past weekend, I helped Geri’s 5-year-old man, H, bake some holiday cookies. We started by getting out the flour, sugar, eggs, and – okay, that’s not true. We started by cutting open a roll of Pillsbury ready-made cookie dough I'd bought at the store. After eating through nearly a quarter of the roll with our fingers, we decided to see how good they would taste baked in the oven.

H and I took turns slicing through the sweet log with a butter knife and placing the chilly slivers on a metal cookie sheet. Because there’s no rule that says a cookie must be round, I began rolling them up into little balls. H was intrigued by this creative approach to cookie-building and began rolling his own dough nuggets. Then I branched out and shaped one like a big Burger King onion ring. Then H decided he would make a pencil-shaped cookie. Next I made a volcano. So H made a bigger volcano. Then I made a turtle. Then H made a snake.

When we were done molding the dough into rudimentary shapes that only vaguely resembled what we claimed they were supposed to be, it was time to decorate them. Where I attend the school of “a little goes a long way,” H preferred to coat and bury his cookies under a mountain of pink and purple sugar sprinkles. Geri and I tried to discourage him from using too much decoration, but to a 5-year-old, there’s no such thing as too much decoration. When we were done sprucing up our holiday sweets, the kitchen looked like Tinkerbell had just detonated a suicide bomb.

I slid the baking sheet into the oven and flipped the oven light on so we could watch the cookies grow. Because we’d given them such unique shapes to start with, each one baked in a new and interesting way. The balls began to melt, the pencil spread out like a ruler, the onion ring blossomed like a doughnut, the volcanoes fused together and bloomed fatter than John Madden's hands, and the snake – well, the snake began assuming the plump disposition of something decidedly adult in nature.

I looked over at Geri and pointed at the oven. She glanced in through the window and blushed. We both had a hard time pretending the creature in the oven was a harmless snake when, quite clearly, H had unwittingly crafted a monster Pillsbury dildo.

I wanted to call it something clever, like the “sugar shaft” or the “sugar nookie,” but in the presence of an impressionable 5-year-old I could only say, “Wow – would you look at that SNAKE. Quite the monster, wouldn’t you say?”

Geri could tell I was jealous. “Oh yeah, that’s a good looking snake right there.”

A few minutes later I pulled the sheet from the oven and H violently dissected the “snake” with a spatula, a gruesome act almost too painful to watch. We then devoured the pieces with milk and, I must admit, they were quite delicious. I remember thinking it a good thing that the snake didn't make it. Those aren't the kinds of cookies you leave for Santa.

MRS. Claus, on the other hand...well, I imagine she'd appreciate a little holiday dildough under the mistletoe come Christmas Eve.

PEANUT BUTTER JELLY TIME

Leave it up long enough and this link WILL drive you insane.

THE BRAIN FREEZES

This morning it was one degree outside, which for all intents and purposes is zero. Zero is pretty cold, even if we’re talking Fahrenheit. I must say, people get a little confused when it’s this cold outside. I don’t mean to make excuses for myself, but it’s not easy giving your full attention to things when you’re battling hypothermia and frostbite with every step.

So it was a little hectic when I first stepped out of my car into the bitter chill of morning after a long, slow crawl into downtown on Interstate 90/94. I’d just found a “good” parking spot underneath the “El” tracks on Lake St., one block north of the office. I rifled through the things strewn about my passenger seat for anything I would need for work, as well as those things I didn’t want to freeze in the car over the course of the day. I unplugged my phone, found my work keys, grabbed a couple of DVD movies I had to return to Blockbuster via U.S. mail, tucked a can of soup into my armpit for lunch, squeezed into my gloves, zipped up my jacket and managed somehow to add a Peppermint Mocha from Starbucks to my person before pushing the car door open into traffic.

I hurriedly stepped out, locked the door, and hustled to the corner of Lake and Peoria to drop off my DVDs in the mailbox on the corner. In doing so, I dropped my car keys. Dammit. I stooped to pick them up, then dropped my can of soup. DAMMIT. I stooped to pick the can up, pocketed my keys, and my cellphone slipped out of my coat pocket. Martha Focker. I stopped abruptly, collected myself, and slipped the phone back into my coat pocket. I glanced around quickly to see if anyone had noticed my Warren Moon impression and started hoofing it south. I was about a half a block away when I made the realization that I no longer had my Peppermint Mocha. I turned around and looked at the ground to see where I’d dropped it. Alas, it was no where to be seen.

I’m no expert in the paranormal, but in my experience, take-out coffee does not spontaneously evaporate into nothing – even in subzero windchills. It had to be somewhere, I thought. So I trotted back to the corner, looked all about on the ground, checked my person once again, then gave that mailbox a long, hard stare.

Oh no.

Oh yes.

Oh no you didn’t.

Oh yes I did.

I’d mailed off my morning coffee without proper postage. And without a return address it was sure to wind up in at the dead letter office.

And then I thought of all the letters and bills and Christmas cards in that mailbox – correspondence that would now have frozen coffee caked all over it. The folks at the post office would certainly chalk it up as an act of vandalism. But I knew better. It was an act of true mindlessness brought on by excessively cold weather. It was a brain freeze.

At that point there wasn’t a whole lot I could do except flee the scene. I inconspicuously ambled off down the street as nonchalantly as I could, taking what solace I could from the fact that at least everything would all smell like a chocolate-covered candy cane.

Friday, December 16, 2005

HERE COMES OLD MAN WINTER!

The winter solstice is fast approaching and I wanted to remind everyone to eat their cheese.

Because the earth is tilted on its axis, the northern and southern hemispheres do not enjoy equal access to the sun’s light and heat year round. So we have to SHARE. If only the folks in the Middle East could work on the same principle, there’d be a whole lot more peace. Half the year Jerusalem belongs to the Jews, the other half the year it belongs to the Muslims. See how the earth does it with the sun? It’s easy!

But back to our place in the cosmos. While one half of our spinning orb is blessed with extra sunshine this time of the year, the other is cursed with bonus darkness. And that added darkness can really add up. In fact, a lot of people end up suffering from something called Seasonal Affective Disorder this time of year. It’s a condition caused by lack of exposure to natural sunlight…combined, of course, with all the normal shit that makes this time of year suck: long lines, bad traffic, crappy customer service, slush, sub-zero wind chills, retail stampedes, strollers at the mall, annoying commercial jingles playing over and over and over again, advertisers trying to convince me that giving a Lexus as a gift is a good idea, etc. Never mind the decrease in sunlight, rampant seasonal consumerism is depressing enough!

But Seasonal Affective Disorder is real, and people suffering from it report having many of the symptoms of clinical depression:

- Constant buzzkill sensation
- Excessive sleeping
- Excessive eating
- Weight gain
- Craving for strarchy, sugary foods
- Lack of motivation
- General intolerance for Ben Affleck

If this short list describes you, fear not – the symptoms typically subside come March. That's when panic usually kicks in as you realize you've got just 60 days to squeeze into a bathing suit.

So why is S.A.D. such a common phenomenon? As the seasons change, so do our circadian rhythms. Circadian Rhythms are the body’s normal changes over a 24-hour period. Most of these changes are automatic, controlled by a biological clock we aren’t even aware is ticking. Your clock helps regulate things like body temperature, hormones, sleep patterns, feeding patterns, cell regeneration, and much more. As our exposure to sunlight changes, our biorhythms adjust accordingly. For example, the body’s level of melatonin typically increases with darkness, making us feel naturally drowsy. If it gets darker earlier, we get sleepier earlier as a result. That’s one of the reasons we feel so damn lethargic in the dead of winter. As the sun goes down, we find ourselves POOPING out instead of going out.

Here’s an interesting side note. Through light deprivation experiments, scientists have learned something I find creepy. Our biological clocks actually operate on a 25-hour cycle, not 24. So it’s only natural that we’re gong to be off from time to time. Or is it? Why are we set to a 25 hour cycle when our days are and always have been 24 hours? Is that a magic number of some kind? There’s a screenplay in this – I can feel it.

Anyhow, for those of us stuck in the northern hemisphere this time of year, we’re fast approaching what will be our farthest point from the sun. It occurs every year between December 20 and 22 and is called the winter solstice. You and I know it as the shortest day of the year. In Chicago, there will be just 9 hours and 20 minutes of sunlight on that day. Just remember to eat your cheese and you'll be fine. I recommend Taco Bell. In fact I'm rewriting the lyrics to Silver Bells to pay tribute to the fast food palace.

Taco Bells. Taco Bells. It's feeding time for my belly.
Nachos please. Extra Cheese. Soon I will be very full.

Hark to the Bells!

Here comes old man winter! Hide! No - don't hide. Hit him with a snowball in the head. Yeah! Fuck you, old man winter!

Thursday, December 15, 2005

GOOD FOR YOU

Seems like everywhere you turn these days you're faced with more bad news. Postage is going up to .39 cents in January. Interest rates are still on the rise. People dying over here. People dying over there. Fires, floods, and famine. Abduction, murder, and conspiracy. Job cuts. Pollution. Terror. Price gouging. Deadly tuna. Gridlock. Red tape. Filibusters. Nuclear threats. Scandal. Rape. Arrest. Conviction. Execution. Environmental disaster. Health risks. Epidemics. Warning after warning after warning.

For those of you sick of being inundated daily with news stories full of fear and smear, here’s a little good news for a change. It’s a web site that aggregates good news only. Nice to see some folks are looking on the bright side for a change. After all, there’s a lot of good going on out there, too!

Thanks to Dr. Faber for sharing this gem.

FIGURES OF SPEECH THERAPY

Who came up with the phrase “screwed the pooch”? Someone used it the other day here at the office and it got me thinking, how did making a blunder become associated with having sex with a dog? I’m not an expert on bestiality, but it would seem to me that if you’re having relations with a canine, you KNOW you’re having relations with a canine. Make no mistake about it – that’s an intentional act.

“They printed off the wrong presentation deck before heading to the airport? That sucks – sounds like they really screwed the pooch this time.”

A statement like this one doesn’t really seem to work, as sex with a dog doesn’t signify “catastrophic blunder” to me. “Screw the pooch” sounds more like an intentional act so embarrassing the committing individual can’t tell anyone about it. As in:

“High Grant got caught soliciting oral from a prostitute? Man, did he screw the pooch!”

That seems a little more accurate to me…but in such cases we walk a fine line between the literal and the metaphorical. “Screw the pooch” is simply not an easy expression to pull off, which is why I recommend this colorful phrase be retired and replaced with something a little more universal in appeal – like the standard go-to phrase “fucked up.”

That way there’s no confusion over whether there was an error made or whether someone just did something grossly unacceptable, like pork the pet.

If someone told me this guy "screwed the pooch," I'd believe it!

For your files, I did look up the origin of the phrase and it turns out it's a derivative of the old phrase "fuck the dog," which originally meant to waste time, or loaf around on the job. In addition to being a little more abrasive, the original expression doesn't work so well in its intended context. A friend just called me at work and asked what I was up to. "Not a whole lot," I said. "Just fucking the dog."

That opened up a line of questions I'd rather not get into. All you need to know is that confusion can be safely avoided by sticking to more widely accepted figures of speech.

SEASON'S FEETING'S

I’ve got a pair of quitters on this morning and they’ve been driving me up the fucking wall. Don't play coy with me - you know what I’m talking about. Quitters ... older socks that no longer have the elastic wherewithal to stay up around your calves. Nobody likes a quitter, Danny.

Yeah…all morning these bastards have been sliding down my calves and hugging my Achilles like an ankle scrunchie. It totally sucks. I’m walking around like I’m doing leg lifts with 4oz. cotton ankle weights. I keep pulling them back up in the hope that “this time” they’ll stay up. But they never do. Within minutes they ooze back down my leg and open up like a Venus Flytrap.

It’s definitely time for new socks.

Speaking of which, socks are item numero uno on my Christmas list. Yes, CHRISTMAS list. Not holiday list. Strange how socks were the last thing in the world I wanted to open up on Christmas morning – and here I am today ASKING for them. Sign numer #425 that I'm getting old, right between a sunburned scalp and random acts of flatulence. I still remember my great grandmother giving me a large package of white tube socks when I was just a pup. I don’t think I could have been more disappointed. Good thing I was taught at an early age to feign excitement in the face of great disappointment. In hindsight, I may have been a little over the top.

“Socks? Socks?!?! SWEET! Socks! I LOVE socks. I can’t wait to try these on!”

And I didn’t wait to try them on, to the olfactory displeasure of the entire extended familial unit. I’ve always been good at that…trying on gifts of clothing right then and there. It’s a risk, to be sure, because you never really know how something is going to fit. But I’ve always known how to mitigate those risks – rolling the sleeves up, sucking the waist in, tucking, fluffing, etc. Sometimes I’d try something on knowing full well it would be the only time I’d ever be caught dead in it. But that’s a courtesy I've never minded extending in the spirit of the season. I'm considerate like that.

"This is the coolest belt ever! No, it's not too big. I'll just have to eat more!"

Fortunately, socks are easy. I don’t bother matching them most days, so what they look like matters little. All I ask is that they hold on for one more day. There's a little Wilson Philips action for ya. You love it, don't lie.

If you’d like to send me some socks, or a CHRISTMAS card, I’d LOVE to get one from you. Just mail your crisp dollar bill to:

My favorite monkey, AYNtK
1460 N. Sandburg Terrace, #2009
Chicago, IL 60610

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

CHUCK WAGGIN'

There’s a lot of shit online these days that makes absolutely no sense to me. But this link speaks for itself. I don’t know how you teach judo to a dog, but I would imagine it takes a great deal of patience. These canines kick ass!

WARNING: DO NOT DRINK OR EAT WHEN YOU CLICK THE ABOVE LINK. CONTENT IS SO UNEXPECTEDLY FUNNY, YOU MAY SPIT SOUP OR RC COLA ALL OVER YOUR KEYBOARD, MONITOR, AND CORDUROY PANTS.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

GO FISH!

Leaving my apartment, I noticed the headline on this morning's Chicago Tribune lying outside my neighbor's door.

How safe is tuna?

How SAFE is TUNA? Not safe at all, I'd say. We keep catching them and eating them. I sure wouldn't want to be a tuna fish in today's world. In addition to all the bigger fish and sharks out there making meals out of the shiny bastards, they've got to keep a big eye out for insatiable land-borne predators who keep dragging nets through their backyards - harvesting their children so we can hungrily mash them into salad. Yeah - now is not a good time to be a tuna. Tuna is not safe at all.

What? Oh. It doesn't? I get it now. Ha. I'm so silly. How safe is tuna to EAT. I get it. Why didn't they just say that in the first place? That changes the meaning entirely.

Wait a second. How safe is TUNA? Shit! I eat tuna all the time. I've even been working on a secret holiday recipe for extra creamy tuna butter bread spread. It's going to be fishtacular. Nothing like a tuna butter and caviar jelly sandwich!

I'd better read this article here. I hope it's online.

It is. Okay, let's see. WHAT?!?! Tuna contains unsafe levels of metal? Come on. Nevermind how safe tuna is, how UNSAFE is metal? Metal is tough and hearty - chock full of the good stuff, right?

For YEARS, medical experts have been touting fish as a good low-fat source of proteins and omega-3 fatty acids, presumed to help prevent heart disease. Now it's loaded with mercury and unhealthy. Is this story for real or just another media scare drummed up to create widespread public panic for no reason? Hard to tell these days. All I know is I'm not going to stop eating tuna until refrigerator magnets start sticking to my tummy. Of course, by then I'm sure it'll be too late. And you just know someone is gonna sue, to the tuna a lot of money.

Maybe then the tuna will be safe again. To swim, that is.

Hey Cletus, what's all this business I hear about tuna?

I don't know, Ralphie, but I don't like it. If we can't eat tuna anymore, we may need to consider dragging down some of those curious bipeds always handing us poisoned fish. Fuckers.

GEORGE W. BUBBLE

I have no idea what this is, why it is so amusing, or how it managed to keep me occupied for so long. But I share it with you because you need to know it is out there. Thanks to my Windy City neighbors Cindy & Steve for this time-waster…

(Hint: Make sure you click and drag to make the most out of this seemingly pointless cyber-experience!)

Friday, December 09, 2005

NOTES FROM THE FOXXHOLE

Have you ever walked into your home at the end of a long day and it was so messy the theme song from Sanford and Son started playing in your head? Happened to me last night and I nearly shit my pants laughing. Yes, my condo unit is a junkyard. The furniture is all helter skelter and piled high with papers, boxes, and assorted crap. And the clothes – it looks like a Samsonite exploded. Boxer shorts, dirty socks, and t-shirts are everywhere – hanging on doorknobs, draped over chairs, and fencing in the dust bunnies that live in the corners. I will spare you a description of the smell – at least until I have identified its origin.

Stumbling in on that mess last night was made even worse by the fact that it took me a mind-numbing hour and a half to get home from work. I’ve actually WALKED to my office in less time than that. But that’s what snow during rush hour does. It activates the “idiot” gene in people, an impairment far more dangerous than any amount of alcohol one could consume. People start disregarding traffic signals altogether. They drive along the dotted line in the middle of the road. They blow red lights, block intersections, and fishtail like the Duke boys out of frustration – all without wiping the snow off their side and back windows. Makes for a real happy fucking holiday season. I actually lucked out for a little while when I managed to swing into the wake created by a passing ambulance. Then some jackass cut me off and started letting all the slow-pokes creep back in front of us. Moron. If you’re going to follow an ambulance, you gotta stick close and make it count.

Oh well – I’m glad that episode is over. Next time I’ll know to walk. Okay, time to clean up the junkyard.

Oh dis is da big one!

FOCUS POCUS

Stay focused on one thing and you’ll miss everything else.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

QUEEN ANN: I.Q. > YOURS

Super conservative columnist Ann Coulter sells a lot of books, but she also boils a lot of blood. She’s essentially made a living out of skewering people who don’t share her political beliefs. And every so often, the people skewer her right back. Take this week, for example. She had to cut short a speech she was delivering at the University of Connecticut thanks to a chorus of boos and jeers. But the good part is what happened next. Instead of storming off in a fit of absolute righteousness, she decided to hold an impromptu question-and-answer session instead, adding:

“I love to engage in repartee with people who are stupider than I am.”

Of course she does - it doesn't happen very often. Hey - at least she’s admitting she’s stupid. I sense healing may be underway.

If you’re a big Ann Coulter fan, you’ll probably want to avoid the following blogger post, which is one of the funniest things I’ve ever read.





This is Ann Coulter. No word on whether she has eaten since this photo was taken.

DREAMS OF THE ANGELMAKER


Here comes the snow

(Little darlin’)

Here comes the snow

(And I say)



It’s all white.

PRESIDENT AHMADINEJAD FALLS OFF THE WELCOME WAGON

It’s not often that the president of Iran and I agree. In fact, we usually end up getting into a heated shouting match, then fisticuffs. And his bodyguards are not gentle in pulling us apart, let me tell you. He’s a spirited bastard, that guy. But this is all beside the point, which I was going to make but forgot.

Oh yeah. Mahmoud Ahmadinejad said a few things today that really had me nodding my head in agreement. If we had been in the same room, I might have knocked fists with him. Just for the cameras, though. I’m really not down with the whole Iran clan.

Anyhow, Mahmoud basically said that if Germany and Austria feel responsible for massacring Jews during World War II, then the state of Israel should be on THEIR soil instead of smack dab in the Middle East where no one feels responsible for the holocaust (or sorry about it, if they believe it happened at all). It’s a ludicrous proposition because it would never happen – but one that merits a little discussion. At least that’s what my monkey tells me. So here we go.

Let’s start with the source. To say he’s a little biased here is to say Elton John is a little gay. This Mahmoud character is the same guy who drew widespread international criticism a couple months ago when he said Israel “must be wiped off the map.” It appears he’s softened his rhetoric a little bit, now just calling for a relocation. And I bet he’d even rent a truck and help them move a few boxes if asked. A real helpful guy. Now, some folks may be thinking I am out of my MIND, wondering how in Hades moving Israel to another locale is a reasonable solution to the mid-east peace problem. Don’t worry, Mahmoud has it all worked out. But for logic’s sake, a little background is necessary.

For those of you unfamiliar, Israel was not a sovereign state until 1947 – the same year the television was invented, and aren’t our lives a whole lot richer for that? Amen. Anyhow, when the Brits divvied up the spoils following World Wars Uno y Dos and started redrawing boundaries, there were a few things they didn’t really take into consideration – minor things like the PEOPLE living there. It’s true. There were PEOPLE living in Israel before it was Israel. Can you imagine that? Yeah – kinda sucked to be them. And yes, by most accounts, it still does.

As it happens, from Sudan to India and all across the Middle East, most of today’s global hot spots can be traced back to myopic British map-alterations. But that’s a startling revelation I’ll save for the day after I’m dead.

Today we’re considering the logic behind Iran President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s (pronounced: “President Whats-his-fuck”) controversial suggestion. Here are a number of excerpts for your reference:

“Now that you believe the Jews were oppressed, why should the Palestinian Muslims have to pay the price? Why did you come to give a piece of Islamic land and the territory of the Palestinian people to them? You oppressed them, so give a part of Europe to the Zionist regime so they can establish any government they want. We would support it. So, Germany and Austria, come and give one, two or any number of your provinces to the Zionist regime so they can create a country there which all of Europe will support and the problem will be solved at its root. Why do they insist on imposing themselves on other powers and creating a tumour so there is always tension and conflict?"

You know – that’s not horrible logic when you think about it. Of all the places in the world to pitch a tent, why there? Israel exists where it is because that’s where the nomadic Zionists wanted to be. It is, after all, according to religion, the “promised land.” So, to get it back, they made friends in high places (British Parliament) and when it came time to carve out a little slice of heaven called Israel, they were more or less given that controversial strip of terra firma – never mind the folks already chilling there. There’s been nothing but rock-throwing, fighting, shooting, suicide bombing, house razing, and war since. None of which is good for property values, as I’m sure you know.

So that’s why I’m really feeling President Whats-his-fuck’s solution. He’s putting it back on the Europeans – the people who started the whole mess by giving Israel Israel in the first place. He’s saying, you wanted to give these people their own country, and that’s great, and good for you – but for Allah’s sake, why’d you take from us to give to them?

Although the argument is somewhat logical from that perspective, the Jews would never go for it. Give up the rocky, barren Promised Land for a beautiful wooded plot in Austria? No way. After all, the Jews say it was THEIRS before it was ever the Palestinans. They way they look at it, they're just taking back what is rightfully theirs. Yes, rightfully. That's divine right I'm talking about there. A decision from the court of heaven. Hard to talk people into compromise when they're convinced they have a God-given right to something. The whole thing is about as hopeless as Terrell Owens discovering humility.

UNLESS.

Unless there was a way to transport the “holy” out of the holy land. I don’t know how exactly – I haven’t done all the math. But can’t they just cart off pieces of Jerusalem on a flatbed truck? Come on! I’ve seen pre-fab homes cruising down the Interstate in halves – can’t we just extract portions of sacred ground and move them? The Palestinians wouldn’t have much use for those temples anyhow. Better they be carted off with old religious buildings, statues, and other assorted holy landmarks. We can do this. I know we can. Who’s with me?

Yeah, I didn’t think so. Damn it. I’m only trying to help. I just want everybody to get along! Oh well, back to the drawing board. And NO – the Brits are not invited to the drawing board. Haven’t they created enough controversy already? As for President Whats-his-fuck, I’m thinking the Swiss will invade Luxemburg before the Jews move to Austria. Nice try, but – as they say – no cigar.

I CAN FEEL IT

I am getting fat.

Happy can't be far behind!

SEARCH PARTY

Here’s a multiple-personality search engine you should check out. They combine the results of Google and Yahoo! Search on a single screen. I find it interesting how the results vary between the two based on an identical string of keywords. I must say, Yahoo! outperformed Google in 4 out of 5 searches I performed, delivering websites that more precisely matched what I was searching.

Try it yourself. Minutes of hot action!

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

NEW RESEARCH LINKS OVEREATING TO OBESITY

Startling new research suggests there is a strong link between consuming excessive food and becoming overweight. Scientists at the Delaware University of Health (DUH) revealed Wednesday the results of a 5-year study in which they tracked the eating behavior of 1,500 very hungry people. Lead researcher Dr. Robert Kruller says the findings are revolutionary.

"What we are seeing is a dramatic correlation between body weight and food consumption," Kruller noted. "It appears as though the more our subjects eat, the heavier they become. It's quite astonishing really."

One variable seemed to play a mitigating role, however. Exercise.

"Remarkably, those subjects who increased their level of physical activity during the research period gained little to no extra weight. It was as if the food they were eating just burned up."

Although they say they're not exactly sure how the pieces all fit together, they feel the results point them in the right direction.

"Obesity is fast becoming epidemic here in America, and we need to get to the bottom of it. This study measurably demonstrates that food intake may be playing a significant role. We're very excited about the results."

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Monday, December 05, 2005

BROKEN WIND CHIMES

For those of you who've been wondering, it IS possible to burp and fart at the same time. It took me a few tries to get the timing down right, the dual exhaust thing can definitely happen. I recommend practicing for tone in the privacy of a restroom before bringing your gasymphony to the masses. I finally think I'm ready for the big show!

SADDAM TO APPEAR ON FEAR FACTOR

BAGHDAD, Iraq –A witness in the trial against Saddam Hussein testified Monday that the former president's agents carried out random arrests, torture, and killings. No loud courtroom “gasps” were reported following this testimony. But in one of his many courtroom outbursts, Saddam defended his “Death to people I don’t like” policy, loudly declaring in his best Jack Nicholson, “I am not afraid of execution!”

Perhaps lost in translation was the fact that Saddam is expected to be on the receiving end this time around.

When pressed on the issue of death, the health consequences of which are generally accepted as irreversible, Saddam said he would prove he is truly fearless by becoming a contestant on celebrity dictator episode of Fear Factor.

Cuba's Fidel Castro and North Korea's Kim Jong-Il will be joining Hussein as the three gross each other out for a shot at 50,000 U.S. clams. Joe Rogan, host of the NBC reality show, was reluctant to reveal the stunts, but offered: "It's going to be wicked cool. We really wanted to push the envelope with these guys. I mean, they're ruthless. They're insane. They're going to be willing to do some stuff most normal people wouldn't even consider."

Rogan dismissed rumors that the first stunt would involve dining on a cadaver. "That's crazy, dude. Who told you that? Was he a tall dude with glasses? Don't print that. This is off the record. Seriously. Who told you that shit?"

Friday, December 02, 2005

SUPERSIZE YOUR FRIDAY

It’s been a busy week, my friends. Glad it's almost over.

The first face transplant was performed this week, and surprisingly, Joan Rivers was not involved. I would have thought she'd have been higher on the list.

Blackberry users found out they may no longer be getting e-mail service on their personal hand-held communications pieces – electronic devices so addictive they’re often called Crackberries. If you need access to e-mail every minute of every day, you’re either doing something illegal or you need intense therapy. In my case, it’s therapy – possibly because I don’t have a crackberry. I love e-mail. Really. When's the last time YOU sent me one, you bastard?

Oprah showed up on Letterman last night. Yeah – I got sucked into watching that crap, too. Kind of anticlimactic, no? After all the fuss about this supposed “feud” between the two, they could have at least arm-wrestled or something. Or sumo wrestled in a vat of I Can't Believe It's Not Butter.

Russia is selling missiles to Iran, but most Americans are too troubled by the Nick and Jessica break-up to concern themselves with such trivial matters.

President Bush laid out his roadmap to victory in Iraq in a speech entitled “Déjà Vu” because most of us remember him declaring victory a year and a half ago. Maybe someone should help him with his "roadmap" so he doesn't keep taking us in circles.

I tweaked a nerve in my back this week and ended up at the chiropractor, where I practically had to sign a two-year contract for treatment before the bastard would “adjust” me. What’s all this “wellness” crap – just punch me in the spine already and send me home. I'm not looking for a partner in health here - I just want the fucking pain to stop. But job security is a powerful incentive, so I forgive him...even if I don't plan on going back.

Jennifer Garner had her baby, but had a hard time naming it since she herself goes by an alias.

And then someone got into my secret condom stash and stole my last “Big Red.” It turned up this morning on the Obelisk in Buenos Aires. I wonder if they plan on giving it back when they’re done making their point so that I can use it the next time I make mine.

Alright folks - have a great weekend. Be good or good at it.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

DID GOD SPILL COFFEE ON HIS MASTER PLAN?

Perhaps you’ve heard of the recent uproar over Intelligent Design. It’s the latest development in the war between the right and the left over what we should teach our children in school.

On the one side you’ve got the hard core fundamentalist Christian right who believe evolution is bunk and espouse a strict curriculum of Creationism. Then you’ve got the whole liberal, scientific, atheist crowd invoking Darwin’s ghost in promoting an evolutionary agenda. It’s an ideological tug of war with compromise seemingly impossible.

Enter the Intelligent Design folks. These enterprising minds have essentially merged the two disparate beliefs in building an ambitious theory that effectively satisfies neither side.

The theory behind Intelligent Design is really only attractive to people (like me) who’d just like to see everyone get along for a change. It suggests that the science of evolution is a consequence of divine intention. In other words, there is something (God, perhaps) behind the science of our existence. "Yes, we came from apes - but God made it so!"

The bible and science give us very different reasons for being. Intelligent Design attempts to reconcile the two, claiming to provide an objective perspective on the question of our existence. Where the bible says God created everything in under a week, including human beings in His own image, and science says we evolved over millions of years from apes, Intelligent Design leaves room for the possibility that evolution was God’s way of getting us here. Not surprisingly, both scientists and bible huggers reject this notion out of hand.

What is the true origin of our species? Are we truly the result of divine inspiration? Are we a complex evolutionary accident? Or are “we” merely an illusion in one of Doug Henning's masterful performances? Perhaps “we” are, in fact, one…and these words are not mine, but OURS. You read them as though they are external to you, when they actually live inside of you. I live inside of you. We are each other. Did we forget our medication this morning?

I'm not going to tell you what to believe - that's up to you. All I really wanted to say today was that we shouldn’t rule out the very real possibility that a flying spaghetti monster is responsible for this mess we call life. Hey, it’s just a theory.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

FUN WITH AVATARS

Yahoo! Avatars

If I weren't such a hairy monkey, I might look something like this. Jude Law, eat your heart out.

Make your own avatar and dress it up at Yahoo!

TUGBOAT: A PHOTO ESSAY

Apparently the captain of this rig had a bad day.

WHAT THE CHUCK!

As you know, Chuck Norris is a living legend. A friend of mine recently sent me a list of little-known facts about Chuck Norris and I wanted to share it with you. Thanks to Heavy D for passing these along - they are good conversation starters. I won't take credit for penning these wildly amusing bits...only for spreading the gospel of Chuck.

So without further ado, here's all you need to know about Chuck Norris:

Chuck Norris' tears cure cancer. Too bad he has never cried.

Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits.

Chuck Norris sold his soul to the devil for his rugged good looks and unparalleled martial arts ability. Shortly after the transaction was finalized, Chuck roundhouse kicked the devil in the face and took his soul back. The devil, who appreciates irony, couldn't stay mad and admitted he should have seen it coming. They now play poker every second Wednesday of the month.

Chuck Norris is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are trademarked names for his left and right legs.

Chuck Norris once ate three 72 oz. steaks in one hour. He spent the first 45 minutes having sex with his waitress.

Chuck Norris built a time machine and went back in time to stop the JFK assassination. As Oswald shot, Chuck met all three bullets with his beard, deflecting them. JFK's head exploded out of sheer amazement.

The chief export of Chuck Norris is pain.

Aliens do exist. They're just waiting for Chuck Norris to die before they attack.

If you can see Chuck Norris, he can see you. If you can't see Chuck Norris you may be only seconds away from death.

Chuck Norris was the fourth Wiseman. He brought baby Jesus the gift of "beard". Jesus wore it proudly to his dying day. The other Wisemen, jealous of Jesus' obvious gift favoritism, used their combined influence to have Chuck omitted from the Bible. Shortly after all three died of roundhouse kick related deaths.

Chuck Norris doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.

Chuck Norris is not hung like a horse... horses are hung like Chuck Norris

Chuck Norris can make a woman climax by simply pointing at her and saying "booya".

Chuck Norris can piss into gale force winds.

Chuck Norris used to be an All-American baseball player in college. He was banned however from Major League Baseball when it became known that his blood is actually a steroid.

One of the greatest cover-ups of the last century was the fact that Hitler did not commit suicide in his bunker, but was in fact tea-bagged to death by Chuck Norris.

Chuck Norris once tried to sue Burger King after they refused to put razor wire in his Whopper Jr., insisting that that actually is "his" way.

Here's America's biggest assbeater posing with America's biggest asseater, Alan "May I toss your salad again, Mr. Hannity?" Colmes.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

TRAINING WHEELS

I recently saw a t-shirt that read, simply, “Boys are dumb." I think the shirt is supposed to be a joke, but there IS some truth to it. The fact is, we ARE dumb – most of us unapologetically so, especially when it comes to girls. But I'm lucky. I have Geri to help me understand things. I seem to learn something new and important about women and relationships every single day.

Geri explained to me just the other day, for instance, that a man should never use the word "big" to describe any part of the female anatomy - other than her "boobs," of course. That was an important one to remember, she assured me, and I have not erred in that vein since.

What else have I learned? Lots of stuff!

Visible nose hairs are bad.

While they may LOOK the same, white, stone, and cream are very different colors and telling them apart is helpful when buying clothes or getting dressed.

Buttoning your shirt’s top button isn’t cool. In fact, even the second button is considered a little conservative these days, unless you’re not wearing a t-shirt and have a chest like a Sasquatch.

If you DO wear an undershirt, the cut of its collar should not match the cut of your top. In other words, a v-neck t-shirt with a v-neck sweater is a v-no-no.

Don’t pick at your pimples.

When faced with the dilemma of where to eat, the boy should just pick a restaurant.

It doesn't matter what you THINK you smell, a girl fart does not stink.

Flowers may die, but they never get old…so keep bringing ‘em.

Coffee is not considered a complete breakfast.

Not only is it okay for boys to iron their own clothes, it is encouraged.

Old socks and underwear should be thrown away, even if they only have a couple holes in them.

When girls get dressed to go out, it's for other girls, not boys.

Cornstarch spray is for your clothes and PAM is for cooking, not the other way around.

The elevator isn’t the only place you should let ladies get off first.

THE ARTFUL ROGER

"Ever since Oprah Winfrey revealed on her 20th anniversary program Monday that I was the person who first suggested she go into syndication, I have been flooded with requests for interviews. Yes, it is true, I persuaded Oprah to become the most successful and famous woman in the world. I was also the person who suggested that Jerry Springer NOT go into syndication, for which I have received too little credit."

- Roger Ebert

GET LOST

Last Wednesday, Geri and I planned a quiet, low-key evening alone. It was to be a single stress-free night together before what was certain to be a busy Thanksgiving holiday weekend. Comfortably dressed in soft, cotton pajamas, we dialed up $50 worth of specialty maki rolls from Matsuyama and threw in the latest DVD ordered up on Blockbuster.com – Season One, Disc One of the hit ABC show Lost.

Neither of us was familiar with the show, so we felt like we were walking into a movie without having seen a single trailer. All we knew was that it was wildly popular and a number of people had been recommending we check it out. So instead of trying to dive into the program mid-run, I thought we’d give it a go from the start to see if it was any good. And was it ever.

Warning: This shit is stickier than crack. As soon as the first episode ended, we immediately started part 2. When that ended, we moved right into episode 3. After 3 we looked at each other and agreed to watch “just one more” episode to complete Disc One. But when that one ended we were both left wanting more. So I got on my coat at 11:15 pm and hustled over to Blockbuster to rent Disc Two. We watched the next two episodes before finally succumbing to sleep.

All Thanksgiving Weekend we itched for our next fix, eagerly anticipating our return to town so we could visit the next installment. Indeed, when we returned Sunday night we fired up the last two episodes of Disc Two. Last night I picked up Disc Three and we blazed through all 4 episodes without a single piss break and ignoring all phone calls. We’re so glad we found Lost.

It does help that the DVDs have no commercials, so each episode is only 42 minutes long without interruption. It’s like watching a kick ass movie that never ends – it just keeps getting better and better and better. The folks who put this shit together have got a winning formula here – tell a compelling story in pieces, introduce no small amount of mystery, and build complex characters with unique personalities, flaws, and backgrounds. Beyond the writing, the acting, cinematography, and music are all top-notch. In letter-box format, you forget you’re not watching a feature film. Kudos to the folks who produce this Emmy-award winning masterpiece – it’s no wonder the show won the Emmy for best drama series.

AYNtK recommends you get Lost: If you haven’t been able to get into Lost because you missed the first season, get that shit on your holiday list, stat. It’s dope, ya’ll. You gonna love the way they do it. Shit's so sticky you'll catch up in no time.

SPREADING EAGLES

Did you hear about the man who got arrested over the weekend for running onto the field in the middle of the Eagles-Packers game? Unlike most of the drunk morons who hop the wall and buzz around in front of the cameras, this guy wasn’t doing it for attention. He was doing it for his mother – his DEAD mother.

As Chris ran a post pattern across the field, he could be seen scattering the dusty contents of a plastic bag – later revealed as the ashen remains of his cremated mother. Satisfied that mom had become a permanent part of Lincoln Financial Field, Chris dropped to his knees, made the sign of the cross, and laid down so security personnel could peacefully escort him from the field of play.

“She never cared for any other team except the Eagles," he later explained to WPVI-TV. “I know that the last handful of ashes I had are laying on the field, and will never be taken away. She'll always be part…of the Eagles." A lot of Philly fans thought the same thing about Terrell Owens.

Sadly, his mom died last January…just prior to the Eagles’ Super Bowl appearance. Chris had reportedly requested that Eagles spread her remains officially, through the team office – but his request was denied. That’s when he took mother’s matter into his own hands and hatched a plan to do it himself.

Chris was charged with defiant trespass, a small price to pay for giving his mother an aerial burial. His only regret? That he had to spend the night in jail with a Packers fan.

(Sidenote to Mom: Don’t get any ideas – I happen to be very allergic to jail.)

iWonder

Normally I like doing the research myself, but in this case I'm just going to ask the question and risk sounding like a complete retard.

Can someone explain to me the difference between an iPod and an MP3 player? Whether I'm holiday shopping online, leafing through circulars, or browsing in store, everywhere I go I get bombarded with advertisements and promotions for a dozen different iPod models. Not only don't I understand the difference between the various models, I don't even know what an iPod IS. I thought it was just a glorified MP3 player with a color screen and fancy buttons, but the way they're pushing these things on people I'm starting to wonder if I NEED one.

Can someone explain to me the allure of the iPod so I can figure out whether I need to add it to my Christmas list?

Monday, November 28, 2005

DEAD MAN SHOPPING

This week, Virginia death row inmate Robin Lovitt is scheduled to be the United States' 1,000th execution since the Supreme Court reinstated the death penalty in 1976. Good to know someone somewhere is keeping count. I wonder if he gets anything for being Capital Punishment's ceremonious 1,000th customer. A $1000 shopping spree at "Circuit" City would be nice. Or dinner for two at Sizzler. Or just a fresh pair of cotton Dockers. Give the man a little something for shopping America's criminal justice system and legal discount warehouse.

THAT'S A WRAP!

Everybody obsesses about the Thanksgiving Turkey this time of year – but I’m personally more excited about the Thanksgiving Anaconda. The fact that I am allergic to poultry aside (yes, really), the Thanksgiving Anaconda is a far more satisfying animal to me. Yeah - you know what I'm talking about.

You don't? Come on! You've NEVER heard of the Thanksgiving Anaconda? Of course you have! Thick as a flashlight and up to 96 inches long, the Thanksgiving Anaconda is found coiled up peacefully in your commode a day or two after Thanksgiving.

That serpentine wonder is annually responsible for more relief than the Red Cross. I found mine lurking peacefully in my bowl this morning and still haven’t come down.

IS IT OKAY TO STOP EATING NOW?

Another Thanksgiving holiday *belch* has concluded and I’m 4 pounds heavier. I guess that means I did it right.

We Americans certainly have a lot to be thankful for – but I wonder if we even recognize it anymore. After all, there WAS a time when the Thanksgiving holiday meant a rare opportunity to eat a full meal. Many of today’s homeless are better fed than yesterday’s working class. They’re sure fatter, anyhow. That’s not to make light of their circumstances – only to recognize that food is easier to come by now than ever before in our history. And that’s a good thing. It means we can recognize and be thankful for more than just a full belly.

Celebrated on the 4th Thursday of November, Thanksgiving is an American tradition that can be traced back as early as 1541 – but it’s not the first the celebration of its kind. On the contrary, harvest festivals have been going on for millennia. In keeping with custom, our private party marks just another bunch of hardworking folks giving thanks and paying tribute to the Gods for another year of divine sustenance.

The original “Thanksgiving” feast, or at least the one our schoolchildren read about, is the 1621 feast at Plymouth Rock where the puritan pilgrims broke bread with the Wampanoag Indians, who more or less ensured the wayward Anglo settlers didn't starve to death. Because no good deed goes unpunished, it wasn’t long before the grateful European guests paid back their native hosts by driving them like bison to the brink of extinction. But that has proven the way of the world, time and again, throughout history: One people prospering at the expense of another.

(Editor's Note: For historical accuracy, whoever arranged this photo opportunity probably should have considered swapping outfits!)

Today, Thanksgiving has become a food carnival commemorating America’s expanding waistline. To alien observers, we undoubtedly look like a collection of wasteful, overweight carnivores intentionally getting sick by eating too much. Gluttony without apology, excused by the custom of giving thanks. We sure are a lucky bunch to have a 4-day holiday devoted to the vigorous consumption of food (and, recently, consumer goods). Don’t you think?

What I would like to see is a reversal of tradition. A Thanksgiving holiday where Americans voluntarily fast for a couple days to show appreciation for the bounty we enjoy the REST of the year. Not a religious rite, but a cultural observation during which we exercise a little humility for a change. But humility doesn’t taste as good as deep-fried turkey, sage dressing, and candied sweet potato casserole…so I’m no going to hold my breath for that one.

Besides, for how egregious our Thanksgiving gluttony has become, a part of me thinks we deserve it. We ARE considered the hardest working folks on the planet – literally killing ourselves to get ahead. Long commutes. Longer work weeks. Two-income households. Overtime. Unused vacation days. It’s good that we’re forced to get together every once in a while to remember why it is we’re working so hard in the first place: so we can enjoy those few times when we’re NOT working.

Speaking of not working, I probably ought to get back at it...

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

AGAINST THE LAW

It has always been my strong belief that, although we are a nation of laws, we have far too many of them. Don’t argue with me – you know it’s true. Do you know how many laws there are on the books? 7.8 billion. Really. Okay, maybe not exactly. But it’s something close to that. We have a LOT of laws. So many, in fact, I’m probably breaking several right now and don’t even know it. And that’s in addition to the laws I KNOW I’m breaking.

Laws should be simple, so regular people can understand them. And irregular people, too. If you need a lawyer to explain a law to you, then the law isn’t really serving its purpose – which is to discourage you from doing something naughty. All today’s confusing, cryptically worded legal creations manage to do is keep lawyers in business – and we have enough idiots filing frivolous lawsuits to do that.

I think the Ten Commandments is a pretty good model. Religious influence aside, those are some pretty clear statements. Thou shalt not kill. Period. That’s it. That’s the law. There’s no “degree” to taking a life. No taking into account how long you may have thought about killing the person before actually going through with it. Killing is killing, and most people agree that, in most cases, it’s a bad thing. Speaking of a bad thing, what about the lost Commandment: Thou shalt not serve pickled eggs to unsuspecting dinner guests without warning. That’s just wrong.

Before I drill down further, let’s take a step back.

Keep going.

One more step.

Okay, good. From here we can really see what laws are all about. It is the basic intention of laws to keep order by telling us, the people, what it is okay and not okay to do. It is then the intention of our justice system to, with the utmost objectivity and fairness, of course, determine whether or not a law as been broken – and then decide what to do in the case that it has been. Some people have quipped that “Laws are made to be broken,” but those are the people your mother wouldn’t let you play with when you were young. Laws are most certainly not made to be broken – they’re made to be obeyed. At least for as long as they make sense. Here are a few actual laws that, for one reason or another, stood out to me as unnecessary. But you be the judge.

In Alabama, boogers may not be flicked into the wind, dominoes may not be played on Sunday, and under no circumstances is it permissible to wear a mustache that causes laughter in church. No joke, my friends – these are REAL laws.

You may not hunt camels in Arizona. In Illinois, if you don’t have at least one dollar on your person you can be arrested for vagrancy. (I’m breaking that one right now!) In Oregon and New Jersey, it’s illegal to pump your own gas. In California, it is illegal for animals to mate within 1,500 feet of tavern, school, or place of worship. There are countless others that I simply don’t have the time or energy to share here. But I think you’re getting my point. For more of this madness, check out this site.

Despite the absurdity and irrelevance of some of these laws, the people who create them are almost always well intended. But our country has become so bloated with statutes we’re drowning in a virtual sea of jurisprudentia. At some point we may want to consider simplifying things so that the legal system stops expanding like government and starts functioning as it was intended: to keep order by making it CLEAR what people can and cannot do. And that’s precisely where I come in. I am good at pretending I know what’s best for everyone and I also happen to have a real talent for naiveté. Think Kevin Kline in the movie “Dave.” These are my thoughts…

Like most people, I have questions. Why are settlements so out of control? Why does it take months and years for anything to get to trial? What’s the deal with appeals? Why do lawyers earn more than teachers? These are intended to be rhetorical questions...I know there are answers, but the point is that we can do better. Donnie Trump wouldn’t stand for bureaucratic inefficiencies of this magnitude. Who do we need to fire? Seems to me we need to start changing the rules a little bit, and in my opinion, it starts at the top.

AYNtK Legal rule #1: A LAW FOR A LAW. Congress shall pass no law without repealing two.

Let’s face it, we’ve got too many laws and regulations on the books, too many of which are simply obsolete or irrelevant. It’s time to start culling things down. We keep adding and adding and adding legislation, language that limits our freedoms and restricts the free market from providing products and services we want…and need. Is all of this regulation really necessary? Law has become the solution to every problem. Every little danger results in a new law. Every new concern brings new regulation to the table. Every perceived inequity inspires legislative debate. While most of it is well intended, we’re strapping our liberty in a straight jacket. So from now on, we don’t add a law without subtracting two. It sounds far-fetched – but is it really?

Consider how we came to have all of these laws in the first place. They’re blown like hot magma from a hyperactive volcano called Mt. Congress. Indeed, Congress is made up of people we call “lawmakers.” And when they’re not spending our tax money buying off foreign governments, deposing evil dictators, building unproven military technologies, and rebuilding other countries at the expense of our own, they’re busily passing laws that restrict our freedom. Don’t smoke in public. Don’t drive with a hand-held cellphone. Don’t crap on the airport’s luggage-return conveyer belt. (That was an awkward day for me) Don’t go here. Don’t do this. Don’t say this to this person if you mean this and you’re doing this. Don’t touch this after this time and before this time. Just don’t do anything dammit!

Please don’t take this the wrong way – or, at the very least, don’t e-mail me about it if you do. While proposing a major cleansing of our law books, I’m certainly not in favor of a lawless society. I just think we, as a society, tend to overreact sometimes in our zeal to address every niche concern – and the stock solution has been to create a new law. As a result, we’ve ended up with an increasingly complicated collection of rules that are hard to understand, harder to follow, impossible to enforce, and easy to manipulate if you’ve got enough MONEY earmarked for legal fees.

That’s right – I just played the money card. Dammit. Now I have to bitch about that, too. This is going to be long fucking post. Oh well – you’ll make time because you love me. You made it this far, didn’t you?

So let’s talk about money for a second. Aside from the superfluity of laws out there, the other big problem with our justice system is that, ironically, it’s not fair at all. You don’t need the law on your side to win a case – you need money. It helps to have the law on your side, but even if you’re clearly in the wrong, you can buy yourself a settlement, a verdict, or in rare cases, a jury…provided you’ve got enough green. Justice isn’t colorblind.

So that’s how it goes down day after day in the courtrooms of America. If you got the dough, you run the show. This is the case because, with money, you can afford to buy a better legal team. A dream team. A team that seldom loses because it knows how to work the system. It knows how to bend a jury. It knows how to leverage technicalities. Culpability is an afterthought these days – law is about who can play the game better, and who can PAY to play the game better.

Consider this. What if, in a stroke of absolute objectivity and fairness, ALL legal representation were decided by a blind draw? You and I could suddenly afford Johnny fucking Cochrane, while the Tyco execs get stuck with the new guy, Stu Pidasse. Our capitalist culture would never allow for it, but think about how quickly the field would level. Why should money dictate how well we are represented before the law? The justice system is supposed to promote fairness – but how fair is it that the quality of your case depends largely upon who you can AFFORD to argue it for you? Our free market system works great if you’re buying a can of Chunky soup or a new pair of Levi’s – but do people who have a lot of money really deserve better legal representation? Don’t answer that, Father Warbucks.

This is perhaps what I detest most about our legal system: Its vast subjectivity has made lawyers more important than the laws. Everything is so open to interpretation, you can argue pretty much anything you want. A creative lawyer with a talent for spin can almost always find ways to bend the meaning of a law to their liking. There’s always an angle. A chink in the armor. An Achilles’ heel. Here’s how.

Laws are documented in writing. Writing requires the use of language, and is therefore subject to the limitations of language. Now language has many components to it. Believe it or not, I actually took a course on language in college and was surprised how complex an animal it is. (Yes, I went to college - it was a long 7 years) Fortunately, a little something called grammar allows us to study its various components. There’s syntax, for example, which is the construction of words into coherent thoughts. This is more or less about getting words put together in the right order. Then there’s Lexis, which is about choosing the RIGHT words. The larger your lexicon, or vocabulary, the better you’ll be able to select the right words in forming meaningful sentences, written and spoken. And then there’s Semantics, which is the study of meaning. It’s this last one that wreaks havoc on the law.

There was a time when lawyers would take cases based on whether a case had legal merit. But more and more, lawyers are taking cases based on whether the case has money in it. They can afford to do this because, more and more, law is becoming about semantics. In other words, you can deconstruct a law word by word and argue its interpretation. Perhaps the most famous example of Semantic Dissection was when President Clinton was questioned about his relationship with Monica Lewinsky and he made the famous declaration that his answer would depend on what the intended meaning of the word “is” was.

Are the laws so poorly written that we need to parse their precise intention in this way? Actually, they are. Which brings us right back to the beginning. I think laws should be simple, so regular people can understand them. If lawyers are able to semantically reconstruct the meaning of a law in making their case, then the law clearly isn’t clear enough.

AYNtK Legal rule #2: K.I.S.S. A written law may not exceed 10 words.

Let’s keep it simple. Okay, 10 words may be a little unrealistic. But the point here is to write (and rewrite!) laws in the simplest terms, so they can easily recited by third graders. All of the riders and exceptions and additions create confusion and enable more semantic reconstruction. We’ve managed to dumb down everything else in society to serve the “lowest common denominator,” why can’t we do that with our legalese?

That’s a rhetorical question I think I’ll answer anyway: because a simple, efficient, easy-to-understand legal system would put a lot of smart people out of work.

Then again, we COULD use a few more teachers…

SPAM HUMOR FOR YOU

A woman was shopping at her local supermarket where she selected:

A half-gallon of 2% milk,
A carton of eggs,
A quart of orange juice,
A head of romaine lettuce,
A 2 lb. can of coffee,
And a 1 lb. package of bacon.

As she was unloading her items on the conveyor belt to check out, a drunk standing behind her watched as she placed the items in front of the cashier. While the cashier was ringing up her purchases, the drunk calmly stated, "You must be single."

The woman was a bit startled by this proclamation, but she was intrigued by the derelict's intuition, since she was indeed single. She looked at her six items on the belt and saw nothing particularly unusual about her selections that could have tipped off the drunk to her marital status.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she said "Well, you know what, you're absolutely correct. But how on earth did you know that?"

The drunk replied, "'Cause you're ugly."

Monday, November 21, 2005

SPACEMAKERS

Did you hear about the new reality program coming out in the UK? It’s called Space Cadets and it’s being billed as the biggest hoax in television history.

The makers of Big Brother have reportedly persuaded a group of British adventure seekers to take a trip into outer space – only they’re not really being blasted into space. The entire experience will be simulated on the ground, inside an elaborate film studio, so that the participants believe they’re actually out in space!

Nine people will be selected to blast into the final frontier, and the show will document their preparation as they undergo intensive training in “Russia,” which will actually be an old airbase in the UK. When it comes time to make the great leap into space, their shuttle will be the very same Hollywood contraption built for the film Space Cowboys. And a giant screen just outside the shuttle will provide the illusion of a journey into space. An authentic launch sound has been created by a Hollywood sound specialist, and the mock craft has been mechanically outfitted to tip and rock during lift off and throughout the “voyage.”

Worried that some participants might catch on, three actors will be on board to help facilitate the illusion and provide feedback should the amateur astronauts become suspicious. Now THAT'S entertainment!

I can’t wait for the American version – Survivor: Lunar Edition.

Probst: “16 blastaways stranded on the moon have to learn to live together while forging a whole new civilization from scratch…with no food, no water, and for the first time ever, NO AIR! For 39 days they’ll bounce around in 1/6th gravity, facing tough new reward challenges as they compete for one million dollars and the title of sole survivor! Get ready, because the countdown to orbital council starts right now – 4…3…2…1” [LOAD INTRO]

CUT THE BIG CHEESE

Rick Wagoner, chairman and CEO of General Motors Corporation, announced plans today to cut 30,000 manufacturing jobs and close nine North American facilities by 2008.

Wagoner was captured in this photo estimating how bad he feels about it.





Here Wagoner estimates the size of the turkey his family will be enjoying on Thanksgiving Day while 30,000 former employees are out hunting for new jobs.

Gobble gobble.

Friday, November 18, 2005

THE CHRISTMAS COW

The holiday shopping season is in full swing and the major credit card companies have jumped into the fray. Have you seen their latest gift idea? Visa’s offering one now and American Express has been promoting theirs pretty hard. It’s a pre-loaded credit gift card. Their value proposition is that the credit card works just like a gift card, but you can use it anywhere! Wow – what a brilliant fucking idea. A gift card that works at ANY store. That’s amazing.

Wait a second. Don’t they already have something like that? Oh yeah. I think it’s called CASH.

But cash as a holiday gift gets a bad rap because it can be perceived as thoughtless and uninspired. The appeal of the gift card is that it lets people take the easy way out of having to choose a gift for someone, without entirely removing thoughtfulness from the exercise. By giving someone a Borders gift card, you’re essentially saying, “I think you like to read, but I don’t have the time or the balls to pick something out for you.”

Of course, it’s always spun as a positive:

“This way I figured you could pick out whatever you want.”

See? How THOUGHTFUL.

But the proof is in the pudding. Gift cards have been wildly successful because people LIKE gift cards. They're easy. Plus, we LIKE being able to pick out the things we want instead of having someone else presume to know what we want. And do you know who REALLY loves gift cards? Retailers. They save a fortune every year in unused cards. Shit – I’ve still got gift cards in my wallet from LAST Christmas. That’s money that went directly into the bank accounts of big businesses in exchange for future purchases that were never made. And by the time I actually use them, prices will have risen and I won’t be able to get as much product as I would have a year ago when the cards were originally purchased.

If you've been post-holiday shopping for years, you may have noticed a trend. The number of post-holiday sale events have significantly decreased. There was a time when malls were packed post-holidays with people shopping for deals. Retailers customarily dropped prices after the holidays to keep traffic coming at a time when consumers felt financially tapped out. Not anymore. That's because we've entered the age of gift cards. If retailers drop prices, they'll be giving away more product when people use their gift cards. That's why, instead of using them right after the holidays, it's now better to wait a month or two.

I don't mean to badmouth gift cards here - heaven knows I've given out and appreciated receiving my share of them over the last decade. And I’m certainly not suggesting gift cards are a racket – they’re just good for business. And if they're good for business, they're good for the economy, which is good for people looking for work, which is good for boosting employment figures, which is good for putting money in peoples' pockets, which is, in turn, good for business. Ah, the wonders of capitalism.

I guess that explains why the credit card companies are finally getting into gift card the act. They’re banking on the fact that if they can talk people into giving out plastic cards as gifts instead of cash, people will lose or forget to use their cards and they’ll make out like bandidos.

So my advice to you this holiday shopping season is to resist the urge to buy preloaded credit cards as a holiday gifts. Especially considering I am more than happy to accept cash.

Thanks in advance!

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

MAKING CONVERSATION

A guy I work with told me the other day that if he didn’t complain he’d have nothing to say. And that got me thinking – do I complain a lot? I like to think I don’t, but a further analysis of my conversations has revealed that I bitch incessantly. And here’s some news – you’re a whiner, too.

Think about it. There are only so many things worth talking about. The old stand-by was, is, and forever will be “the weather.” That's because the weather is something we all have in common, and it’s also one of the two things in life over which we have absolutely no control, so you can bitch about it freely without blaming anyone.

But once we’re done talking about the weather, what else is there to say? As a courtesy, we've adopted the custom of asking one another how we're doing. Regardless of how I feel, I usually say I’m good – which isn’t entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth, either. It’s just that I know people don’t want me to tell them how I REALLY am, because that would involve a litany of pointless complaints.

“Fine, thanks. Well, actually, I’m not doing so great. My property taxes doubled, I’ve got an escrow shortage, my condo assessments are on the rise, business has been slow, my car is acting up on me, I’ve got a bad cough, the White Sox won the World Series, and I just got the worst haircut of my life. How have YOU been?”

The fact is, no one wants to hear that shit because we’ve ALL got problems. And, of course, we all think our problems are the worst. Ah, the ultimate relativity of distress. By the same token, no one wants to hear how GREAT someone else is doing, either. If there’s anything worse than a chronic complainer, it’s a person who couldn’t be doing any better.

“I’m fantabuliffic! Things could not be going better. My property taxes went down, an uncle I didn’t even know existed left me $43,000 in his will, a publisher contacted me out of the blue for a book deal, that mysterious lump I found turned out to be a golden testicle – I’m having it removed next week – I just got a massive raise and promotion, won 6 tickets to the Super Bowl, my doctor says I’ve got the cholesterol level of a Japanese fisherman, and my dick seems to have gotten bigger. Can you believe that shit? So, how are YOU?”

People like that suck. The truth is, life is hard work and is full of disappointment. We worry about our health, our finances, our jobs, our loved ones…and so much more…day after painful day. We’re under the stress of so many commitments and obligations, it’s a miracle any of us ever find the time to sit back and reflect upon how amazingly wonderful it is to JUST BE ALIVE. But we’re all lottery winners in that regard. We’re here – fortunate enough to have shit to bitch about day after day.

So, yeah – my taxes doubled. That sucked. But I’m still breathing. And yeah, business isn’t what it could be. But I’m still breathing. And yeah, this is the worst haircut I’ve ever had. But I’m still breathing.

Basically, life is good. So if you hear me complaining, don’t let it get to you. I’m just making conversation.

Monday, November 14, 2005

A LINK TO YOUR PAST

Here’s an oldie but a goodie!

Enjoy…

THE FINAL CUT

Have you ever had a really bad haircut? Me neither.

Okay, I KNOW you’re lying – and so am I. I mean, just look at me. This is fucking ridiculous. I can’t believe I paid someone money to do this to my head. Stevie Wonder could’ve given me a better cut with a pair of garden shears. Drunk. Speaking of Wonder, I wonder if he ever drinks himself half blind. [gratuitous rim shot]

So I waited and waited and waited to get a haircut. And day after day, Geri would politely remind me by asking, “So when are you going to get a haircut? You could always go this afternoon. How about tomorrow then? Will Friday work?” And I would shrug it off – “I know. I know. It’s getting shaggy. I really need to go.”

On Saturday, I finally went. But for some reason there was a run on the barber shop that day. People must want to look their best for the apocalypse (I hear it is nearing). As I stepped up to the front door I noticed there were 4 people seated in the waiting area…all patiently reading day-old newspapers. My well-kept secret was out – the Russian immigrant I’d discovered down the street from my apartment took a lot of pride in his work, and it showed. For $20 (after tip!), he’d give you a clean, crisp cut every time...without taking, or talking, your ear off.

On any another day I might have pulled up a stool and waited for his reliable services. But I had places to go and people see that day. So after waiting and waiting for weeks to get a haircut, I chose not to wait just one more hour. I got in my car and drove uptown to one of those fast-food haircut joints where they fleece folks like sheep for $10 a pop.

I eagerly took a seat in the chair of a slow-moving, older lady who I was certain moonlighted as a tarot card reader. She had a thick accent I couldn’t place and a pleasant, if unhurried, way about her. I felt comfortable in her care, assuming she’d been cutting hair for boys of her own for decades.

Oh, the horror that followed.

I watched on in helpless agony as she began chopping away at my dark brown dome, her clipping fingers weaving up and down randomly like drunk butterflies, slivers of hair shooting like sparks from my scalp. I wanted to stop the madness, but she was the professional, I thought. I decided to close my eyes, relax, and give her experienced eye the benefit of the doubt.

10 minutes later I opened my eyes to a whole new me: one who looked like a lobotomy addict. I smiled graciously and thanked her for the cut, eager to get home and patch things up with some hair gel.

But this was wishful thinking, it turned out, as she’d left me with disturbingly little to work with. There wasn’t any hair left to direct with the gel – and what WAS left was not in good shape. I envisioned a stoned high school kid “mowing” the lawn with a broken weedwacker, leaving patches of dirt in between tufts of thick, uncut bluegrass. Yeah - it's THAT bad. I then remembered Geri's five year old son enthusiastically offering to give me a haircut just a week ago. In hindsight, I should have taken him up on it. Would've saved a little money, anyway. (But not much - ever since discovering the value of money, he's been driving some pretty hard bargains).

Anyhow...here I sit at work, just hours before a client meeting, wondering if the partners will mind me wearing a golf visor during the presentation. I am a “creative,” after all. It'll be part of my schtick.

Here's the photo you nosy people keep clamoring for. Go ahead - make your jokes. It'll grow out...eventually.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

WHITE MEN CAN JUMP

We're just not very good at it.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

So I'm watching Survivor here, enjoying a couple of pan-fried pork chops, when the CBS channel 2 news center catches my attention during a commercial break. I shit you not, this is what I hear:

"Why hundreds of thousands of chicagoland residents are being told to have their tap water tested immediately. Could you be one? Find out tonight at ten."

Excuse me? If hundreds of thousands of people need to check their tap water immediately, shouldn't you tell us who they are immediately?? What's this "find out at 10" horseshit? I hate these fucking scare tactics news programs use to lure us in. I'm hitting the sink right now and downing as much tap water as my belly can hold in the hope I get deathly ill so I can sue the shit out of CBS Channel 2 for withholding vital public health safety information.

Bastards.

FOR SPORTS AND GIGGLES

Thanks to Dr. Barnyard Friend for this hilarious spoof of ESPN.com . The Dickie V column is a fucking scream. Be sure to check out the mock stories on the right side. WNBA Player Suspended For Not Being Gay.

Fanfuckingtastic!

OUT OF SERVICE

One of the big knocks against big businesses is that they can’t provide the same level of customer service as the mom and pop shops. It’s just hard for a faceless corporate entity to give you the same personal attention as your friendly, neighborhood boutique down the street. But things are definitely changing, my friends. Here’s an example…

I routinely order my contact lenses through the online service 1-800 Contacts and have never had a problem. My last order, however, was taking a bit long to arrive, so I called to check on the status of my delivery. The customer representative on the phone politely acquiesced that my shipment should have arrived long ago and agreed to send out another shipment of $210 contacts absolutely free. She then told me that if the original ones should arrive at some point, I should just send those back. But, of course, we both knew that was code for, “If the original ones show up at some point, keep those, too.”

A week later I received a hand-written apology by that very same customer rep. She’d included a coupon for money off my next order. All because my package had been lost in the mail – it wasn’t even their fault! But they valued me as a customer and wanted to keep me happy. Now THAT’S service.

By contrast, here’s an experience I just had with the friendly dry cleaner located in my building. The shop is very small and always staffed by the same, polite Korean woman who not only remembers me, but remembers my name and unit number. Last week I brought in 7 button-down dress shirts to be laundered with light starch. I dropped them off on Monday and she told me they would be ready on Wednesday, which was a little longer than usual for laundry – but I was in no hurry, so whatever.

I returned that Friday to pick up my shirts. She saw me walk in and immediately went to the rack. I waited patiently while her mechanical closet spun full wardrobes of plastic-covered suits, shirts, dresses, and coats past us. She ran the motor for awhile, checked a few tags here and there, stopped and started the machine over and again, moved the line forward and reverse, and finally started digging through the clothes as they went by. You can probably guess what happens next. Mine were missing.

After an uncomfortable five minutes, she finally gave up and told me they were lost and that she’d have to call me back. Good thing I gave them a couple of extra days, I thought.

An hour later she called me at work to let me know that my shirts had been located, but were not laundered. “You come Monday,” she said. I wasn’t sure if she was asking me or telling me, but I realized I didn’t really have a choice, so I agreed. At least I’d get a discount, I thought.

I went back in this week to pick up my shirts and, as usual, she remembered me right away. After apologizing profusely for the delay, she proceeded to ring me up for the full price. I probably could have negotiated a discount of some kind, but I knew the mistake had been unintentional and was just glad to have my shirts back. I paid her the full amount and left.

On the way to the car I looked at the shirts and realized one of them wasn’t mine. So I headed right back in and told her one of the shirts did not belong to me. One was still missing. She showed me two other shirts on a nearby rack and asked if either one was mine. They were not. She asked my size, then took one of the shirts off the rack and told me it was mine. “You take shirt,” she said. Certain it was not my shirt, I declined. She insisted. “Maybe you take shirt and see if fit.” At this point I understood everything. She was offering me someone else’s shirt to replace the one she had lost. Aside from the fact that it would have been loose on Marlon Brando, it was simply wrong. She was running her dry cleaning business like a community closet.

“This is not my shirt,” I said. “Mine was white.” I then pictured her offering up and giving away my white shirt to the last guy who lost one. She apologetically jotted my phone number down and told me she’d look for it and give me a call back.

This morning I put on one of the shirts (that was actually mine) and noticed a button had disintegrated somehow to a fragmented little nub. Not only had they misplaced my shirts, forgot to wash them, delivered them late, charged me full price anyway, lost an entire shirt and tried to replace it with a tablecloth – they’d now fractured a button, rendering it unwearable.

That was the last straw. I dug through the trunk of my car for an empty gas can and marched over to the dry cleaner. I barged in angrily, startling a couple of patrons, and sending a set of door chimes flying across the tiny room. The gas can in one hand and a book of matches in the other, I stared across the counter and uttered: “You burned me, now I burn you.” Everyone scrambled in a panic as I began…

And then I woke up and realized I hadn’t really set flame to the dry cleaners. That was the good news. The bad news was that the rest of the story was true. Funny how a big company like 1-800-Contacts could provide better customer service than my friendly neighborhood dry cleaner. It just goes to show that companies, like people, should be judged individually, on their own merits, and not as a function of blind assumption.

And I still haven't heard back from the dry cleaner.

INFORMATION HIGHWAY ROBBERY

I don’t like this one AT ALL. My dad sent me this link yesterday. It’s a website that will let anyone in the world have a peek at your driver’s license, including all of the information which may be on it! I was shocked that this kind of sensitive information has been made public. I strongly encourage all of you to have your license removed from the database.

For your convenience, I’ve included the link to the site here. Just enter your name, city, state, and ZIP to see if yours is on file. If it is, click on the “Please Remove” tab and then search for it again to make sure it has been removed.

You’re welcome.

COOL BEANS

I finally got them to switch to regular coffee here at work.

I can feel it inspiring me to do something great. Just not sure what. All I can say for certain is that my bowels definitely approve of the move, so to speak.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

BUZZ NUGGETS

Here’s some more of my handiwork, because I know you people are interested. It's a little work I did for a company that claims to manufacture the only confection of its kind made in America – a bite-sized piece of chocolate filled with real espresso. They didn’t have a name for it, so I was put to the task of coming up with something sweet (pun forced). I came up with scores of options to choose from – in the end, a focus group helped us select Espresso Secrets.

My personal recommendation was to market them on college campuses as “Buzz Nuggets” with the tagline "Good to go." As is so often the case in my life, no one took me seriously.

Anyhow, a year and a half later they finally got around to producing the damn things and I was proud to see they’re still using my copy to promote them. I actually had a couple and must admit they were tasty. Is it time for a coffee break?

JOWLING BALL

Proof that cyberspace can be wasted.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

SAY UNCLE SAM!

President Bush, speaking at a news conference with Panamanian President Martin Torrijos, defended U.S. interrogation practices this week, insisting forcefully that "We do not torture."

Bush obviously hasn't seen Deuce Bigalow 2. Hollywood promotes cultural agony worldwide as a matter of habit. I can hear the whimpering voices of international passengers on trans-oceanic flights right now: "Please, please, I beg you - make it stop. Make it STOP!"

Monday, November 07, 2005

THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING ERNEST

" I love sleep...It's when I'm awake that my life falls apart."

~Ernest Hemingway

SWOON SONG

Here’s a site that makes Astrology fun. Check on compatibility, get daily horoscopes, or find out all about yourself. They've also got this handy dream interpreter that tells you all about your dreams, including a forecast for things to come. Even keep an online dream diary that logs all of your dreams for future reference. I had a dream last night that I was drafted by the military, forgot my asthma medication, and missed the bus. I chased down the bus only to discover it was the wrong one. Not a great dream, really, but at least it wasn't my usual episode of burning and drowning at the same time. Anyhow, it's definitely worth a few minutes next time you need to take a brain break at work. They've even got a special category for dreams about Tori Spelling. I don't know what that says about us as a people, but it can't be good.

I SEE YOU!